The Roommate's Baby

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a minute. Then, finally, he lifts a chicken finger to his mouth and takes a slow bite. "I guess you're right," he says finally. "But fuck, man, that's intimidating."

"You'll survive," I tell him, stealing another finger from his plate. "Can't be as intimidating as our Monday morning board meeting next week is going to be, now that both of us are on Spencer's bad side with all of our slacking," I point out.

He groans and rolls his eyes. "Please, don't remind me. I'll take anything over that suffering."

"Be careful what you wish for," I warn him. But as we throw out our trash and head back toward the office, I can't help feeling a twinge of worry. For all the confidence I had when I gave Chris advice, I don't feel any of that same security about my own situation. I can't take my own advice, not with Rina. Not with her trying for a baby, and all the extra complications that adds.

If I tell her I've started to fall for her, then she might need to set up completely different arrangements. Find someone else who can uphold the whole No Strings Attached side of the bargain when it comes to sex and knocking her up. Start all over again with that guy, trying for someone else's kid.

Just the thought of that, the idea of her asking someone else the same favor she asked me, of having some other guy put his dick in her, try to fill her belly with his seed... It makes me furious. It makes me want to tear that imaginary competitor apart. And it makes me want to steal her away, keep her all to myself, no matter what it takes.

But that, of course, would be impossible by then. I'd have already broken our agreement, and it wouldn't be anyone's fault but my own.

No. Rina and I are different. We're not like Lacy and Chris. We need to see this through, to the end.

After her next cycle, I decide. If she gets pregnant this time, and she prepares to go on her own way, move out into her own place, then I'll tell her. Then I can take that leap, just in case. On the off chance that she might be willing to give me a chance, then at least, we'd have a real shot.

And if not, well, at least I'll have the memories we made together. And at least I'll know, like I told Chris. And she'll have the baby she wanted. If she doesn't feel the way for me that I feel for her, then I'll uphold my end of the bargain. I'll stay out of things, away from her, no matter how much it kills me inside.

That's what I need to do, I decide. It's the only thing I can do. Hang on through this last cycle, get her pregnant, and then...

Then I'll face the music. Then I'll finally tell her how I feel.

13

Rina

Cannon seems in a weird mood tonight. Ever since I texted to let him know I was ovulating again, he's been weird and distant.

I wonder if he's getting sick of me. Maybe the pressure of this whole situation is weighing on him too much. Or maybe he's just anxious to get this over with so he can get back to his usual MO—philandering around town with his friends, hooking up with any girl he's interested in. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that he hasn't brought another girl home while we're doing this, even though, of course, since we're doing NSA, he would be totally within his rights. But I wonder if he's getting bored. Getting tired of this whole routine.

That's why I decide to spice things up. I mean, we have one week of this left—hopefully, ideally. If all goes well, then I'll be pregnant by the end of the week, know within another couple of weeks, and we can both move on with our lives. So we might as well enjoy this last week together.

So I text him to meet me at our favorite restaurant, a quiet, romantic little spot a few towns over where we're never recognized. I change at the office before we meet. I splurged a little, hoping to make this night extra special, and I don't want him to see me until we meet up later.

Finally, when I'm ready, I step out into my car, navigating with only a small amount of difficulty in the spiked heels that I bought for this.

Okay, so it might be a little much. But I don't care. It's totally worth it when I saunter over to our regular table and Cannon's expression lights up in something between shock and white-hot desire.

I'm wearing six-inch heels, so high that I'm almost nervous to walk in them. But they make my calves pop and my legs look miles long underneath the dress I'm wearing. The dress is also new. It's skin-tight, bright red, with a hemline long enough to not be too scandalous, but short enough to draw Cannon's eyes right where I want them. Not to mention the scoop neck, where I've hung a simple pendant that nestles right at the top of my cleavage, hinting just enough to make him lick his lips as he studies my chest.

But the biggest change, the one that has him glancing at me again and again, studying me with wide, lust-filled eyes, is the wig I tossed on. It's simple, just a black bob wig, but it makes me feel like a totally different person. Like a Bond girl stepping out of one of the action thrillers and sitting across from him at our table.

"Rina," he murmurs when I finally slide into the chair across from his, crossing my legs with a demure yet sexy smile cast in his direction. "You look... Holy shit."

My grin widens. "You like?" I lift one eyebrow.

His gaze sweeps across mine, hungry as ever. "I have to admit," he says after a moment, "I still prefer you as a redhead. But the black is a fun change." He reaches out and catches a curl of the wig, spins it around his fingertip. "Is this your sex goddess alter-ego?" he asks with a smirk.

"Yes," I reply with a lift of my eyebrows. "That's Ms. Smith to you."

"I see," he replies, at the same time that he drops a hand under the table and slides his fingertips up the inside of my thigh, starting at my knee, then inching higher, higher, higher...

I tense when he reaches the spot where my thighs are pressed together, and cast a glance around the restaurant. There's only a couple other tables in here, and our table has a long linen cloth draped around the sides. But it won't disguise what we're doing if Cannon keeps going. Not for long.

"I ordered already," he adds, as though in afterthought. "I hope that's all right. I got the usual."

"That's fine," I say, and he takes advantage of my distraction to slip his hand between my thighs. He works them a little higher, until his fingertips graze against the thin, silky fabric of my sexy, barely-there panties.

"Hmm." His eyes light up with that animal look of lust that I savor so much in him. "New panties, Ms. Smith?"

I hold my head and consider him with a widening smile. "I wanted to match my new persona. So, you know... I needed something... particularly scandalous."

"I see." He hooks his forefinger through my panties and tugs lightly against the silky fabric. "I hope you don't mind if I wind up ruining these before the night is through," he says, his voice dropping so low it's almost a growl. "I find I can't help myself around you, Ms. Smith. Especially not like this." His gaze sweeps back over my body, lingers on my chest, on the spot where the dress dips low enough just to hint at my cleavage.

At that moment, the waiter swings by our table with the first course, and we jump apart—or rather, I do, while Cannon watches me from beneath hooded eyes, laughing softly in amusement. The waiter, for his part, just leaves our food, makes sure everything is okay, then bows and exits without a comment about my wig or the nervous, bright red flush that's come over my face.

"What's the matter?" Cannon asks, once he's gone and we've returned our attention to the food at hand. "I thought you liked getting dirty in public, Ms. Smith." He slides one foot along the inside of my calf, tracing up and down my leg, driving me wild just from that light touch alone.

My eyelids flutter to half-mast, and it takes all my concentration suddenly not to drop the fork I'm holding in complete distraction at the sensations he's shooting through every nerve in my body. But two can play at this game. I hold his gaze and then take a long, slow, purposeful look around the restaurant. At the same time, I slide my foot up his inner leg, mirroring what he's doing to me. But I go higher, higher, and then I reach down to unhook my stiletto. Let the heel drop to the floor, be

fore I slide my leg along his lap, to inch my toes between his thighs until I feel the telltale hard, thick press of his cock.

Naturally, he's already rock hard. I love knowing that I can still have that effect on him. Whatever else might happen between us, I always know how to get him excited, whenever and wherever I want.

So, just for tonight, I try to forget about everything else. About the promises we made each other, about the feelings that I can't help, but sort of hate myself for developing. I forget it all and I just focus on this, on him.

I trace my foot along the length of his cock, curling my toes around him through his pants. His mouth parts faintly, and his eyes glaze over with that hunger that I enjoy watching happen so much.

But he's not content to just sit back and let me work. He never is. He has to take control, every time. And as frustrating as that can be sometimes, I won't lie—I love it.

This time, when he leans forward, he doesn't hesitate. He forces my knees apart and runs a hand between them, straight to my pussy. I'm already wet, but I only realize how much when he begins to stroke my pussy through my panties, and I can feel the wetness coating his fingers even through the fabric.