Once Upon A Half-Time 2(53)

I was doing a really lousy job of it now. “Because you’re bad for me.”

“Am I?” He leaned a little closer, and his hoppy, masculine scent dizzied my head. “Be honest.”

“You’re the only man I’ve ever let this close.”

“That doesn’t make me bad for you.”

“It doesn’t make you good.”

“I think you’re scared.”

I smirked. “I’ve already had sex with you, Nate. A couple times. I can’t be scared of that anymore.”

“Maybe you’re scared because you like it.”

“I think you know I do.”

“Sure, I’ve figured it out.” He dropped closer to me. Was he always this warm? I stared at his lips as he whispered. “But you’re worried about admitting it.”

“Okay. I admit it. I like having sex with you.” I shook my head. “Now what?”

“We do it again. And again. And again.” His lips touched mine, the tiniest graze. “And you’ll like it more and more each time.”

“This is why you’re dangerous to me. You make sex sound so…easy.”

He smiled. “It is.”

“And good.”

His voice rumbled. “It’s very good.”

“And simple.”

“I’m a simple man, baby. I gotta have air to breathe, food to eat, and you for everything else.”

His kiss was as sweet as his words.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I said.

“Why not?”

“I might start believing you.”

His hand caressed my cheek. “You should. I’m telling you the truth. When I say I want you…” He kissed me again, his tongue flicking mine. “I want you. When I say you’re beautiful.” He brushed the hair from my face. “I mean you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. And when I say I can’t stop thinking about you…”

His hand drifted along my hip. I imagined him touching low on my belly, where the baby rested.

I wished he might have done it.

“It means you’re the only girl I’ve wanted since I took you that first time.” His eyes flashed a deep and genuine green. “Mandy, I haven’t fucked anyone else since we hooked up two months ago. No one else could compare.”

Oh.

I wasn’t ready for that. For him. For his kiss or his touch or his honesty. He pulled the pillow away, or maybe I tossed it to the side. It didn’t matter. My arms circled his neck, and I surrendered to him.

His hands tickled my sides, aiming for my jeans. I didn’t protest as his zipper tugged down or my pants came off, but I searched him for any hint, any indication of what he expected.

Or what I expected.

“What happens after this?” I whispered. “When we’ve had each other again?”

“There you go, worrying about the future.” His touch silenced me, brushing his fingers along the warmth pooling between my legs. “I’m going to make sure you focus on right now. Don’t worry about what happens later.”

“It’s important.”

“Not as important as this.”

I gasped as his hardness pressed against my core. The slickness should have shamed me, but we were beyond embarrassment or surprise at our reaction for the other.

I wanted him. He wanted me.

And maybe I should have thought only of that moment.

Just of me and him.

Together.

He thrust inside me, and my delighted cry echoed with his determined grunt. The strength of his body ached me with such a perfect and wonderful power, something that built and swayed and controlled me with the demands of his movement.

It was a bad idea to let him get this close. Every thrust heated me beyond control, and every wave of pleasure teased me with the thought of more than just this short time with him.

I envisioned a dozen moments leading to a handful of days then a span of weeks and finally the joy that could be the rest of our lives.

I don’t know when it happened, but my feelings for him grew until they were no longer a simple crush. Every time I welcomed him deep within me, my addiction to him strengthened. He was the wrong man who might have given me the right things. I couldn’t risk losing his touch, his kiss, this amazingly full feeling.

So I didn’t think of the future. Nothing of the baby or the wedding or even what I’d say after I gave myself to him again.

I welcomed the simplicity and wove myself deeper into the knot I cast.

And I wondered if I’d ever be able to unravel it.





14





Nate





I was pretty certain I’d slept with the stripper.

We lived in a small town, and not many people escaped to the bigger cities. I couldn’t remember her name, but I recognized the tattoo. She had a tribal band inked over her bicep.