I won’t let go.
Noah dropped to one knee, his hands moving to her breasts. She leaned back and he followed, moving over her.
Wrapping her legs around his hips, she held him close. He didn’t pull away, or try to second-guess her. He just slid inside.
“More,” she whispered.
He stared down at her, his cheeks still damp from his tears. But he wasn’t crying now; he was looking at her as if she was everything he needed. And he was pumping into her hard and fast. There was nothing gentle or careful about his movements. It was as if he needed to take as much as he could, as if he was depending on her . . .
I can’t be strong enough for both of us.
She closed her eyes and let her hands roam. He had to meet her halfway, rescue her just a little . . .
His hips slammed into her. His right elbow pressed into the bed beside her shoulder and his upper body hovered over her. But his other hand wandered, gliding over her torso, reaching between them. His thumb brushed over the spot guaranteed to send her spiraling into pleasure. But then he stopped.
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. I promise I won’t turn into an idiot, calling out professions of love.
“Ready?” he demanded. “Because I can’t hold back.”
“Yes,” she gasped.
He thrust into her again, his thumb offering one more teasing touch as plain old missionary pushed her over the edge. She took the sweet relief, holding tight to the pleasure. She did not love this man. She refused to hand over her heart.
But she loved everything about this orgasm.
“Noah. Oh, Noah.” She chanted his name as if it would prolong the escape.
But one more thrust and he groaned, his face contorting as he came. His lips curled back and he looked as if was growling, a pure animalistic reaction to taking her, claiming her, and oh God—
“We didn’t . . .” she said, her hand pushing at his chest, trying to get him off her. It was too late. She knew it was too late. “Oh God, Noah.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, obeying her frantic scrambling to get him off her. He withdrew from her body and collapsed on his back, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. They’d been in such a rush to feel something other than pain, to push away the tears, that they’d fallen sideways across the full-sized bed. And they’d forgotten the most important thing.
“We didn’t use a condom,” she said.
He rolled onto his side and propped his head against his hand, his elbow pressing into the rumpled bedding. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. Concern showed in his blue eyes. “I wasn’t thinking straight, sweetheart. I can promise you I’m clean. I wasn’t a saint these past five years, but I didn’t screw around like some of the other guys.”
She shook her head, not wanting to picture him screwing anyone else. Not right now while she was lying naked beside him, after he’d come inside her.
“I stopped taking the pill,” she said, her voice hollow. How could she have let this happen? “I figured I wasn’t great at remembering it anyway, seeing as I got pregnant. I meant to get an IUD. But I looked up the cost . . .”
“It’s going to be OK.” Noah drew her into his arms and she went, resting her head against his chest. He felt so strong, the muscles in his arms taut as they lay on the bed. “The chances are slim—”
“I can’t lose another baby,” she whispered.
“You won’t.” His hold tightened as if he could physically force the possibility away. “You could always take a morning-after pill before you leave for Germany.”
“I could.” But despite the bubbling fear, she couldn’t bring herself to go to a doctor and ask to wipe away the possibility of a child. She couldn’t lose another baby, not to a pill or an early delivery.
Of course, she wasn’t in a position to have a child. But still, after fighting so hard for her baby to live, she couldn’t erase another before he even had a chance . . .
“But,” she began.
“You don’t have to take anything, Josie. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it. And you don’t need to send a pigeon this time. I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll be here when you get back from Germany.”
She nodded, and the fear she’d pushed away for a few blissful—and potentially disastrous—minutes, returned. Her brother might be dying. She might never get to hear him laugh, or give her shit for, well, just about anything. And she might never get to see his expression when she told him she’d gotten naked with his best friend.
“It’s going to be OK, Josie,” he said as if he could make everything—Dominic, her potential pregnancy—A-OK through sheer willpower.