Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Dude. Your dad is such a dick.”
“Dude. I know.” But he’s smiling now, watching me over the lip of his bottle. “You look happy. I mean, of course you are, because I’m home—”
I snort. My man is a paragon of modesty.
“But what else is up?”
Unable to mask my glee, I walk over to the side table and grab the royalty check. With a flourish, I hand it to him. “Surprise.”
His eyes jump from the paper to mine. “Holy shit! Are you serious? This is for one song?”
I nod, bringing my own glass of sparkling water to my lips. “Yup. The one I wrote for Delilah,” I confirm before taking a sip.
“This is incredible. Damn, Wellsy. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I’m rather pleased with myself when his bottle taps my glass in a jubilant cheers.
“I mean it. I’m so proud of you.” His silvery eyes shine bright. “I know how hard you work. And it’s paying off. For real.” He pulls me into a hug. “You deserve it, babe.”
This is the time, a voice urges. Tell him now.
I should. I really should. But this is the first time in ages that I’ve seen him this relaxed. No tension in his shoulders. Joy in his eyes. The moment I tell him I’m pregnant, this lightness will turn heavy. It’ll force us to have days’ or weeks’ worth of deep discussions that my mind doesn’t want to get weighed down by at the moment.
So I bite my tongue, and we sit for a nice dinner. Maybe I’m a coward. I probably am. But I don’t want to ruin what is otherwise a brief and perfect moment. We get so few of these lately.
We don’t even make it through dessert before Garrett’s got his hands on me. Feeling me up while I grab spoons out of the drawer so we can split the huge slice of chocolate mousse cake I picked up from my favorite bakery. But Garrett’s not interested in cake, and when he peels my shirt up to squeeze my breasts, I shiver uncontrollably and forget about it too.
Suddenly we’re stumbling clumsily toward the living room, because it’s closer than the bedroom. Tripping over clothes that are falling to the floor. We follow suit, falling onto the carpet. Naked and sucking each other’s faces off.
“God, I love you,” he grunts, his teeth sinking into my shoulder.
The tiny sting makes me moan. I squeeze his bare ass and lift my hips to press myself against his straining erection. Being in his arms again, after even just a couple of days, reminds me how addictive this feeling is. The raw chemistry between us. How much I love him.
The shivers return when he starts kissing my breasts. Holy fuck, my boobs are hypersensitive and it’s making my vision waver.
And after weeks of not noticing my constant bathroom trips and the new development of the smell of eggs making me queasy, Garrett chooses this moment to notice something: my swollen, tender breasts.
“Jeez, your tits feel so full,” he mutters, cupping them with both palms. “You getting your period soon?”
I almost burst out laughing.
Do it now, I order myself. Tell him.
I mean, this is the perfect opening. “Well, you see, my period hasn’t come in two months. Surprise! I’m pregnant!”
But then he’ll stop doing this—lowering his head to suck on one aching nipple. And it’s so sensitive, it sends ripples of pleasure dancing through me. I let out a blissful moan. Oh my God. Maybe pregnancy isn’t so bad. Maybe this hormonal hurricane that’s wreaking havoc on me finally has some benefits. Like the exquisite agony of Garrett’s mouth on my nipple. How impossibly wet I am when he slips his hand between my thighs.
He feels it too, groaning loudly. “Jesus,” he grinds out. “Is this all for me?”
“Always,” I mumble against his lips.
He kisses me again, his tongue seeking mine, at the same time he plunges inside me, his thick length filling me to the hilt. Then he fucks me on the living room floor carpet that we’d argued about buying for nearly an hour when we’d moved into this brownstone. I’d wanted something more durable, easier to vacuum. He’d argued valiantly for the longer, softer shag. And then after I kept asking why, he got frustrated. In the middle of IKEA, in front of a sales associate whose anxious gaze was ping-ponging between us, Garrett had yanked me closer and growled in my ear, “Because there’s gonna be a time when I’m too hot for you to make it to the bedroom, and I’ll end up fucking you on the living room floor. Sue me for wanting your ass to be comfortable.”
In response, I’d shut up and told the sales guy we wanted the carpet.
Now, I’m rolling Garrett onto his back and straddling his muscular thighs as he thrusts upward, filling me completely. He looks so gorgeous lying there at my mercy. Gray eyes molten, eyelids heavy. His bottom lip is captured between his teeth as he lets out a labored breath, clearly struggling for control.