Oh God. Was this a terrible idea?

I'm standing in my bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. Already things are different. There's a charge in the apartment that never existed before. I went out of my room to get a glass of water before I came in to get ready for bed, and the whole time I kept stealing glances at Cannon, still sitting shirtless on the couch right where I left him. I could feel him watching me too, could hear the tension in his voice when he called out goodnight.

It just reminds me all over again of the way he looked at me tonight after my suggestion. With whole new eyes, like he'd never seen me before.

Not to mention how hard his cock got when I asked him to fuck me.

Impregnate me, my brain corrects. It's a business arrangement. Two people doing each other a solid. He likes sex, I'll give him sex. I need a baby, he'll give me a baby. Easy. Totally normal deal.

So why am I hiding in my bedroom like I'm terrified of him suddenly?

Well, for one thing, because I was completely unprepared to have sex with Cannon tonight. I stare at myself once more in the bathroom mirror—at the unshaven mess that I've let myself become because I haven't hooked up with anyone in... I count backwards. God, not for at least seven months. What's wrong with me? Am I becoming an old maid already?

But I couldn't exactly tell him that we couldn't hook up because I needed a long shower and to ready myself first. That's the only reason things feel awkward right now, I tell myself.

This arrangement won't change anything. It won't affect our friendship. We're good friends; we can do this. Keep things professional. Cannon is right. He might be more blatant about it than I am, but we're both pros at NSA. We'll just fuck, a lot, and then move on with our lives without complicating things for one another.

Oh God. Even just the thought of that—of fucking him—is doing things to my body. My already hormonal brain is running through scenarios, imagining his sexy washboard abs poised over me, the thick cock that I caught a glimpse of through his jeans poised at the entrance to my pussy. I imagine him in my bedroom, tossing me down onto the bed and tearing my shirt off. Flinging it across the room the way he throws his other hookups' clothes around, like he's wild with lust.

I imagine the look he wore in his eyes tonight on the couch, trained on me again, all white hot desire, and it's making me wet already just to think about it.

I need a shower.

I climb into the shower and turn the water on cold. But even that doesn't help, because as I go through the motions, scrubbing myself and making sure to shave my pussy closely, I'm already picturing why I'm doing this. I'm picturing that familiar, sexy half-grin of Cannon's poised between my legs, his tongue sliding between my pussy lips to lick me slowly, back to front, making me half-crazy with lust before he slides up to tongue my clit. I set my razor down and slide my fingers between my legs instead, imagining his mouth here instead, sucking and licking at my clit, all while keeping his eyes trained on mine, those dark, familiar eyes, hot with a lust that I'd never seen in them before.

Then I imagine him spreading my legs and wrapping them around his waist, pulling me toward him, and positioning his cock at my entrance. Slowly pushing into me. A groan escapes my lips as I push one finger into my pussy, imagining it's him, his cock in me, his body pressed against mine. I push a second finger inside myself, pull it out and push them both back in, gasping as I pick up speed, rocking against my hand as I picture Cannon's perfectly sculpted body over me, the way his hips would look as he pumped his cock into me. The way his deep voice would sound when he moaned my name aloud...

I come with the softest cry I can manage, all too aware that one wall away, in the neighboring bedroom, Cannon is probably getting ready for bed. Stripping naked. What would he think if he heard me right now?

I shut my eyes and turn my face into the water after the orgasm rushes through me, leaving my whole body loose and tingling. I finish rinsing off and getting ready for tomorrow—the big day.

Then I towel dry and pad to bed naked. Pull the covers up to my chin, then proceed to toss and turn, wondering if he's asleep yet, wondering if he sleeps in the nude too. Wondering if he's thinking about me, about my proposal. Wondering if he'll back out tomorrow, change his mind.

I wouldn't blame him. It's one thing to have NSA sex with strangers. It's another to do it with a friend, someone you work and live with, especially someone who's looking to have your baby.

He knows I won't ask him for anything, not for child support or to be involved in the kid's life. But still. I saw that guy in the parking lot go crazy. A lot can change when you think about what it really means, having a kid with half your DNA out in the world. What if Cannon changes his mind? What if he decides he can't go through with this after all?

Or what if he does, and it ruins our friendship? What if this screws everything up, makes us awkward and weird at work?

What if after what if chases itself through my mind in dizzying circles, far into the night. I lose track of when I finally fall asleep, but it's late, far too late. And all the while, there's a nagging worry at the back of my mind.

What if I just made a huge mistake?