Chapter Ten

Emmett

As soon as we’re inside my bedroom, I devour Jenna’s mouth. She moans and starts tearing at my clothes.

I can’t get her naked fast enough. I kiss and suck and nip at her breasts, laving her pebbled nipples with my tongue. She arches into me like she’s been waiting for this all day, just like I have, then pulls me backward onto the bed, on top of her. Kissing her deeply, I caress the soft skin of her inner thighs, teasing as I get closer to the lovely place between them, doing my best to melt her into a pliant mess.

When her sighs turn shaky, I spread her legs, putting her on full display. Wet and ready . . . gorgeous. I take a moment to admire the view before pushing her knees up to her chest.

I press my hips forward and let out a broken moan as I press the head of my cock into her tight, slick heat. Fuck, I hope I never get used to the sensation of bareback fucking . . . Jenna has spoiled me for condoms. She answers with a throaty, lilting noise, her toes curling. I sink in deeper, loving every new sensation.

At last, the back of her thighs touch my stomach and I’m buried to the hilt. With every thrust, she arches up to meet me, her red-painted lips parting in bliss, and I’ve never seen anything so hot in my life. Her sultry moans hit me like whiskey. I love the heady, desperate noises she makes when I stroke her clit. I drink in every delicious shudder of her prone body.

“That’s it,” I say, peppering her neck with kisses and bites. “Let me hear your voice. Tell me how good you’re feeling.”

She wails out a shapeless sound that could be “more.”

I obey and push my hips harder, giving her everything I have. She moans, louder this time, and rakes her nails down my back. The slight pain only enhances my pleasure by contrast. Jenna under me, around me, is the best part of this week. Just to see her so passionately unhinged, our breaths panting and mingling. My blood is so hot for her, this woman who crawled into bed yesterday so quiet and resigned, but now is completely reckless with want.

“You’re so sexy like this,” I growl into her ear. “So . . . good.” I can’t resist the urge to suck a bruise into that soft, tender skin on her neck.

God, she feels so incredible it almost hurts, her pussy muscles fluttering around my cock, drawing me deeper in, and then, oh fuck, she’s clamping down hard in rhythmic waves and I’m past the point of no return. A ragged groan rises from deep in my chest. I bury myself even deeper inside as I plunge headlong after her into orgasm.

Still panting, I pull out and see the evidence of our lovemaking on her pink flesh. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My chest fills with animalistic pride. My seed in my woman. I like that thought way too much, and I’m too lost in lust to push it away.

The sight of her, the sounds she makes, the way she feels, it’s like a fever that engulfs me. Visceral, irresistible. I need to make her come again . . . come so hard, so many times, no one else will ever be good enough for her.

She drags me up and kisses me hungrily. A primal light flashes in her half-lidded eyes. I can tell she doesn’t need a moment of rest, and fortunately, neither do I. Our bodies demand more of each other . . . more pleasure, more sweat, and more of my seed. And I give it to her.

Jenna’s orgasms always seem to overwhelm her. Her eyes flutter shut, then fly open, and she gasps wow or oh my God, like she’s shocked by how good it feels. Like she didn’t know sex could be so enjoyable.

What kind of crappy lovers has she put up with? I’m almost angry at every man who’s ever touched her—not because they came before me, but because they clearly didn’t give her what she deserved. It’s a crime that such an amazing woman has been deprived of good sex for so long. So, every time she comes, I take it as a personal challenge to push her to even more orgasms, even greater heights of pleasure.

When our passion finally simmers down from a boil to quiet completion, I take the chance to gather her into my arms. Now she looks warm and hazy, softened in the afterglow. She strikes me as a woman who doesn’t often let herself slow down, let alone stop and be lazy and content—something else we have in common. She offers me a sated little half smile, and I return it.

Then she rolls over to the edge of the bed. “Sorry to run so soon, but . . .”

I can’t help the frown that pulls on my lips. I don’t want her to just rush off again. “Hey, where’s the fire?” I ask, sitting up.

“I have to drive home, figure out some dinner, and get to sleep so I can function at work tomorrow.” She leans down to pick up her bra and starts pulling it on.

I rest my hand on her still-bare shoulder. “Sleep is overrated, and I have food here. Or we could walk down to my favorite café and order breakfast for dinner.”

A stone forms in my stomach during the moments of silence that follow my suggestion.

She considers it, her mouth pressing into a line. “Pancakes actually sound pretty tempting. There’s probably nothing good in my fridge anyway.”

“Pancakes it is, then.”

I’m pleased to score what is technically a third date. I enjoy talking with Jenna as much as I enjoy trying to knock her up. And I like how normal it feels to eat together and do other things besides fuck. It may sound strange, but I haven’t met a woman whose company I truly enjoy outside the bedroom in a long time. I may as well savor it while it lasts.

After we’re dressed, we walk down the street a few blocks to the café. After we’ve ordered, I lean toward her over the small table. “So, how was work today?” Then I shake my head. “Wait, never mind, you said you don’t like talking about work. What would you like to talk about?”

She considers for a moment. “Tell me . . . what do you like to do for fun?”

“What we’re doing now is pretty fun. It’s sort of my number-one thing to do for fun, truth be told.” My smile crooks into a smirk.

She gives me a gently exasperated look. “I meant other than seeing women.”

“Usually work takes all my time, but every once in a blue moon, I manage to get away from the city and go camping or hiking.”

She blinks. “You’re a nature lover?”

“Oh yeah, big time.” I raise an eyebrow teasingly. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I admit, it’s a little tough to picture you in hiking boots and canvas shorts. I’ve never seen you in anything less than business casual.”

“You’ve seen me in a lot less, actually.”

She chuckles. “You know I meant other than naked. So, how did you get into that? Not exactly the easiest hobby for a city boy.”

“I don’t often get time to go anymore, but yeah, the outdoors is a major stress reliever for me.”

I must not have been able to keep the disappointment from my voice. Something about Jenna makes it easy to overshare . . . but I shouldn’t give in to the impulse. This is supposed to be a lighthearted fling, and talking about childhood disappointments is the very opposite of fun.

I lean back and force a casual tone. “Even though I had to study business in college so I could take over when Dad retired, I took so many classes in stuff like canyoneering and ecology, I ended up declaring a second major in outdoor tourism. So, if you ever want to know the best way to fall off a mountain or what plants you can eat if you’re lost in the woods, then I’m your guy.” I chuckle, but it comes out half-assed, and I figure it’s time to change the subject. “Since we’re talking ancient history . . . how did you get to be such a bookworm?”

“Childhood is ancient history? Hey, what’re you implying about my age?” She smiles to let me know she’s just kidding and isn’t really insulted. “I don’t know. I’ve just always loved reading. My dad . . .” She stops with her mouth still open, closes it, then resumes. “My mom was always working and I was an only child, so books kept me company. Typical latchkey kid.”

I stop myself from digging deeper into that Freudian slip since she clearly doesn’t want to share. I, of all people, can understand one’s father being a sore subject. Besides, I’m not supposed to care in the first place. I’m not supposed to want to get closer—I mean, I don’t want to. It’s just simple curiosity. That’s absolutely all it is.

But there is something else I can’t stop myself from asking. “Speaking of your mom . . . she called you when we first met?”

“Oh God, don’t remind me.” Jenna laughs instead of groaning, though it’s clearly not such a horrible memory anymore.

“Sorry,” I say with a chuckle. I’m not really sorry, not about the events that led me to sitting here in this restaurant with Jenna after a night of wild sex. “But she knows about your . . . plans?”

She nods matter-of-factly, as if there’s nothing unusual about it. “Yep. Her attitude is, she raised me alone and I turned out fine, so she figures I can pull off single motherhood too.”

Interesting . . . implying the Dad Who Must Not Be Named either died or ran off. Either way, I can see why she doesn’t want to talk about him. “She sounds like a cool lady,” I say.

Jenna chuckles. “I don’t know if ‘cool’ is the word I’d use. She likes crocheting, kitten figurines, and reality shows. But hard as nails? Take no shit? That’s my mom.”

I laugh and almost say, I’d like to meet her someday. But at the last second, I swallow it. Getting to know Jenna’s family isn’t in the cards for us. How would she even introduce us? Hi, Mom, this is the guy who agreed to impregnate me.

Instead, I say, “I’m sure she’s right. You can handle anything.”

Jenna’s smile is appreciative and vulnerable and far too beautiful. “Thanks. I hope so.”

The pancakes arrive and we dig in with gusto, still chatting away. Our conversation winds on late into the night, and eventually Jenna glances at the time on her phone.

“I should probably say good night,” she says at last with a wry twist of her mouth. “I have to get up early for work tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you back to your car.” I stand and offer my arm, and she takes it without hesitation.

We stroll through the quiet city streets together to my building. I follow her to her car, say good night one last time, and watch her drive away. Then I take the elevator upstairs to my empty penthouse.

As I walk down the hall, I remember how Jenna’s presence earlier seemed to fill the silence. She warmed this place.

I strip naked and get into bed. It’s gone cold by now, but the sheets still smell like her. Her sweat, her pleasure, her light floral perfume.

I stare at the pattern of shadows on the ceiling. Unbidden, the thought comes that this place is too big for just one person. It’s not the first time I’ve had that thought, but for some reason, tonight I can’t push it away like I usually do. Four thousand square feet is a little excessive for one person, I knew that when I bought the place, but it seemed fitting for the lifestyle I live. Always doing what’s expected of me, yet never doing what I want. A sense of melancholy takes over as I reflect on my future—or lack of a future—with Jenna.

We entered this strange little un-relationship to get Jenna pregnant. But once I succeed . . . I’m going to miss this warmth, I realize. Jesse was right. I don’t normally date women who are my age, or so smart and career-driven, or so sassy and kind in equal measure. Jenna stimulates me in many more ways than just physical.

No, dumbass, this isn’t dating, I think, correcting myself. We aren’t in this for the romance. Really, we can’t even become friends. We agreed right off the bat that we’d stay out of each other’s lives. The instant she pees on a stick and sees the plus sign she’s been longing for, it’s all over.

My life is about fulfilling obligations, doing what’s expected of me, and this is what Jenna wants and expects from me. Nothing more. That thought alone is enough to give me pause.

Rolling over, I shut my eyes. Enjoy this while it lasts, Emmett, and then move on.

Just like you do with everything else.