Chapter Twenty-One

Jenna

This careful dance we’ve been doing—the texting and occasional meet-ups for sex have been great, but I knew it couldn’t last forever. And since I haven’t heard from Emmett in a couple of days, I fear this might be the end. But then he called an hour ago to ask what I was doing this weekend, and when I replied “Absolutely nothing,” our plan was hatched.

Which means I’m currently sitting alone in my apartment waiting for him to arrive. It’s Friday night and the sun has just set. My mood is a bit melancholy, and I feel so unsure about everything. As excited as I’ve been about the pregnancy, my feelings for the man who put the bun in my oven have only grown stronger with each passing week.

Finally, a gentle knock on my door interrupts my sullen thoughts. I pull it open and find my baby daddy standing outside with a huge bunch of daisies wrapped in yellow paper in his hands.

Yellow. The color for friendship. Why does that sting so bad?

I take a deep breath and usher him inside. “Those are beautiful.”

He hands me the bouquet. “I thought your place could use some cheering up.”

He’s right. The weather has gotten cold and gray, and there’s snow in the forecast. Maybe that’s the reason I’ve been down.

“Thank you. That was sweet. And they certainly are cheery.” I head to the kitchen to fill a vase, and Emmett follows. I’d forgotten how much I’ve missed his warm presence, his scent.

As I place the flowers in some water, I can feel him watching me.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out and get crazy? Go to a bar, maybe? I can’t even drink. I’m totally boring.”

“You’re my kind of boring.” Emmett’s mouth curves into a smile and he leans in to press a soft kiss to my lips.

I level him with a serious look. “Seriously, Emmett.”

He takes my hands. “I’m not some twenty-one-year-old looking to get boozed up and laid. Actually, that last part was a lie. If sex is on the table, I’m all in.” This earns him a laugh. “But, seriously, I’m almost forty. An evening in with some good company is my idea of heaven right now.”

I turn from the kitchen, heading to the hall. I need a moment. It’s not helpful for him to be so sweet, so sensitive, so attentive. It’s not helpful for anyone. I might be fun now—but what happens when I’m nine months pregnant and huge, complete with hemorrhoids and leaky breasts? Is Emmett still going to be around then? Yeah, no. I didn’t think so.

“Come here. I want to show you something,” I say as he follows me.

I lead him back to what will be the baby’s room. It was a home office before I rearranged everything this past week. Right now, it’s little more than a dresser, boxes, and a few overfilled shopping bags. But what I really want to show him is the paint color I selected.

“What’s all this?”

A drop cloth covers the wooden floor, and two gallons of paint along with an assortment of rollers and brushes are scattered about.

“The color I chose for the nursery. It reminds me of the flowers you brought.” When Emmett frowns, I ask, “You don’t like the color?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not that. It’s just, you shouldn’t be painting by yourself, Jenna. The fumes . . .”

I hold up one hand. “There’s a lot I’m going to have to learn to do by myself, Emmett. Single mom, remember.”

His frown relaxes and he nods again. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere. But maybe I can lend a hand and help you paint this weekend.”

“Sure.”

Emmett peeks inside one of the shopping bags piled on the dresser. “You went with the gray and white.” He’s smiling again.

I nod. “I thought I’d decorate with gray and yellow. It’s safe for either gender, and if it’s a girl, I can always throw in a couple splashes of pink.”

“It’s going to look great.” He nods to the box containing the crib that needs assembling. “I’ll get that put together for you too.”

I open my mouth to tell him that’s not necessary, but Emmett shakes his head.

“I figure I have at least, what, seven, eight more months before you kick me out of your life. At least let me be useful till then.” He chuckles like this absence in my life is funny instead of overwhelmingly heartbreaking.

God, why can’t we want the same things?

On our way back down the hall, I stop in the kitchen and pick up a bottle of red wine from the shelf as Emmett enters the kitchen behind me.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“For you.”

He shakes his head. “You’re enough, Jenna. I don’t need anything but your company.”

His smile makes my knees feel weak. God, why can’t he be an asshole? This would be so much easier.

“Okay, then,” I say, setting the bottle back onto the shelf. “So, what do you want to do?”

“Watch a movie?” he suggests.

I nod. “Actually, that sounds perfect.”

We’ve never done something so casual, so domestic before, and I like the idea of it immediately.

We settle together side by side on my oversized sofa, cuddling together as the romantic comedy he let me pick begins.

It’s only a few minutes into the movie before I’m nestling closer to Emmett, increasingly distracted by the way he looks in his dark jeans and gray sweater, by the traces of his crisp, masculine cologne.

Pressing my cheek to his firm chest, I let my hand wander to his flat stomach. My heart begins hammering away, and I hope Emmett can’t tell that my thoughts have strayed from the screen and are now focused on the front of his jeans and the delightful bulge there.

If I can’t give my heart what it wants, at least I can give my body what it needs—and that’s more of Emmett.

I let my hand drift lower as I rub the soft material of his sweater. I venture lower still until I’m brushing the waistband of his jeans.

Emmett tenses under my touch. “Want something?”

I can’t help the giggle that escapes. “Jeez. Sorry, I swear I’m not normally like a fourteen-year-old boy.”

Emmett holds up both hands. “Hey, I’m not complaining.”

I smile at him, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“It’s true about the increased libido, huh?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

“I should get you pregnant more often. Who knew there would be so many perks in it for me.”

It’s the first time Emmett’s mentioned continuing our relationship beyond this pregnancy, and for a moment my heart jumps into my throat. Then I have to tell my pregnancy brain to calm down, because it takes me a second to realize he was totally kidding.

Continuing with the task at hand, I pop open the button on his jeans and push my hand inside to find him firm and ready for me.

“Damn, sweetheart.” He grunts as my hand moves up and down, and I love watching his gaze darken with lust. “Missed this,” he murmurs as he watches me slowly jack him off.

“Me too,” I whisper. We kiss for a long time as I enjoy the solid feel of him in my hand.

“Tender?” Emmett asks. He cups my full breasts, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples experimentally.

I suck in a sharp inhale. “Just a little.”

My body is changing. My breasts are fuller, and my clothes fit just a little differently. But so far, they are all welcome changes. The increased libido is a side effect I didn’t know to expect. And the reason my—my what? Sperm donor? Friend? Baby daddy, I finally settle on—is here in the first place.

After releasing the little buttons between my breasts, Emmett draws the top off over my head as though he’s unwrapping a much-anticipated Christmas present. My bra comes off next, joining my shirt on the floor beside the couch. The movie continues to play on low volume, now completely forgotten.

“Jesus, you’re sexy.” He brings his mouth to my breasts, cupping them in his large palms and teasing me with his tongue. “I’ll be careful. Go slow. Whatever you want. But please, God, I need to fuck you.”

“Yes,” I murmur.

While he strips off his sweater, I stand and push down my leggings and panties so I can step out of them. It’s impossible not to notice the way his gaze darkens with lust at the sight of my bare skin. He shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock.

“You sure?” he asks, his dark eyes meeting mine.

He’s always this way, checking in and making sure I’m okay, but for the first time it grates on me rather than making me feel safe. How can I tell him that no, I’m definitely not okay? I begged him for this—to put a baby inside me, and he did—but now I want things we both promised weren’t in the cards for us. A relationship. Monogamy. Commitment.

“I want you,” I say instead, because I do.

He brings his hand between us, teasing me and no doubt finding I’m already wet for him. Then he kisses my lips . . . deep, drugging kisses, sucking on my tongue, nipping at my neck as he continues to tease little circles over my clit.

I reach down and find his cock resting on his belly. Using both hands to stroke his generous length, I return his kisses, teasing him just like he’s teasing me.

“Enough,” he says finally. “Ride me? I want to see those gorgeous tits bounce while you fuck yourself on my cock.”

God, yes.

Shoving my feelings aside, I angle my hips while he brings himself to the needy spot between my thighs. When did I develop so many big, messy feelings? Maybe being emotional is just another by-product of pregnancy. Because right now? Gazing into Emmett’s eyes, watching him let out a low groan as I impale myself on his thick length, I’m struck by All. The. Feels.

His fingers grip my hips as he rocks into me. “You feel . . .”

I suck in a deep breath, waiting. I feel what? “Different?” I ask on a moan.

“Tighter.” He grunts, pressing himself deeper inside.

Oh, right, because that’s exactly what you want to hear when you’re months away from squeezing a human being through your vagina.

Soon I’m rocking up and down on Emmett’s stiff length, losing myself to the pleasure.

His hands on my hips guide me—slower than I would like. Normally we’re frantic and hard and fast, but not tonight. He’s being gentle, almost tender with me, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.

“Kiss me,” I beg.

He does. And it’s everything.

We make love for a long time, until he’s coaxed two orgasms from me and finally reaches his own climax with a groan.

“That was perfect.” He presses a final kiss to my lips as I climb from his lap.

Once we’ve dressed again, we make popcorn and restart our movie.

We spend the whole weekend like that—painting the nursery, cooking, watching movies, cuddling, and making love. But we don’t do the one thing I wish we could do—talk about our future. I wish I had the courage to bring it up, but the truth is, I just don’t. Not when everything has been so perfect. Every part of me wishes this could be real, but the coward inside me is fine settling for the scraps.

On Sunday evening, we make homemade pasta and play a game of Scrabble. But when night falls, Emmett rises to his feet and kisses my cheek.

“I better get going,” he says.

I watch his eyes, waiting to see them fill with longing or reluctance or regret. But I don’t see any of those things. Instead, he pats my butt and tells me to get some sleep.

After I shut and lock the door behind him, I head to my bedroom where I promptly collapse onto my bed and sob. Wrapping my arms around myself, I lay my head on the pillow and cry for so long and hard that my breath comes in gasps and starts.

Eventually, I cry myself to sleep, something I haven’t done since the night my dad left when I was a little girl.