God, I ached. Ached in places I didn’t even know I could ache in. But even waking up to all kinds of uncomfortable twinges, I wouldn’t change the past almost two weeks for anything. I’d never thought sex could be like this. I’d fantasized about it, but even my wildest daydreams didn’t hold a candle to the reality. Not of being with John, staring into his eyes as he thrust deep inside me. As he filled me with every inch of him over and over until he made me see stars.
My pussy tingled, the subtle throb in my clit distracting, but not enough for me to wake him. I glanced over as he lay on his stomach, sleeping soundly with his arms thrown overhead. The sheet rode low on his hips, showing off his toned back and the dimples at the base of his spine that I’d licked last night. It was the first morning he hadn’t woken me with his face between my legs or his cock already sliding inside.
Exhaustion cloaked him, though that was to be expected considering he’d spent the past two days doing nothing but working hard for my pleasure. As if that wasn’t amazing enough, he’d also taken it upon himself to make me breakfast in bed while I’d lain dutifully with a pillow beneath my hips. Under strict orders from him not to move an inch. He’d practically waited on me hand and foot, jumping at even the slightest suggestion from me. Hell, last night he’d gone out at ten o’clock to get a box of brownie mix because I’d mentioned a sudden intense craving for them.
I wasn’t even pregnant yet, and already he treated me like a queen. His queen.
The least I could do was let him sleep while I prepared him breakfast. I slipped out of bed, careful not to jostle the mattress as I slunk away. I pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and plucked one of John’s T-shirts off the chair in the corner before sliding it over my head. Since he’d started staying at my place, he’d made sure the kitchen was stocked with more than ice cream and frozen dinners, so I knew I’d have no problem whipping up some eggs and bacon for him.
Fifteen minutes later, the bacon sizzled as the vegetables finished sautéing, ready for the whipped eggs. I poured them into the pan, humming to myself as I thought of what John would say when I brought this in to him. Eyes sleepy, smile quick and free-flowing, he’d pull me into his side, make me curl right up against him—and probably feed me two bites for every one he fed himself. My gentle giant, always taking care of me.
The doorbell rang as I flipped the last piece of bacon. I wiped my hands on the towel and strode to the front door, peering through the peephole. John’s mom stood on my quaint front porch, serene smile on her face, looking like everything was perfectly normal. Like I wasn’t on the other side of the door in her son’s shirt, still sore from when he’d woken me at three in the morning and taken me nice and slow and deep.
Oh God. John’s mom was here. While her son—the son no one knew was staying with me—was in my bed. Naked.
I spun in a circle, hands fluttering at my sides as I tried to figure out what to do. I couldn’t very well ignore her—my car was outside. Sweet Lord, so was John’s. There was no avoiding this, no hiding the fact that he was in my house. That wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary—my family stopped by all the time. But this early in the morning while I was obviously fresh out of bed? Shit.
While John hadn’t specifically come out and said he didn’t want to tell everyone, his unvoiced actions spoke as loud—louder—than his words. But there wasn’t anything I could do about the situation we found ourselves in now.
Smoothing back my bed head, I pasted on a smile and opened the door. “Yvonne! This is a nice surprise. What’re you doing here?”
She leaned in for a one-armed hug, juggling a couple pieces of Tupperware in the other. “Morning, honey. Your father begged me to make some oatmeal cookies. I did, of course—can’t say no to the man—but I told him I’d be sending half of them away. He’ll eat them in one sitting if I don’t!”
I laughed, though it felt forced. Felt like my insides were turning to cement. “I may have seen him do that a time or two.”
“I’m sure you know all about it.” She patted my hand, then stepped inside. “I’ll put these in the kitchen for you.”
“Um, sure. Thanks for thinking of me.” Hands wringing, I followed on her heels, glancing down the hallway toward the open door of my bedroom. Praying John would stay sleeping and I could make something up if I had to. Get her to leave as soon as possible.
“Smells good!” she said.
“Oh, thanks.” I hurried over to stir the eggs before turning off the burners and removing the pans from the stove. “Just making some breakfast…” Some breakfast that was obviously too much for only me, the discarded shells of half a dozen eggs stacked in the empty carton I hadn’t yet thrown away.
Should I get two plates out? Or should I pretend like I always cooked this much food and then just…didn’t eat it? Maybe she’d play along like nothing was unusual. Maybe she’d pretend for everyone’s sake.
“Is John here?” Yvonne asked as she took a seat at the dining table. “I saw his car out front.”
And there it was. No playing along. No pretending. And definitely no getting around this.
I swallowed, attempting to impart some moisture to my suddenly dry mouth. “Um, yeah. He’s—”
“Is that bacon?” John said as he turned the corner into the kitchen, sweat pants hanging indecently low, held up seemingly only by the biteable curve of his ass. He scratched his bare stomach and stifled a yawn before freezing when his eyes landed on Yvonne. “Mom? What are you doing here?”
She lifted a single eyebrow as she gave him a quick once-over. “I could ask you the same thing.”
John recovered much quicker than I did, walking straight to the cupboard that held the plates. He pulled a couple down before nudging me over to sit next to Yvonne at the table. “You won’t, though.”
Yvonne’s lips dipped down at the corners as she glanced over at me before bringing her attention back to John. “No, I won’t. There are some things even a mother doesn’t need to know. Now if your father were still alive—”
“Mom.” John’s tone brooked no argument. It was one of finality. A warning in a single syllable.
Yvonne rolled her eyes, then turned to me, placing her hand on top of mine as it rested on the table. “Emery, I hope you’re feeling better. Your dad said you were sick. It looks like you’re able to keep some things down now.” She lifted her chin to the food John had slipped in front of me as he settled in a chair with his own plate.
I glanced down at the eggs and bacon I’d made for John in an effort to be good to him for once instead of the other way around. And suddenly my excuse of being sick didn’t seem like merely an excuse, after all. My stomach churned as dread worked its way through my body. I hated lying. More than that, I hated that I needed to. “Um, yeah. Just a little bug, I think. I’m feeling better now.”
John dug into his eggs, content to let silence reign, but I couldn’t eat. Not even when he nudged my fork toward me, still silent. I hadn’t exactly been expecting a declaration at an inopportune time like this, but was he seriously going to sit there and pretend like this was all normal? Like it was perfectly acceptable to be at my house at eight in the morning, wearing only sweat pants, and eating breakfast with me? Apparently.
“Cookies probably won’t be good for you yet,” Yvonne said, breaking the overpowering silence, “but don’t let my son eat everything I brought you. He can be greedy when he wants to be.” She shot John a look, her lips pursing to the side as she studied him.
He ignored that, instead asking, “You going out to the cemetery today?”
“Of course,” she said. “I go every year. You know that.”
I barely had time to register the fact that they were talking about cemeteries and the whys for that when John pushed away from the table, already finished with his breakfast.
“I do.” John nodded as he slipped behind me, running a single finger along my shoulders, before leaning down to hug his mom. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He might as well have said, Time to get the hell out, Mom. The directive was clear, though. To everyone.
“You’d better.” She sat for a moment, staring up at him once he stood to his full height, her eyes shining in the light. “Be a good man.” Her voice cracked, but she cleared her throat no doubt in an attempt to conceal it. She turned her face away and grabbed her bag as she stood to leave.
I stood, too, uncomfortable in my own home. Uncomfortable in my own skin, the lies I’d told Yvonne and my dad still bitter on my tongue. The possible repercussions sitting heavy in my gut.
A soft smile curved her lips as she rested her hands on my shoulders then pulled me in for a hug. “Come see your father today. He’s worried about you.”
I swallowed down the sudden lump in my throat, blinked back the burn in my eyes. I couldn’t speak, too fearful I’d open my mouth and cry instead, so I nodded. She pulled back, offered John one last look, then slipped out the front door.
John stood at the sink, rinsing his breakfast plate, before loading it into the dishwasher. Then he grabbed the pans and began washing them, all the while remaining silent. Like this was any other morning. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like his mom hadn’t walked in on him here. In an obvious state of undress. With his stepsister. Like I hadn’t lied to her, hadn’t lied to my dad the other night. Like I wasn’t sick about the whole damn thing.
“You’re not going to say anything?” I finally asked when the silence got to be too much.
“About what?”
“About what? Are you serious?” I slammed my hand on the table, the frustration and anger and…hurt…too much to keep bottled up inside. “About the fact that your mom was here and you’re there all—” I gestured to his bare back, the defined V of his hips on full display. God, if I looked hard enough, I could see the outline of his cock behind the thin cotton. No. There was definitely no mistaking exactly what had been going on before Yvonne had arrived. “And now you have nothing to say? I lied to your mom, John. I lied to her.” My voice cracked, the repercussions of what we’d done weighing down on me—not just being together, but keeping it from our family. Lying about it.
He braced his hands against the counter, his head hanging as he blew out a sigh. “I’ll take care of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ll take care of it.” Once done with the dishes, he wiped his hands on the towel before tossing it to the side. He walked over to me, brushing a kiss on my forehead on his way toward the bedroom. “Why don’t you eat your breakfast? I need to head into the station for a bit.”
I sat in the chair, staring after where he’d gone as sounds of John getting ready filtered down the hallway. The station? I had John’s schedule memorized, and I knew for a fact he had today off. He’d found someone to cover his regular forty-eight on shift when I’d gotten the first sign on the ovulation tester, which meant he was just at the start of his standard two days off.
As if it weren’t bad enough that we were lying to our family, now he was lying to me?
Minutes later, he walked out of the bedroom in jeans and a T-shirt, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. “Hey.” He slipped a finger under my chin, tipping my face up to look at him. “I won’t be gone long. And don’t stress about my mom. I’ll talk to her.”
Then he dropped a chaste kiss on my lips and walked away. Leaving me sitting with all these emotions swirling inside me—anxiousness and anger and hurt. Uncertainty so deep it was all I could think about. My heart full of pain caused by the one person I never thought would do such a thing.