CHAPTER 15
Bodie
I turn my truck off as soon as I pull into Rachel’s driveway, and just stare at her house for a moment while the engine continues to tick. She invited me over to dinner tonight, and I don’t know what to make of it.
It’s perplexing because for the last three nights, we’ve only been together at The Wicked Horse. Neither of us have any jobs planned this week, and I never saw her in the gym when I was there working out. But like clockwork, I’d get a text from her late afternoon that invited me to meet her at The Wicked Horse.
One thought is that now that we’ve come out in the open, she likes the thrill of us having sex in front of others. It’s sort of taboo or forbidden, and not going to lie, I get a rush from the guys at Jameson watching me with her. But I also like my alone time with her as well.
The other thought is that Rachel is using the club as a barrier between us. It’s impersonal and casual, or at least on the face of things. But what I do to her and with her is anything but, and she damn well knows it.
Why she is now inviting me into her home for dinner is troubling. I’m more apt to believe she’s going to lay something dreadful on me, like she’s changed her mind about carrying the baby.
With a sigh because I’ll never know until I just walk in there, I hop out of the truck and head up to her house. When I knock on the door, she calls from the inside, “It’s open.”
I walk into Rachel’s living room, barely noticing the ergonomic lines of her contemporary furniture or that her decor lends a spartan feel. Minimalist artwork and no personal photos anywhere. Not that I have any except a few of my family in my bedroom, but I’m a dude. I’m not supposed to be into that shit.
Upon first inhale once I cross the threshold, my mouth waters. Garlic and cheese and pungent tomatoes.
Her kitchen is open to the living area, and Rachel is standing behind a long, rectangular island that separates the two rooms, cutting up a loaf of Italian bread. She smiles at me.
It’s open and genuine, and I’m immediately put at ease.
“Smells delicious,” I say as I take a seat on one of the bar stools on the living room side.
“Lasagna,” she says as she saws through the crusty bread with a serrated knife. “Not a drop of Italian blood in me but for some reason, I make a really good lasagna. Plus, I’m craving all kinds of gooey cheese.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask, hoping there’s not so I can just sit here and watch her be domestic. Domesticity is not something I think about when I think of Rachel Hart, so I’m going to enjoy it.
“No,” she says, but then nods her head over her shoulder. “But there’s a bottle of red wine on the back counter if you want some.”
“I’m good.” In all actuality, I love wine, but I’ve just not been drinking lately. Not sure if I’m just abstaining because Rachel can’t drink, or if I just don’t want my senses dulled when I’m around her.
Rachel nods with a small smile and finishes the bread. She lays the slices on a pan, and then dabs them with a melted butter that has garlic pieces floating in it.
“So… this is nice.” She looks up at me in question, and I nod toward the bread. “You cooking dinner and inviting me.”
She gives a casual shrug. “Well, like I said… I had a craving. Why not share a meal with you?”
Hmm. That’s not exactly what I’d hoped to hear.
“It’s occurred to me,” she says casually as she pulls out the lasagna from the oven and pops in the bread. “That I don’t know much about you before you came to Jameson.”
I blink in surprise, taking my hungry gaze off the bubbling, cheesy casserole. Rachel is actually making conversation with me that doesn’t revolve around work, sex, or the baby.
“Let’s see,” I say as I lean forward and prop my forearms on the counter. She mimics me and does the same from the opposite side. I try not to get distracted by her cleavage. “I knew I didn’t want to work on my family’s farm in Nebraska, and the military seemed like a good option. I joined the Navy right out of high school and eventually became a SEAL.”
Rachel laughs and shakes her head. “You’re so casual about it. But nothing about being a SEAL is casual.”
I chuckle in response, because she’s right about that. “Then let’s just say that I might have a taste for adventure like you do.”
“Why didn’t you stay in the military?” she asks.
“It just wasn’t for me. The rules and structure. Don’t get me wrong… my time served was an amazing experience, but I didn’t want it to be a long-term career.”
“How did you get hired at Jameson?”
“Just some mutual contacts with Jerico, and they put me in touch with him.” I lean forward with a secretive smile. “Here’s a little-known fact about me. The CIA actually reached out to me, but I didn’t want to be a spook. No glory in that.”
Rachel laughs again, and I love the sound of it. She’s always so serious, and it’s nice to see her loose and relaxed. “No. Definitely no glory in that type of work.”
“Jameson was definitely the right move for me. The adventure is even better, there’s plenty of downtime to do my own thing, and the pay can’t be beaten to be honest.”
“I hear that,” she says in agreement, but then her expression sobers slightly. “But seriously… you have no qualms about giving up this career to move back to Nebraska with the baby?”
“Of course, I have qualms,” I say softly. “I love this job. But you can’t stack up a job against family. There isn’t one of my family members I wouldn’t give this career up for, even down to my little second cousins who I barely see. So, you damn well better believe it will be no sacrifice to give it up for my kid.”
Rachel’s face crumbles slightly, and she looks down at the counter. “I must seem incredibly selfish to you then.”
“God, Rachel,” I exclaim, completely startled by that. Her head pops up to look at me. “I don’t think you’re selfish at all. You’re going for what you want in life, and there’s nothing wrong with that. The selfish thing would have been to get an abortion. What you’re doing is the most selfless thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”
The timer she’d set for the bread goes off, and she looks relieved to have something else to do other than discuss this further. I watch her quietly as she pulls the bread out and sets it on top of the stove burners.
She then pulls a large knife from a drawer and proceeds to cut through the lasagna. Her back stays turned to me, her spine held stiff and straight. I want to go to her, step right into her lush backside and put my arms around her stomach. I want to press into her and assure her I don’t think badly about her at all. Would my preference be she raise the child with me?
Of course. But I can’t fault her for wanting a different life than me.
“Want to pull a couple of bottles of water out of the fridge for us?” she says over her shoulder as she plates up the lasagna and throws a piece of bread on each plate.
“Sure.” I stand from the stool, then pull the last two bottles of water in there out, depositing them on top of the counter. “Those were your last two. Where are the others? I’ll restock really quick.”
Rachel nods to her left. “In the pantry there.”
I open the pantry door, my eyes immediately dropping to a case of bottled water on the floor. I squat down, reach inside the plastic that had already been torn open, and start pulling out bottles. As I do, I glance at the lowest shelf and see an open box from Amazon sitting there. I lean forward, surprised at what I see.
DVD movies—The Lion King, Frozen, and The Little Mermaid. Under that are some books, and without hesitation, I lift the DVDs to see them more clearly.
Peter Rabbit.
Where the Wild Things Are.
The Giving Tree.
I glance back and forth between the box and the water bottles I continue grabbing. I suppose the argument could be made that perhaps Rachel has a niece or nephew those are for, but my gut tells me differently.
She’s buying stuff for the baby.
Never for a moment do I consider that she wants to stay involved. Instead, a wave of sadness hits me that it’s only about leaving a little piece of herself with the child. Nothing Rachel has done or said would lead me to believe otherwise.
♦
Rachel collapses on top of me, her body slick with sweat. She just rode my cock like she was riding a rodeo bull. Completely in command of the situation, pleasuring me and torturing me at the same time. She squeezed her breasts while she did so, pinching her nipples. I totally lost my shit when she started rubbing her clit while she bounced up and down on me, intent on getting herself off while doing the same for me.
I saw stars when I exploded, bucked my hips up so hard she almost fell off, and then she landed on top of me while laughing in that sexy, husky tone that said she knew she just rocked my world.
“I feel at this point I should ask what you want,” I say, stroking her lower back with my hand.
Her head pops up and her eyes look at me in confusion. “What I want?”
“Yeah,” I say with a sly grin. “You cook me a fabulous meal and then fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before. This is when the dude says, ‘What do you want?’.”
Rachel laughs and shakes her head. She rolls off and flips to her back beside me. “I don’t want anything. I got just as much out of this as you did. Fantastic lasagna and a nuclear orgasm.”
“It was a damn fucking good orgasm,” I say in agreement. “Oh, and the lasagna was awesome, too.”
I roll to my side, facing her. Lifting to an elbow, I rest my head in the palm of my hand. My eyes slowly travel down her body, trailing a finger right along with my gaze. Down the center of her chest, over her stomach, and right down to the closely cropped curls guarding her sex. The curls are darker, glistening with her juices and my cum. I push a finger right down in between, grazing over her clit, which causes her to groan before I push my digit inside of her. I feel her muscles contract all around me before I pull my now-soaked finger out.
I rub it around her clit lazily while I stare at what I’m doing. Rachel moans, swivels her hips, and curses under her breath. I ignore her, fascinated with how responsive her body is to me even though she just came spectacularly moments ago. I press against her clit harder, rub a little faster. Rachel’s breath comes out in choppy little pants.
“Fuck,” she barks as her hips shoot off the bed. It catches me by surprise since I didn’t think she’d come that fast, but I slip a finger back inside and sure as shit, her muscles ripple all around me as the orgasm takes control of her body.
She lets out a huge huff of relief as she sags back down into the mattress. I pull my finger out, giving a tiny flick to her clit before bringing my hand back up to rest across the lower part of her stomach.
My gaze travels up to her face, which is flushed and sweaty. She glares at me, which I find comical. She fucking enjoyed that as much as I did.
But then I notice something. I glide my palm over her belly and muse almost, “Is it me, or are you beginning to show?”
Rachel’s head lifts from the pillow, and she looks down at her stomach. “I thought I was just feeling a little bloated, but… maybe.”
I lift my hand, and we stare at her abdomen.
And yes… it’s got the tiniest, most barely perceptible pooch to it.
“Now that, Miss Hart, is sexy as fuck,” I say, looking back to her with a grin.
She rolls her eyes. “You won’t be saying that when I’m waddling around, all fat and miserable.”
“Now there you’re just wrong,” I assure her. “Knowing it’s our kid in there, I’m going to be turned on and horny as shit the entire time.”
“Well, that’s good,” she quips. “Because I’m perpetually horny.”
“It’s me, right? Not the hormones.” I waggle my brows.
“Sure, baby,” she says, lifting a hand to pat me condescendingly on the cheek. “If that’s what you want to believe.”
“Let’s put that to the test,” I tell her with a low growl. I capture her hand in mine, dragging it down my body. I force her fingers to wrap around my dick, which should be spent and utterly happy right now. It jumps at her touch and I squeeze my hand around hers, causing her to squeeze me. “Return the favor I just gave you. Hand only.”
Rachel’s eyes go from glacial blue to a dark indigo. She sucks in a harsh breath in between her nostrils, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. Rolling toward me, she starts to stroke my cock and I let my hold on her hand go.
“That’s not pregnancy hormones,” I murmur, holding back a groan of appreciation as she jacks me. “That’s all you, wanting to get me off.”
She doesn’t argue.
Just rolls further into me so she can press her lips to the base of my throat. She kisses and licks at me, all the while stroking my dick with the perfect amount of pressure and speed. I’ve never been one for hand jobs. Rather have a mouth on me, but fuck if this doesn’t feel just as good as when she was just fucking me.
And I’m not ashamed to admit that.
It’s all Rachel.
My cock goes fully hard and in no time, Rachel’s jerking me frantically. My balls tighten with an impending orgasm, and without any real thought, I bat Rachel’s hand away. I roll on top of her, take my cock in hand, and shove it inside of her still-wet pussy.
She screams, clawing at my back, and I explode inside of her. My head drops to her shoulder, and I groan deeply as I fill her back up again. I can’t get her any more pregnant than she is, but fuck if I don’t like my cum inside of her.
I roll back off, flop to my back, and take some deep breaths to get my heart rate back under control. She’s the one who now rolls toward me, elbow to mattress and head in her hand.
She grins down at me in triumph. “That was hot as hell.”
“You give excellent hand jobs,” I tell her with a return smirk.
“I like you coming inside of me,” she says, her voice going soft and breathy. Her hand strokes down my chest, to my stomach, and finally grazes along my softening dick that I’m pretty sure will be dead for a while. Still, I love the touch of her on me, even if it’s just with post-fucking affection.
“You ready for our visit next week?” she asks, and all thoughts of sex are forgotten.
Exactly a week from today, we see Dr. Anchors as Rachel will be close to the end of her first trimester. I had been tentatively scheduled to do security detail for a politician flying into Vegas, but Kynan easily replaced me so I could go with Rachel.
“I am.” I cover her hand with mine, pulling it up to hold against my chest. I turn to face her on the bed. “But nothing fun is going to happen.”
Rachel laughs. I’m going crazy waiting for the first ultrasound, but that won’t happen until she’s at least sixteen weeks. Dr. Anchors didn’t think it was medically necessary on her first visit since she was in such great health with no risk factors other than her age of thirty-five.
“We have to decide if we want to do the amniocentesis,” she says as she glances down to where our hands are interlocked. I expect her to pull away from me at any time, because Rachel’s never been big into affection or post-coitus snuggling.
She doesn’t, though.
“You have to decide,” I say with emphasis. “That’s totally up to you. Fuck if I’d want a damn needle stuck in my belly like that.”
Giving my hand a squeeze, she says, “I’d do it if you want me to. I think he said the time to do it would be between fourteen and sixteen weeks.”
Her eyes search mine, perhaps trying to discern my true feelings, but I know what they are. “It isn’t necessary, Rachel. Even if it showed abnormalities, I’d still want the baby.”
A tenderness I’d never seen before takes over her entire face, and her hand squeezes mine again but doesn’t relax. It grips me tightly, and her smile is soft. “Yeah… I know that about you. You’d want the baby no matter what. But would you like to know so we can be prepared?”
I don’t bother pointing out to her that she said “we” instead of “you”. She almost makes it sound like a team effort after the birth, but I think that was merely a slip of her tongue.
However, she brings up a good point. If we knew there was a problem ahead of time, we could at least be better prepared to welcome him or her into the world.
So the baby could have every need met.
“Maybe we should,” I muse.
“We should,” she says confidently. “I don’t like the unknown.”