We started at his front door, then he took me by the hand and led me into his bedroom. He had me naked before I could even think. Then it was his turn. I watched in awe as he stripped, taking off his tee first, then his jeans. My god, his body looked like a sculpture—all hard lines and muscle.
I was surprised at how urgent it all felt. Yes, I definitely wanted him, but his ardor was potent. There wasn’t much foreplay that first time. I guess you could call the conversation in the elevator foreplay. It certainly got the ball rolling.
It didn’t matter. I was ready.
After he slid on a condom, he was over me in a second. I felt him at my entrance and held my breath. He pressed inside slowly, grunting, while I gasped. It felt so good. He pulled out and pushed back in, and in no time was forceful and frantic. He seemed almost out of control.
It was amazing.
It wasn’t just the act of sex, though. It was the entire experience. The fact that Nate likes to talk dirty only enhanced it. I never thought I’d like that, but with him, I guess I did. He growled things like, “Do you like my big cock inside your sweet little pussy, baby?”
And that’s when I let go. Because dayum. That. Was. Hot.
Remembering all that has made me warm. I’m probably flushed, so I wave my hands in front of my face in an attempt to hide my reaction. Sitting on a chair in the corner, I watch as the father of my baby moves closer. “You okay?”
“Sure.” I nod, still fanning myself. “It’s just hot in here.”
Ugh.He has to know I’m full of it. It’s February, for fuck’s sake.
In order to get my mind off the sexy stuff, I take a minute to check him out. He’s dressed rather casually today. He’s wearing dark jeans that fit him perfectly. Not too loose. Not too tight. Sadly. He’s got on a casual dress shirt with a subtle blue-and-green plaid design. You have to be close to him to see the plaid. When he plops his firm, round ass in the seat next to me, he says with a sigh, “Thanks for doing this.” His voice is low and grumbly. Sexy, goddamn it.
“No problem.” It is. It’s a pain in the ass. I’ve got flower orders up the wazoo to do, but this needs to happen, and today is as good a day as any.
“Do you want to get breakfast afterwards?”
I turn my head, slowly, until we’re eye-to-eye. Is this guy for real? “Breakfast?”
“Did you already eat?”
“No.” Eating first thing in the morning has turned out to be a bad idea. No matter, I’m blinking at the man because his question is surprising. “I have to work.” I mean… “Don’t you?” Now that I know he drives an expensive black pickup truck emblazoned with the logo of a construction company with his name in the title, I can assume he must work.
He chuckles. “I have time for breakfast.”
Well,la-di-da. Isn’t he fancy? My breakfast, if I can keep it down, usually consists of nibbling on something while I arrange flowers. There’s no time for breakfast dates for people in retail. Not like it’d be a date or anything like that….
I guess he didn’t take the hint, so I ask in my grumpy tone. “So, you own a construction company?”
He looks at me for several long seconds before he says, “Yes.”
Okay. That pisses me off. Why won’t he say more? I quickly stand and move three seats down. He might as well know I’m angry. Who cares what he thinks of me, anyway? I mean, the idiot thinks I’m after his money. So, I mutter “Fucker” the second my ever-widening bottom hits the new chair. Sure, I said it quietly, but not that quietly.
“Did you just call me a fucker?” The fucker chuckles.
“Yep.” I pop thepfor effect.
“You call me a fucker because I won’t tell you what I do for a living?”
“You don’t have to tell me. I saw your truck. I assume you work with your father.” Black and Son Construction. It makes sense.
“I own a construction company. Yes.”
“What kinds of things do you construct?” That’s a good question. Right?
I guess not, because he’s glaring at me. Again. I’m getting tired of this man’s looks of irritation whenever I’m around. So, because pregnancy, apparently, makes me brave, I lean forward on my seat and say what I’ve wanted to say for three months. “You know what, Nate?”
“What?”
“I don’t need this. I don’t need you being a big ole downer in my life. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to deal with your bad mood.” I’m in a piss-poor mood enough for both of us. Just ask Robin. In the last month she’s called me everything from fussiguss to grumpapotamus. I prefer the former, if you must know. I feel like a hippo anyway. Being called a grumpy one isn’t cool.
