“All so you can prove yourself?”
“Yes.”
I can’t even lie. It’s not just about proving I can make her come. I want to show her that not every man is a selfish bastard who’s going to disappoint her. That she’s worth the time and attention.
“I—”
A knock sounds, and the door opens. “So sorry, guys,” Dr. Amato steps in then comes to a stop. “Oh, do you want me to?—”
“No, we’re just talking.” Callie lightly pushes against my chest.
I straighten and go take a seat. She’ll probably never take me up on my offer, and I’m not even sure why I give a shit, but the thought of her always thinking I’m mediocre at sex just doesn’t sit right.
I’ve made a lot worse mistakes in my life than sleeping with Callie Carlisle one more time.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Callie
* * *
I lie in bed, my hand on my stomach, feeling relieved since the declaration from Dr. Amato that this pregnancy is moving forward. Not that I thought there were any issues, but late one night while Foster was away, I read a little too deep into some Reddit groups that suggested not to get your hopes up yet—a lot happens before that twelfth week.
Now that I feel more at ease with the pregnancy, Foster’s obsession about me not having an orgasm and offering a do-over to prove himself is at the forefront of my mind.
It’s ludicrous. I mean, we’re doing something admirable here. We’re being responsible adults for our unborn child. We cannot sleep together, but the truth is… I really wouldn’t mind saying fuck being an adult and being a little reckless instead.
I’ve been so thankful for the kind of pregnancy I’m having so far. The little nausea I felt has subsided, and ever since Foster made me dinner, I’ve wondered what it would be like to be on my knees in front of him, my hands hooked on either side of his hips, drawing those gray sweatpants down as I watched his eyes turn feral. For me. To take a man like him to the brink of losing control would be like having a gold star pinned to my chest.
My grave would read, Callie Carlisle—daughter, sister, mother—the woman who made Foster Davis crack his quartz countertop when she went down on him.
Ugh.
I roll over and try to get comfortable again, but all I can think about is Foster taking his time with me, doubling down and making sure I have more than one orgasm. It’s hard not to imagine what he could do with those large hands and long fingers. What it might feel like if he?—
An alarm blares in the condo, and I bolt up, looking around as if someone is in my room.
Is someone trying to break into the condo building?
I throw off the covers and tiptoe across the floor so I don’t alert anyone I’m in here. I’m not trying to be a jerk, but go pick the six-foot-three tattooed baseball player. I’m busy growing a human here.
My door creaks opens and a dim light floods in. I scramble to find anything to hit the person with, but I’ve got nothing, so I grab a pillow and cover my stomach.
Foster peeks his head in. “Stay in your room and lock the door.” He slams my bedroom door shut.
“Wait!” I call and follow.
Foster is shirtless with a pair of athletic pants on, slipping into his slides by the door. “Do you ever listen?”
I ignore his ornery behavior. “What’s going on?”
“It’s the downstairs alarm. Someone must’ve tried to get in past the gate.”
I rush to my bedroom, grab my sweatshirt from the chair, and go out to the main area, feeling safer in the condo now that I know the possibility of them being in here is slim.
“I told you stay in your room.”
