His gaze drops back to his device and he continues,“She fisted her hand in his thick hair. ‘Charles!’ she whimpered. She pushed his head down, slowly, past her taut belly. ‘I need your mouth…here.’”
Am I pregnant? I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant. I’m pretty sure every person capable of childbearing in a three-block radius is pregnant.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I stand suddenly.
He stands with me, setting his tablet down. “What do you need?”
“I need…”To break a headboard with you. “I need to take a shower,” I gasp. A cold one.
He reaches for me, about to hoist me up to shepherd me to the bathroom.
I still his attempt and bring my mouth a whisper’s breadth away from his.
He freezes for a moment, and then his lips move over mine, and we kiss in earnest as his arms come around me. He eases me down to the sofa, his delicious weight settling against me.
I arch, rubbing against him, and he groans into my mouth. His tongue tangles with mine, and then he’s kissing my neck, sucking, biting.
“Wreck me. You fucking wreck me,” he says.
He pivots so that now he’s on his back and I’m on top. I straddle him and lean forward. He pulls my tank top down, exposing me, and his tongue is on me, licking, flicking. His mouth moves to my other breast, and his hands are on my ass. I reach between us to run my hand over the hard ridge of him, leaning back.
“Ow!” I cry. “My ankle!”
Jack freezes. “Shit, let me—”
He sets me down gently next to him on the sofa. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be doing this when you’re injured.”
Sanity washes back over me in a wave of cold clarity. He breathes heavily, then stands abruptly and walks away.
16
Margie’s apartment, a rent-controlled gift from the grandmother who helped raise her, overlooks the American Museum of Natural History. We often like to walk through the museum together, especially when one of us is in crisis. There’s something about strolling through a building that’s been around since 1877 that screams, “Your problems are not permanent.”
But right now, the museum is long closed. It’s dark out.
And I have a hickey. I pull out my phone to look at my reflection again and rub the unsightly thing like it’ll scrub off. It looks ridiculous.Ridiculous. And hot? No.
My nipples tighten. Disgusted with myself, I leap up from Margie’s sofa and throw my apartment keys and some essentials into my purse. I reach for my crutch.
“Where are you going?” Margie asks, looking up from her magazine.
“Back to my apartment. I’m not going to hide.”
“It’s late!”
“It’s not even eleven.”
Margie purses her lips thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything for a bit. She’s already made her feelings about Jack known, in addition to all the things she’d like to do to him for “hurting” me.
“And don’t do anything stupid to Jack. Okay?” I say.
She looks mildly guilty. “I may have signed him up for a shit ton of MLM websites. Oh, and about a dozen used car dealership listservs. If he isn’t already being spammed by skin care and dietary supplement offers, he will be.”
“Margie! Itoldyou I was the one who kissed him and then lobbed an insult at his head when I made him stop. And where did you even get his email address?”
“Internet search? His work email was public… Okay, okay! I screwed up. It’s just that I don’t like seeing you upset. It’ll probably all go to spam anyway. Bright side? Maybe he’s in the market for a gently used Camry.”
