Fall with Me / Page 40

Page 40


My head was buzzing when I heard him say, “Don’t move.”

Only a handful of seconds passed before I felt him wiping something soft across my lower back and rear. It dragged what sounded like a mewl out of me, because I was pretty sure every part of my body was overly sensitive now.

The bed shook as he flopped down next to me, and it took great effort for me to turn my head in his direction.

One arm was tossed over his eyes, and my gaze got hung up on that heavy bicep for a moment. He was smiling.

I smiled.

“Roxy,” he said, lowering his arm. He looked at me, his dark lashes so incredibly thick. I realized I never quite captured them that well when I painted them. “Are you on the pill?”

As the haze cleared from my head, my limbs suddenly went stiff as his question filtered through my thoughts. Are you on the pill? Yes. I was on the pill. I took it. When I remembered. There’d been a dry spell this last year, and I always used condoms, sooo I sometimes forgot to take it. When was the last time I forgot? Two weeks ago? Was it more than one pill? Oh dear baby Jesus, my heart started to pound.

“I wasn’t thinking.” He reached over with his other hand, rubbing his palm against my back. “I’ve never done that before. Swear to God, I’ve never forgotten to wear a condom.”

“Neither have I. I’m on the pill,” I said quietly. “But I . . . I think I missed a day or something a couple weeks ago.”

Reece didn’t spring out of the bed like his ass was on fire. He studied me a moment, then leaned over and rose up so he was hovering over me. He kissed my cheek. “I pulled out. We’ll be fine. And if that didn’t work . . .” He kissed the corner of my lips. “We’ll still be okay.”

Oh God.

Oh fuck me! Tears crawled up my throat. I don’t know why. I was so stupid. Maybe it was because he wasn’t freaking out about the slight chance that some sort of insemination just went down. Or maybe it was because he was so damn fucking—ugh—fucking everything.

I had sex with him again—unprotected sex—and I let my hormones get the best of me, and I still hadn’t told him the truth about that night.

He kissed me again and then playfully smacked my bum as he rose. “Come on. An orgasmic omelet awaits us.”

I stared at him from my prone position on my belly.

A boyish grin crossed his features as he rolled off the bed. He bent over, grabbing his pants off the floor. Pulling them on, he winked at me. “Mind if I use your toothbrush?”

At this point, did it matter if he did? “No.”

“Your ass better be out of this bed by the time I get done.” He then winked and turned, walking out of the bedroom.

Barefoot. Shirtless. His pants weren’t even buttoned!

I lay there for a moment, unsure of what I should freak out more over. The fact I was a bitch for still not telling him the truth or that I could’ve just gotten myself knocked up?

Okay. The knocking up part was highly unlikely and I needed to devote my freak-out energy to something more relevant—the whole bitch part.

When I heard the water turn off in the bathroom and the door open, I was the one who sprung from the bed like my ass was on fire. I’d just grabbed a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top when he appeared in the doorway.

I was still buckass naked, and he totally noticed.

Striding back into the bedroom, he wrapped one arm around my waist and lifted me up off my feet and kissed me. He tasted of mint and male, and I almost dropped my clothes.

“You’re moving too slow this morning.” Bending at the waist, he hoisted me up over his shoulder. “I have to intervene.”

I let out a shriek that was a half-startled laugh. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”

“Taking your sweet ass”—his hand landed on my ass, causing me to jerk—“yeah, this sweet ass to the bathroom.”

He pivoted around as I held on to my clothes for dear life and then walked my sweet ass to the bathroom, depositing me on my feet. His hands lingered though, on my bare hips and then my breasts. He made a deep sound in his throat as he lowered his forehead to mine. “Now I’m thinking about getting you in that shower and—”

“Go,” I laughed, pushing at his chest. “As much as I like the idea of us getting all wet and whatnot, we’re never going to get that omelet.”

Or get to talk.

“Hmm.” His hand slipped to my rear. Tugging me against him, he squeezed, and as crazy as it was, my body started to rev up all over again. The man was living, breathing sex! He brushed his lips to the skin just above my eyebrow. “I’m thinking about saying fuck the omelet again.”

Oh my. The idea was tempting. Everything about him was tempting, but I managed to get him out of the bathroom. While I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and then washed my face, I made myself promise I was not going to let anything get in the way of talking to him.

Taking a deep breath, I caught my reflection in the mirror as I tugged my hair up in the ponytail. Where in the heck were my glasses? Good question. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes wide, and my lips had that swollen, totally been-kissed-for-hours look.

I straightened the blue and white polka-dotted toothbrush holder and then made a serious expression at myself in the mirror.

I looked half stupid.

Everything was going to be okay. Reece . . . well, he wasn’t going to be happy, but he would be okay. I mean, hell, he didn’t flip out about the unprotected sex thing, and he basically said if we just created a baby Reece or baby Roxy, then we’d be okay. So he had to be okay with this. I was just making a mountain out of a molehill. Like Charlie would’ve said, I was being a drama queen.

Time to pull it together.

Sighing, I whirled around and left the bathroom. Spying my glasses on the coffee table, I snatched them up and slipped them on.

Reece was in my kitchen and he’d already found the frying pan, which wasn’t hard since it wasn’t like I had that many cabinets. The eggs were already on the counter. He looked at me over his shoulder as he grabbed fresh peppers and a bag of shredded cheese out of the fridge.

Seeing him in my kitchen, shirtless and barefoot with all that golden skin on display was something I could really get used to.

I wanted to paint him—like this. With his back to me, the muscles corded and strong.

“I was thinking,” he said, tossing those items on the counter. He went for the milk next. “I got to work tonight and you’re working Wednesday through Saturday, right?”


Prev Next