“You’ll see when we go to that birthday party next weekend,” he said, clearly oblivious to the loud ticking coming from her biological clock.
She hugged herself below the waist, but it was pointless. Every cell in her reproductive system was on alert. National security had its code red. Baby lust came in code pink and blue.
“You okay?” He leaned closer and touched her face so, so sweetly.
“Yes.” No. Make that a big, fat no. More accurately, a big, she-wished-she-was-fat-because-she-was-pregnant fat, with dill pickles dipped in Cheez Whiz, no. “I’m fine.”
“You look kind of freaked out.”
“Maybe I’m a little bit stressed.”
“Because I’m meeting your ex, or Dylan? Don’t be. I can handle Scott and I’ll do whatever it takes to win your son’s approval.”
How had she managed to snag this amazing man, even temporarily? “I have no doubt about either of those things.”
“Good.” He smiled, and the room got brighter.
“And I’ll try to relax.” While she was at it, she’d try not to think about making babies and playing house.
“Even better.” A kiss followed the smile, one that made her lightheaded to the point of almost tipping out of the chair. “I think you’d better finish those eggs before you pass out.” He offered her the empty fork, taunting her by pulling it back when she reached for it. “Unless you’d rather I show you
my
excellent spoon-feeding abilities.”
“No!” She snatched the utensil.
Her
eggs couldn’t take that kind of demonstration.
* * * * *
Her arm swept across the other side of the bed Wednesday morning. Empty. And cold. As the sleepy fog dissipated, the memory returned. Mason’s pager going off at an ungodly hour, his irritated cursing as he fumbled around in the dark for his phone. Then a softer curse as he slid out of bed to head for the clinic. An emergency call. Never a happy thing.
That had been around two-thirty in the morning. According to the clock finally coming into focus, that was nearly four hours ago. He was probably exhausted and starving. Not much she could do about the first issue. The second problem, though—she was all over that one.
His truck stood alone in front of the clinic. Normally, he parked out back. The clients with the emergency must’ve been waiting when he pulled in. And now they were gone.
The buzzer over the main door chirped when she pushed through it, but Mason didn’t appear. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the sole noise in the building. No water running or equipment operating, no footsteps. Most notably, no animal sounds. More than a little foreboding. Her feet wanted to turn around and walk out the door.
The feet didn’t win, she forced them to make their way to his office instead. The blinds were closed and the lights off. Only the glow from the computer screen lit the room. Mason’s chair faced the monitor, but he wasn’t working. He sat in a reclined position, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. Good thing she hadn’t called out to him from the reception area. She set the bag of food on the edge of his desk, cringing at the too-loud, synthetic crinkle. Right now, he needed sleep more than breakfast.
“Don’t go.” His voice stopped her withdrawal from the room as effectively as a physical restraint.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You didn’t.” Slowly, he swiveled to face her and patted his lap. “C’mere. I need you.”
That kind of invitation usually worked like a match to dynamite, setting off one giant charge between her legs. Something about his tone made this different. The overwhelming pull was the same, just focused higher. She went to him. Eased onto his knee, only to be pulled higher, closer. Tighter, enough to make breathing difficult—and she let him.
He spoke with his face buried in her hair. “I wanted to call you so bad.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You need your sleep.”
“I need you more. Mason, I—” The words spilled out, evading her guard. An automatic response to his raw emotional state. But she reined her tongue before the last two words escaped. “I’m here for you, always.”
“It was fucking horrible.”
Anything that upset him this much, she didn’t want to know. But for him, she was willing to hear it. “You want to talk about it?”
“I’ve seen a lot of cruelty, working at the shelters. Beatings, stabbings, worse shit than you could imagine. Never in
my
practice, though.”
“Somebody hurt their pet then brought it in for treatment?”
“No, nothing like that. This was a calculated attack. Somebody coaxed their dog to ingest…objects. Probably fed them to her wrapped in pieces of meat or cheese. The x-ray was,” he shook his head against her neck, “horrible. There was too much internal damage. Fuck.
Fuck.
”
Andie’s mouth went dry. The picture Mason painted stung the backs of her eyes as though she’d been right there to witness it firsthand. “What kind of monster would do such a thing?”
“They had a doggie door for while they were at work. Fenced yard, but chain link. Could’ve been anybody, so nobody’ll get charged, but they have good reason to believe it was the neighbor. They’d had issues with him.”
“So he killed their dog?”
“No, just tortured her until the injuries were irreparable. I’m the one who had to end her life. Hers and five unborn puppies.”
“Oh, Mason…” What could she say to ease his burden? Nothing. All she could do was try to comfort and distract him. She brushed her lips along his ear, over his cheek, softly working lower, to his mouth. At first, he sat back, accepting her kisses as the gentle caress she intended them to be. When her tongue dipped into his mouth, though, everything changed. His lips engaged hers. His tongue returned the favor, touching hers and igniting a fire low in her belly. Hands that had been still on her back roved lower. They slid under the elastic waistband of her yoga pants to cup her ass, to steal between her legs and stroke her with a slow intensity that sparked more than her compassion.
“I need you.” His voice was low and husky, almost desperate.
“You have me. For anything you need. Everything. I’m yours.”
“I don’t have a condom.”
“I don’t care.” The words tumbled out. Wrong or right, it was the truth. “Take what you need—I want you to.”
His mouth found hers again, searing her to the core with soul-deep kisses. Hands fumbled with clothes. Metal jingled and cloth rumpled as her yoga pants hit the floor and his jeans were shoved down to the knee. The hard length of his cock teased her from beneath, sliding along her slit. An aching heat roared between her legs. He stroked again, the tip of his erection bumping her clit before retreating, only to repeat the torture again. She shifted—in vain. He leaned forward in the office chair and maneuvered her legs around his waist. Cramped, but it’d work. All she had to do now was lift her hips and…god, yes…slide down, down, down his cock. His skin inside her skin. Hot, slick, perfect—it should always be this way.
He held her tight when she hit bottom. Rocked his hips upward while guiding her body into a slow, circular grind. “Come for me,” he said with his lips still touching hers. “I need to feel it. To hear your noises. To see your face when you let go.”
Oh god. She loved him. With her heart and soul, she loved him.
Buried to the balls, he moved inside her. Never withdrawing, just a slow rhythm that dragged her clit across his pelvis again and again. The first, soft wave of pleasure washed over her and she moaned against his mouth.
“You’re so beautiful.” He pulled her closer, as close as possible in their position, adding more sensuous friction exactly where she needed it. He pressed his lips to her neck, kissing, licking, nipping and murmuring. Naughty things. Sweet things.
She could barely breathe. Every inch of her skin sang as she writhed against him, stars—no, hearts—flashing behind her eyelids.
“Fuck…you feel too good…” His fingers dug into her hips, forcing her down and wide open. He groaned as his cock swelled, pulsing deep inside her. Shuddering, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his forehead to hers. “Andie, I—”
“Shh, it’s okay.” She covered his lips with two fingers. “I told you to, I wanted you to.”
He kissed the tips, then guided them away. “Not that. Well, that too, but first this…” He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. “I love you. I wanted to say it when I’m not fucking you, so you know I mean it when I say it while I am.”
This was where she was supposed to say it back. And she wanted to. God, did she want to. Hints of sunlight crept around the blinds, giving light to the room. Enough to see his eyes clearly. The expectation there dimmed as she remained silent, despite opening her mouth several times. Here she was, impaled on the cock of a gorgeous, near-perfect man who’d just told her he loved her, and she couldn’t get one out in return. What the hell was wrong with her?
“About the no condom…” Gently, he helped untangle her limbs from the chair. As soon as she withdrew from his lap, he pulled up his jeans and zipped.
The moment was past. Her opportunity—gone.
“If my irresponsibility gets you pregnant, I’ll support you any way you want me to. All I ask is that you’re honest with me.”
“Mason, I…I…”
This time it was his fingers on her lips. “It’s okay. It doesn’t have to go both ways.” The front door chirped, snapping both their attention to his open office door. “Might want to put your pants back on. I have to go take care of…” He rubbed his temples and shook his head. “I have to finish cleaning the operating room before our morning surgeries.”
She threw her arms around his neck, clutching him as if her life depended on it. “You didn’t eat anything and you’ve barely slept.”
His arms closed around her—thank god—and he chuckled in her ear. “I’ll eat soon, and I’ll try to rearrange things so I can catch a nap at lunch.” He nuzzled her hair briefly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
He left before she had a chance to answer, closing the door behind him.
“I love you,” she said to the empty room. She tried the words a few more times. Not so hard without Mason standing in front of her. That’s what she could do—leave a message on his answering machine. Or text him. Ooh, a handwritten note. Juvenile ideas, the lot of them. He’d had the courage to tell her face-to-face, with no guarantee she’d reciprocate. Which she hadn’t…
She needed therapy. Luckily, she had the perfect person for the job.
* * * * *
“Are you exclusively sleeping with your boss?” Andie asked between bites of a chicken panini. She’d have been happy eating at a coffee shop, but Lasha had insisted on a restaurant where everything cost three times as much. For an accountant, Lasha wasn’t budget-minded.
“Hell, no. If I was willing to settle for fucking just one man,” Lasha mock-retched beside their table, “it sure as hell wouldn’t be him. He has a monster cock and he knows how to plow, but he won’t shave because it’ll raise questions with his wife. I generally prefer my men on the smoother side.”
“I’ve seen him in a golf shirt, he’s not that furry.”
“Below the belt, sweetheart.” Lasha threw back half a glass of Cabernet in one swig. “Ever blown a cock that’s surrounded by bush? It’s no joy. He likes me to suck his balls too, and they’re hairier than a yeti’s must be. And you don’t even want to know how nasty it is rimming that asshole. When I can find it through the tangle, that is.”
Strangled gasps came from the neighboring table. Lasha didn’t acknowledge them, just resumed picking at her overpriced salad. Nothing fazed her, ever.
In contrast, Andie’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. She had zero issue with the content of their conversation. The audience they’d garnered was another thing.
“So why do it?” Boinking the boss wasn’t going to get Lasha a promotion or more money. A relationship wasn’t in the cards, nor did Lasha want one. “Seems like a lot of fuzz to deal with for some extended lunch breaks.”
“Did I mention his girth? The anal is crazy wild, it’s like having two in there at once. Since his wife won’t even let him finger her ass, let alone fuck it, he’s a very eager puppy. And I
do
expense the lunches,” Lasha said with a wink.
The puppy comment gave her away. For Lasha, sex was about control—getting it, having it, keeping it. The day her boss stopped being desperate for her, Lasha would dump his hairy ass—and balls—and move on. For the sake of her best friend’s tongue, Andie hoped that day wasn’t too far off.
Lasha pushed her dishes aside and crossed her arms on the table. Today her eyes were bright green—thanks to contacts—and they bored into Andie. “I’ll never complain about a lunch invitation from my bestie, but I think I got the call for a reason. Summarize.”
“I’m a little stressed. Mason wants a serious relationship. I emailed Scott, who got his tighty-whiteys in a bunch and cut their vacation short, but whatever. They’ll be back today. Scott has to approve Mason first, then I can introduce him to Dylan.”
“So, that’ll be never.”
“Scott has no grounds to turn down my request.”
“Other than wanting you back.” Lasha’s long, violet nails drummed on the tabletop. “Back to the stressed part. I hate to be the voice of reason, so shame on you for making me go there. Maybe deep down, you’re not so sure about this step, or this guy.”
“I’m sure about both. Especially the guy.”
“What if he only wants to meet your kid so he gets more booty time once Dylan is back in the picture?”
“I don’t think that’s his motivation.”
“Hmm. He’s young and mouthwateringly hot. I doubt he’s itching for family games night with somebody else’s twelve-year-old boy.”
Andie winced at that little dart of probability. “He told me he loves me.”
“Was he drunk?”
“No. But thanks for your multiple votes of confidence.”
Lasha shrugged. “Were you fucking, or more to the point, was he coming at the time of the big reveal?”
“Not the last time he said it, no.”
“Good. Because you can’t count on the shit they spew when they’re under the influence of alcohol or orgasm.” One perfectly manicured hand snatched Andie’s half-full glass of wine. Two swallows later, it joined her empty dishes.