The Goal
Page 65“This,” I gasp. “I want this.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With a glittery, hungry gaze, he tears my panties off and nudges me onto my back. Then he grips his shaft and guides it to my entrance. I suck in a breath at the first push of his broad head spreading me.
He stops abruptly in mid-glide. “You okay?”
I can see his arms straining as his lust pushes hard against his self-control. I want to be taken hard, though. I want him to remind me that I’m beautiful, that I’m lust-worthy, that I’m still rocking his world.
I curve my legs around his hips and try to pull him in deeper. “I’m more than okay. I need you to fuck me. Please.”
The fierce look that passes over his face is breathtaking. He jacks in deep, hard and hot, filling me up with his cock until that’s all I know. I haven’t felt him close to me like this in so long. It feels like…a homecoming.
His mouth finds my neck, the tender skin behind my ear. He trails wet kisses along my shoulder and collarbone. He sucks on my nipple again, and stars flash in front of my closed eyelids. One hand slips beneath my ass, holding me slightly off the couch, and his hips move, stroking, stroking, stroking until he hits that one spot that has me crying out again.
He’s relentless, plunging inside me again and again. The head of his shaft rubs against that soft bundle of nerves inside me until I’m a gasping, writhing mess.
“I missed you,” he chokes out. “So fucking much.”
I don’t say it back because I’ve forgotten how to talk. The pleasure is too intense, fogging up my brain. He continues to ravage my breasts, one and then the other. And then he sits up, takes hold of my hips, and thrusts into me harder and faster than before.
The leather beneath my shoulders chafes my skin. My hair is plastered across my face and I’m having a hard time drawing each breath, but none of that matters as I’m lost in the maelstrom of sensation. All I register, all I know, is him. How good he feels, how much my body craves him, how hard my heart beats for him.
How I’m deeply in love with him.
The pleasure builds inside of me until finally it detonates, shattering my composure, melting my body. Tucker whips his head back and groans out his own release, while I lay a wrecked mess beneath him.
How he finds the strength to get up and walk to the kitchen, I don’t know. I’m too out of it to do anything but murmur a thank you when he comes back with some wet paper towels and gently cleans up the moisture trickling down my thigh.
Before I can protest, he rejoins me on the couch and throws a blanket over our naked bodies. He pushes an arm under my head and cocoons me in his heat, while I pray that this isn’t the day Brody Hollis decides to come home early from work.
As Tucker strokes my hair, the words of love that sit like lead in my throat fight to get out, but I swallow them back. It was just sex. We both needed the release, that’s all. I can’t read anything more into it, and I can’t even trust my own feelings these days, not with all the pregnancy hormones running rampant in my blood.
I snuggle into his sweat-dampened body. This is enough for me. Whatever he can give me is enough. I won’t ask for more.
“What were you and the doctor whispering about before?” I ask eventually.
He chuckles. “This.”
“This?”
“Yeah, this.” He reaches under the blanket and tweaks one of my nipples. “I asked her if we were allowed to have sex.”
My jaw drops. “You asked our OB for permission to fuck me?”
“I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t hurt the baby,” he protests. “Jeez. Sorry for being a concerned dad.”
I can’t help but smile.
Feeling curious—fine, nosy—I peek at the display.
And release a horrified scream.
Shooting up into a sitting position, I snatch the phone out of Tucker’s hand. “Oh my God!” I shriek. “What is that?”
28
Tucker
I know I shouldn’t laugh. The mother of my child is upset. The last thing I should do is laugh at her, but the horrified expression on her face is priceless.
“Tucker!” She punches my shoulder. “Stop laughing and tell me what the hell that is.”
I glance at the picture and lose it again. “It’s comforting,” I croak.
Sabrina punches me again.
“Logan,” I choke out. “He made this for the baby. It’s the comforting test.”
“I swear to God, Tuck, if you don’t start making sense, I’m going to send this picture to the police and tell them I’m the victim of a hate crime.”
I hiccup uncontrollably.
Wheezing, I manage to sit up. I cough for a full minute to get the humor out of my system. Then I stare at the stuffed thing on the screen.
I think it’s supposed to be a teddy bear, but somewhere during the process, shit went horribly wrong. The stitching is something out of a Tim Burton movie. One eye is a button while the other is a serial-killer style X sewn with black thread. There’s a patch of fur missing on the side of its head, and the arms and legs are all different sizes.
Underneath the pic, Logan wrote:
Grace thinks this’ll scare the BB. She’s wrong, right?
She’s not wrong.
“Why did Logan do this to us?” Sabrina demands.
I snort. “He’s vying for godfather.”
“Start making sense!”
Swallowing another roar of laughter, I hastily clarify. “He and Garrett both want to be our baby’s godfather. I made this stupid offhand joke about how I’m gonna make them compete for the title, and they decided that was a great idea. So now they’re competing.”
Sabrina arches a brow. “And did you ever think that maybe I don’t want either of them to be the baby’s godfather?”
“Of course. I figured we’d talk about it at some point, but honestly, I think Garrett and Hannah would be awesome godparents.”
“They’re going to have to fight it out with Hope and Carin. But you’re already cutting Logan out?”