Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend: An Enemies To Lovers Romance (The Sweet Twins Collection)

Chapter Forty-Nine

Hannah

Trying to conceal the smug excitement on my face, I see confusion transform on Chris’.

It moves into anger and then a tender understanding when he notices the plane ticket balanced on top of one of his bags – a one way to Maine.

He runs a hand through his curly locks and sighs deeply before turning to me. “So when you said you’d been ‘thinking’ of Maine.”

Grinning, I reply, “I meant that I’d been thinking about how I’d prepared for you to go to Maine. You leave in the morning.”

“In the morning as in tomorrow morning?”

“The very same.”

“That’s insane, Hannah. I cannot leave that soon.”

“Yes, you can! I didn’t want you to change your mind.” I let out a little giggle and clear my throat to hold it back.

“I haven’t set up any replacements for me at the gyms here. I have long term clients and employees and…bills. Do you know how to pay the rent here? Or the electric? Wifi? I mean, what are you thinking? How would you feel if I just unilaterally took over your business and told you what you were going to do? Would you like that?”

His voice is firm as he smacks one of his hands into the other repeatedly. He looks at me with pure frustration, his eyes cloudy and his mouth set resolutely.

I catch his eyes with mine, barely suppressing a smile, and watch as my smile spreads to him like a contagion.

He rolls his eyes with a grunt and picks me up off my feet, twirling me and peppering my face with pecks. “Are you sure about this?” he asks me.

“Nah, I was hoping you’d say you won’t go, that’s why I sent a deposit for the building, packed your bags for you, and bought a ticket,” I tease him sarcastically, tossing my head back as he twirls me so that the force pulls me away from him.

“You know I’ll pay you back. I’ll do it right now.”

“Not right now, come on. You leave tomorrow. Just…relax.”

Laying me down onto the couch, he kisses my neck and growls into the hollow of my throat, “The last thing I can do is relax. If I leave tomorrow, I need to make tonight unforgettable.”

My mind starts to wander as I release into the sensation of his mouth on me, but I come back to earth and yelp, “Oh! One more thing.”

I stand and fish around in my bag until I find the paperwork that the building manager has been harassing me for. “Here. Do not forget this.” I zip it into the top pouch of his carry on. “I put all the other paperwork you’ll need in that pouch, too. Hotel reservations, addresses, stuff like that.”

We stare at each other for a moment, and as the look in his eyes becomes more serious, I reach out and stroke his lips.

“We’ll visit each other all the time. I want you to follow your dream, Chris. I already have my dream. And now, because of you, I have a new dream, too.”

Smiling sadly, he pulls me into his strong arms and asks, “Will you marry me now?”

“Not yet,” I whisper back.

He picks me up and carries me into the bedroom. He lays me down gently on my back and holds my face delicately, stroking my jaw with his thumb. His lips find mine and he presses gently against me. His lips are soft and warm, and the pressure of his mouth melts me. I relax back and lay my hands on his shoulder blades, feeling the length of him coming to life and pressing against me.

His pelvis is against my button, and my eyes roll back in my head as he pushes even harder against it, swirling our hips together in a circle. He pulls my shirt up over my head and off me, trapping me at my elbows for a brief moment and using the opportunity to kiss me again, deeply.

Once my shirt is off, his fingers are on my bra clasp and then he takes his own shirt off. As though it’s possessed, my hand strokes his chest and pecs, my index finger trailing down the line of his hair that disappears into his waistband.

Chris catches my wrist and smirks. I pull myself free and unbutton his pants, then unzips them to pull his cock out. Chris places his hands on the back of my neck and massages it, pulling in a quiet gasp.

I circle my lips on the head of his penis and gently lick at his shaft underneath the head, tasting the heady flavor of his skin.

He moans gently and places his hands on the back of my head, weaving his fingers into my hair and twirling strands around them to tug at my head. “God, Hannah, please marry me,” he murmurs, his fingertips massaging my head.

I laugh with his cock in my mouth and ease it deeper down my throat. “You want to marry me for my mouth?” I ask him, muffled, with my mouth full.

I lower my mouth further down his shaft. “For this?” I ask, flitting my tongue out to lap around his enlarged and veiny member, feeling the shifting of his muscles.

His eyelids flutter as I swallow his dick deeper and feel it push against the back of my throat.

I close my eyes and breathe out of my nose, pushing my body where it hasn’t been before, allowing him to overtake me. I try to make him a part of me, to become one with his erection. Finally, I expel his dick with my tongue, drooling onto it.

Chris pushes me back on the bed and pulls my pants and underwear off. I cross my knees over each other, hiding my hole from him, embarrassed of the sticky mess that’s pooled into the creases of my thighs.

“Don’t you want to marry the man who does this to you, baby?” he asks, running his finger along the fold of my leg like someone looking for dust. When his finger comes back slick, he pops the digit into his mouth and sucks on it.

I shudder, watching his red tongue find my cream and taste it. He opens my legs up and slides between them to insert himself into my canal.

The initial stretch always makes me gasp, and there’s a moment when I remember briefly that I won’t feel this again for quite a while, that this is the last moment we’ll be together for several months.

At that realization, I look into his eyes and wrap my hands over his cheeks, feeling the slight stubble that peppers them. He looks back at me with his baby blues rimmed with the heavy, curled eyelashes that I’ve always envied.

While we look into each other’s eyes, he pumps inside me slowly, his rhythm steady. I look at his hands and see that his wrists are white with the effort it takes to hold himself up.

I push against him so that he’ll roll over onto his back and I ride him, my back arched and my eyes still glued to his. I slide along the length of him, up and down, feeling my pussy empty and fill with every inch that I take and release. I hear my juices stir with the motion, and his hands find my hips, steadying me as I move.

“Marry the man who makes you that wet,” he whispers to me, leaning up slightly to kiss me.

I kiss him back passionately, locking my arms behind him, feeling our sweat intermingle as I continue to bob on him.

I’m so wet that I can barely feel the actual girth and length of Chris’s penis, only that it’s inside me.

“You’re so wet that I bet I could fit an extra finger or two inside you right now,” he murmurs against my mouth. Both of our mouths are open too wide and moaning as we talk, “When you were a virgin, did you think you’d ever be able to take this much inside you?”

This is the position I lost my virginity to Chris in, although it was in a ripped velvet chair in my office. So much has changed, but still so much is the same.

All I know is that I lost my virginity to the man underneath me, and when I feel the rigid muscle of his dick move underneath the smooth skin on top of it, I feel like a virgin again, despite the growing life in my stomach.

Taking all nine inches of him would make anyone feel like a virgin, I think.

I quiver between my legs and bite my lip at the feeling of the heat building up in me. I almost push him back onto the bed but our imminent orgasms make me want to hold him tighter than before.

His fingers dig into my waist, and I’m nearly choking him with the pressure of my arms as I squeeze him and my tunnel does the same to his thick shaft.

Chris lets out a groan as I start uncontrollably squeezing him, the walls of my vagina tightening and loosening around him at a pace I can’t change.

My gasps match the same beat and as I go limp, Chris holds me up and does the work for me from below me, driving his hips forward, pushing me to the brink of my orgasm.

I flop atop him, a lusty puppet for his bidding, until I feel its impending power. I grip Chris tighter and he whispers into my ear, “Are you about to cum for me?” I nod, whimpering into his neck. “That’s good. Ride that wave with me.”

Chris rolls me over so that he’s on top of me and fucks me harder and faster, his hands on the small of my back, shoving my body deeper into the mattress.

My mouth is wide open and drooling onto the bed with us, and my breasts are swollen, my nipples engorged against the sheets. everythingng on my body feels like it’s on fire, like I could alight and explode right there below him.

His fingers slide down between my body and the bed and play with my nipples. He says, “Are you—” and before he can even finish the words, pleasured moans scream out of me and morph into animalistic grunts.

I turn my face to the bed and let out the screams into it so that it dampens the sound.

Chris strokes my hair as I dump my lusty sounds into his mattress. His hands travel down the curve of my spine and back up to my neck, his touch delicate and loving.

“How was that?” he whispers as he pulls out of me, his sticky penis shifting all the juices inside me so that they make a wet noise of suction.

“Mmm,” is all I can manage to say back. Every part of my body is sensitive, and I tremble as he slips out of my warm cave.

“Good enough to marry me?” he asks as he lies next to me.

I roll over and relax against his warm, strong body, feeling as safe and protected as I always do with him.

Again, a thought flashes through my mind that I won’t be able to feel safe like this once he’s in Maine.

I do want to marry him. But now isn’t the time, not with things so up in the air between us and Tyler. It just wouldn’t feel right. I want it to feel good for everyone.

I kiss his cheek and tell him, “Maybe once you get me up to two orgasms.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asks, sitting up on his heels in bed and crawling over to situate himself between my legs again.

He smirks at me and runs his tongue over his bottom teeth, setting his jaw crooked and showing me his dimples.

“Well? You look so good down there. Show me what you can do.” I run my fingers over his eyebrows before settling back down onto my back.

He chuckles, and I feel the wet tip of his tongue bury itself between my folds. I sigh and open my legs up to him even further, knowing the man between my legs will be my husband one day.

Four months have passed since the day that I drove Chris to the airport and sent him off to Maine with a kiss and a promise that I would hold down the fort in Los Angeles for him.

I’ve gotten word that Sarah is being prosecuted and I’ve provided all the proof available to me detailing her thefts over the years, although it will be up to detectives to sort through her finances and find the proof of her spending.

I’ve hired more employees for Chris and told my own clients that I’m on maternity leave.

I’m considering moving the office to a smaller location since I no longer need to live in the office.

It’s gotten chillier here in Los Angeles, no longer the sunny spring during which we met.

It’s never exactly cold, but it gets dreary and rainy and the damp seems to somehow soak into my bones, making it unpleasant to be walking the beach. If I can’t go to the beach, that means it’s winter as far as I’m concerned.

While Chris is gone, I’ve taken the opportunity to paint a baby mural across one wall of the nursery.

I decided on a landscape scene, with the horizon of LA, the tops of buildings and the ocean water shimmering beneath the high sun. I’ve nearly finished the lavender outline when I feel a pang shoot through my lower abdomen.

I reach to cup the bottom of my stomach. I catch myself doing that a lot lately, as though I’m worried the babies might fall out the bottom. I feel them stirring inside me, just underneath my skin, the strangest feeling that I now find to be normal and comforting.

I stop on top of the ladder, leaning against the wall and waiting for the cramp to pass.

When I think it has, I ease myself off the ladder before feeling another rip through me followed by water spilling onto the ground below me.

Quietly, I step backwards, staring at the puddle on the floor. I’m still 8 weeks early, so there’s no way that my water is breaking. Just breathe.

I walk away and close the door, opting to change my pants and worry about it later.

These last couple of weeks I seem to have completely lost the ability to hold in my pee, so it could just as easily be that.

That’s what I tell myself as I pull on a pair of jeans, fitting the stretchy elastic over my stomach, and as I fill my water bottle, and as I clip Lucy to her leash, and as I walk down the stairs.

All of my steps and motions followed by the thought It’s still early, it’s still early, it’s still early, it’s still early, the words as heavy as my feet on the ground.

I pop Lucy into the car and drive her down to the dog park by my office.

With Chris gone, and being on maternity leave, I haven’t gone by that park in a while, so I’m hopeful she’ll find it exciting. I rest one hand on her back as her tongue trails out the window, saliva bubbling up on it against the wind.

We reach the park and I sit on a bench, no longer able to maneuver myself onto the ground anymore. For a while, I brought parasols with me everywhere in the heat, but with it cooling down, I can finally feel somewhat normal in a park, although I’m still hotter than everyone around me. Those pesky hormones again, I think.

I watch Lucy run around, tearfully for some reason, though I’m unsure why. As much as I appreciate being able to keep my babies safe inside me, I’m ready to be done with the emotional rollercoaster of pregnancy.

“Hannah?” I hear from in front of me as a figure stands in front of me, gratefully casting a shadow over me.

I sigh in relief as I look up and see Scott. “Scott, hi. It’s been a while.”

“Apparently longer than I realized,” he jokes, gesturing towards my convex stomach, my outie belly button peeking out from beneath my shrinking sweater.

“Oh, this? No, I’m just bloated. I had a lot of rice on the way here.” I smile at Scott and move over so that he can sit next to me.

“You look different, too,” I say, gesturing to the new handlebar mustache he’s sporting. Right as he twirls one end of it, I cry out in pain as another cramp shoots through me.

“Whoah!” Scott reaches out to me like I’m a bomb that might go off any moment, slowly lowering into a seated position beside me.

“False alarm,” I tell him as the pain passes, and I relax against the bench, breathing heavily.

“Are you sure about that?” Scott asks, concern etched onto his face. That didn’t sound like a false anything, Hannah. I think you might need to go to the hospital.”

I shake my head, holding my breath in my cheeks. I release the air slowly as Lucy runs up to me, slobber flying off her face.

She rests her dirty face against my knees, spreading grass and dirt across my jeans, and I pull at her ears gently, rubbing the pink and silky insides of them with my thumbs.

“Hannah?” Scott repeats, trying to look into my eyes.

I stare into the distance, slowing my heartbeat to the rhythm of Lucy’s panting.

“No, no, I don’t. Because I’m eight weeks early, and Chris is still in Maine.”

“Oh, is Chris your…the dad?”

I turn to Scott and see nothing but confusion and concern on his face, like a light in a stormy night. I grab his wrist and nod.

“I think I understand what’s happening. Are you scared to give birth without Chris?”

Tears leak down my cheeks, and I whisper, “I need to call my brother.”

“Okay, sure. Let’s call your brother. What’s your brother’s name? Give me your phone, I’ll find him.” Scott sets his hand over mine as it digs into his wrist bone. He pats it comfortingly.

“Tyler,” I tell him, tossing him my cell.

Now that I’ve started to allow myself to acknowledge that I really am having these babies, the pain is excruciating. It snuck up on me and settled deep in my belly and against my spine, and now it’s all I can feel.

“Tyler. Okay, sure. And hey, did you drive? How about you give me your keys and I’ll take you to the hospital while we call your brother – does that sound good?”

Scott’s hand hooks under my elbow, and I lean against the back of the bench, leaning back dramatically to pick myself up before sinking down into a squat again. “I know, I know, but you don’t have far to go. You can make it, Hannah, let’s go.”

He walks me and Lucy to the car, inputs the nearest hospital into his GPS, and calls Tyler on my phone.

Tyler’s quiet over speakerphone, a stark difference from when I last saw him about five months ago. He accepts all the information Scott gives him and agrees to meet us at the hospital.

I lie down in the back, Lucy on the floorboard licking at my stomach as I breathe through the pain and try not to think about how devastated Chris will be if I give birth without him.

And the fact that I’m the reason he isn’t here.

Then more pain rips through my body, and the thought disappears.