27
weeks
I t’s Tuesday morning, and I’m halfway into emptying the fridge, mumbling to myself about how we’re out of everything that matters.
Harrison’s back to his usual self, thank God. I mean, “usual” as in sneaking into my bed nearly every night because apparently mine is comfier . Not that I’m complaining, given the late-night—or early-morning—sex that comes with him deciding my bed is the place to be. I swear, the man has enough energy to power a small city. With him back to his hyperactive self, I’m finding myself—I hate to say this—enjoying it a bit more.
There’s something about him that just feels so natural, easy even. But at the same time, there’s this restless little thrill every time he walks into a room, like my stomach’s got its own ideas. I’m catching myself looking forward to him coming home, more and more, knowing we’ll slip into our little routine—dinner, some ridiculous car show, or a movie—usually my pick, since he’s hopelessly indecisive and leaves it to me to make the call. It’s comfortable .
At twenty-six weeks, my belly’s officially rounded out. I’m basically living in anything stretchy or flowy—knit dresses, maternity leggings, oversized button-ups. This month of July has definitely been our warmest yet—usually, I’d be freezing my tits off by now—so a jumper covers the bump nicely for now, giving me a bit more time before I become a walking billboard of pregnancy.
I’m halfway through grabbing the last items on my list when I hear it: “Imogen!”
Oh, for the love of God. I turn, plastering on a polite smile, only to find Jesse , of all people, striding toward me. Before I can dodge, he plants an awkward kiss on my cheek. I immediately step back, putting space between us.
“Whoa. Jesus Christ. You’re pregnant?” His eyes go wide as he notices my bump. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
I hesitate, but he’s already piecing it together. His eyes widen even more. “Wait… it’s Harrison, isn’t it?” He laughs. “Man, he knocked you up? Meanwhile, I couldn’t even get a text back.”
I blink, caught off guard. “A text back? What are you talking about?”
He raises a brow, looking annoyingly smug. “I texted you after that night at the Loose Lasso. Figured you’d ghosted me.”
Did he really expect me to remember? Like I care enough to think back that far. Besides, with this pregnancy brain kicking in full swing, tracking his texts ranks somewhere below remembering to water my plants. “Didn’t get it, obviously.” I shrug, already turning to leave.
“Look, no offence, but Harrison? With his whole… history? Is that really what you want around you?” His words pull me back, but it’s his tone that pisses me the fuck off—like he’s doing me a favour.
I stop dead, giving him a slow, hard stare. “You know what, Jesse? Whatever Harrison’s ‘history’ is, it’s none of your business. At least he’s real. He doesn’t pretend to be interested in people’s lives just to puff himself up.” My voice is razor sharp, and I see his smirk falter, if only for a split second.
He raises his hands, all cocky. “ Jeez , relax.”
Relax? Oh, he did not just go there. I arch a brow, folding my arms. “You know, Jesse, last time I checked, you were too busy impressing anyone with a pulse and showing off those fancy suits of yours to care about others.” I let out a low, humourless laugh. “Thanks for your concern, but it is not needed.” I tilt my head, my tone dripping with mockery.
The smirk slips further, but he presses on. “If that’s what you think. Shame, though. I could’ve made you happy.”
I let out a scoff. “Right, Jesse. Nothing says happiness like constant talk of the real estate market and you bragging about commission. Living the dream, aren’t we?”
He laughs it off, but he looks a bit stung. “Still as feisty as ever, I see.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” I flash a quick, cutting smile. “Bye, Jesse.” Spinning on my heel, I walk away without another glance.
By the time I get home, I’m fuming, unloading bags on the counter. One hundred and fifty dollars for what feels like five things. Are they kidding? When did grocery shopping turn into a luxury? And who the hell does Jesse think he is, acting like he has a right to know my business just because I’m visibly pregnant? Just as I’m shoving the last overpriced vegetable into the fridge, Harrison comes in, kicking off his boots and looking like he’s about to pull me into one of his bear hugs.
“Absolutely not. You stink, and you’re covered in grease. Do not touch me,” I warn, pointing a finger at him.
He grins. “Alright, then, let’s shower together.”
I fold my arms. “No. Definite no. I don’t need to shower.”
Ignoring me, he wraps me up in a big, messy hug, smearing grease all over my shirt. “Ughh, damn you!” I cry out.
He laughs, eyes gleaming. “Oh well. Looks like we both need a shower now, huh?”
Next thing I know, he’s dragging me into the bathroom, turning the water on and pulling me under it with him. He digs his hands into my hair, laughing, and then his mouth finds mine, and I can’t help but melt. Stubborn, infuriating, impossible man.
The bathroom door barely shuts behind us before Harrison’s hands are on me, slick and filthy from a full day in the garage. I shudder, part disgust, part thrill, as he runs them down my arms, smudging grease onto my skin.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmurs, his mouth ghosting over my neck.
I roll my eyes, smirking. “What’s new?”
“Nothing. It’s always you, Immy,” he says, grin wide, too confident. That bloody nickname, which I used to hate, has somehow worn me down. I stopped correcting him ages ago—what’s the point when he was never going to quit?
We stumble into the shower, peeling off clothes in a frenzy. Under the spray, he leans back, wetting himself completely, water running down his abs, tracing every ridge and tattoo, down that perfect V, and lower. I bite my lip, watching shamelessly.
“You’ve got no idea,” he says, eyes fixed on me. “I’ve been dying to taste you all day.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m fucking starved.” He grins.
I scoff. “Can’t be that bad.”
He steps closer, fingers digging into my hips. “It is. Now be the good dirty girl you are. Turn around, face the glass,” he says, delivering a firm slap to my ass. “And feed this starved man of yours.”
A shiver rolls over me as I plant my hands against the glass, arching my back just for him. His groan echoes in the steam-filled space, setting me on fire.
“Best fucking sight I’ve seen all day,” he mutters. Then he’s down on his knees, spreading me open, and his tongue is on me, hot and greedy, pulling a gasp from my throat. His tongue moves over me with a rough, greedy hunger, licking and sucking until I’m a mess, melting against the glass. I can’t help the sounds slipping from my mouth, low moans that echo in the steamy bathroom. His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me closer as his tongue works me over, every stroke sending a rush of heat flooding through me. Slowly, he trails his tongue higher, flicking over that spot he’s never dared to touch before. My body tenses, but his grip is firm, grounding me. Before I can even think, a shock of pleasure races through me, unexpected and sharp, making my breath hitch.
Oh, fuck. I relax, letting the sensation build, his tongue exploring me with a filthy confidence that somehow makes me even wetter.
“I can’t wait to fuck this sexy ass of yours one day,” he growls, his voice a deep rumble against my skin. A nervous thrill shoots through me at his words. I’ve never done anything like that before. Will I actually go there? The thought alone makes my pulse race.
His mouth is back on me with even more intensity, sloppy and fierce, his hands spreading me wider as he devours every inch. The roughness, the need in the way he’s gripping me—it’s overwhelming, and I’m so close, teetering right on the edge.
My head falls forward, pressing against the glass, my moans growing louder, filling the space as he takes me there, pushes me past the point of no return. I gasp as he plunges his fingers into me—thick and deep—all while his tongue flicks over that sensitive spot relentlessly. I slam my palm against the glass at the sudden burst of pleasure that pulses through me in hot waves, almost too much to take. My breaths come in shaky gasps as I ride out the last waves of pleasure, my body still trembling against the cool glass. I twist around, eyes blazing, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him in, crashing my lips onto his, swallowing his groan.
The taste of me on his mouth, mixed with the rough scrape of his light beard against my skin, ignites something wild in me all over again. My hand slides down between us, wrapping around his cock, now hard and hot, pressed up against my stomach. With my other hand, I cup him fully, savouring his weight, a wicked smile curling on my lips as he groans.
“Jesus Christ, sugar,” he groans. “Your hands—s-so fucking good.”
I sink down onto my knees, gazing up at him with a smirk as I say, “Try not to come too fast.” His laugh is low, sending a spark of excitement through me—it’s a sound of pure, unrestrained desire. I take him into my mouth, knowing I can’t take him fully down my throat this time without risking a mess, so I focus on the head, swirling my tongue savouring the salt of his skin as his piercings glide over my tongue, cool metal against heat. I hum around him, and his groans grow louder, rougher, his body tensing. “Fuck, Immy,” he breathes, voice choked. His hand gathers my hair, guiding me faster. “So good… so fucking good,” he gasps, his words rough, desperate.
My muffled moans mix with the wet sounds as I swirl my tongue over each piercing, feeling him tremble. “Gonna come,” he whispers, voice thick with need. I open my mouth, tongue out, meeting his gaze as he releases hot, thick cum into my mouth, which spills onto my face, dripping down my chin. His breath comes in ragged gasps as he watches, completely undone.
I swallow, wiping my chin with a smirk. “Well, that was quick,” I tease, glancing up at him.
He laughs, breathless, pulling me up to my feet. “Careful, or I’ll show you just how long I can last,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers through my hair, still damp and tangled from our intensity. I raise an eyebrow, grinning as his lips capture mine.
“Big talk,” I say, letting out a little laugh against his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to put you to the test.”
“Oh, you’re in for it now,” he murmurs, kissing me deeper, his smile pressed against my lips as he whispers, “We’re just getting started.”