Chapter 5 #2
Exhausted, cranky and tired of fighting him at every turn, she acquiesced.
In no time, both her car and his truck were full of stuff, plus Penelope, and she was knocking on her landlord’s door, letting them know the plan.
Which was she was going to continue to pay rent for a bit, in case things with her broody and grumpy new roommate went sideways.
Brock’s house was a decent size and boasted several bedrooms. She had her own room, own bathroom and, after some reconfiguration of shelves, they split the fridge down the middle, sharing staples like condiments, milk and eggs.
The only thing they seemed to continuously disagree on was television shows.
The man was addicted to the news or police and crime dramas, where all Krista wanted to do was abandon reality, her job and tragedy altogether when she was off the clock and watch The Food Network or Home and Garden Channel.
It quickly became a race and a battle for the remote, and Monday night was one of those nights. Krista had worked a day shift and was just getting into her “comfy pants” fresh from the shower when Brock called her for dinner.
So far, he’d been home every night and was proving to be no slouch in the kitchen, though every meal had been some kind of stir-fry. Not that she was complaining; it was better than roasted red pepper tetra pack soup and french fries.
“Smells good,” she said, wandering into the kitchen.
He was just finishing plating, gave her a side-eye and grunted a response.
She couldn’t get a read on the man. One minute he was all Mr. Sensitive and holding her hair as she lost her biscuits in the toilet, and then the next he was a closed book, almost seeming angry and barely saying two words. Did he have multiple personalities? And if so, had she met them all yet?
She went to reach for her plate with what looked to be delicious beef and broccoli over wild rice, but he pulled it away at the last minute, a wickedly sexy gleam in his eye.
Oh, shit.
Not this again.
Growling, she reached for it again. But he held it out of reach and used his other hand to finish plating.
“You’re an ass,” she grumbled at him, throwing her hands onto her hips.
“And you’re a brat.”
“I’m not going to do what you think I’m going to do.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m starving. Your child is starving.”
Another sexy side-eye, followed by a snort.
He finished dishing up his plate, which was nearly twice as full as hers, and then hesitantly handed over hers. Their eyes met, and suddenly everything was a blur as they both raced out into the living room in search of the remote.
Why she hadn’t hidden it earlier, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was because she secretly enjoyed this ridiculous little routine where they fought over which show to watch. It was oddly comforting and normal.
“Damn it!”
“You snooze, you lose,” he said smugly.
She eyed him coyly. “The baby really likes The Food Network.”
He grunted again and made himself comfortable in his chair, switched the television to The Food Network and dove into his dinner.
She chuckled to herself.
A teddy bear with a suit of armor. That seemed to be Brock Hart. At least the little bit she knew of him anyway. Would he take off his suit of armor for her eventually?
Her eyes fell to his lap.
Would he take off his pants too?
“This is really good,” she said, mopping up the last bit of sauce from the bowl with her pinky finger a short while later.
He grunted.
“Had a mini orgasm in my mouth.”
He grunted again, but this time his eyes slid from the television screen to hers.
She grinned at him.
He tipped up his beer bottle and took a long, healthy swig, not bothering to remove his gaze from where it was currently searing her skin.
Her breath caught in her chest as she took in the way his thick, sexy, muscular throat undulated as he swallowed.
She was mesmerized. Her nipples pebbled beneath her sweater.
She hadn’t bothered to put a bra back on after her shower and was instead in a T-shirt and hoodie.
But combined with the sore breasts from the pregnancy, they also suddenly tingled and ached for his hands to ease their strain and heaviness.
“What’s with the look?” he asked, his hand falling to Penelope, who had jumped up and made herself at home in his lap.
Lucky cat.
Krista licked her lips. “You, uh … you seeing anyone right now?”
Those sexy, bushy, caterpillar-like eyebrows furrowed. “As in dating?”
She lifted one shoulder. “Dating. Sleeping with. You a free agent or contracted out?”
His chest lurched on a silent laugh. “Free agent. No time for dating.” His eyes remained focused on the chef on the screen. But she could tell he was thinking. Those caterpillars pinched even closer together. “Are you seeing anyone right now?” he asked.
Quickly, almost too quickly, she shook her head. “No.”
He nodded.
“Um … ” She knitted her fingers together and pulled her gaze from the side of his face.
“Um?” he mimicked.
Just ask. What’s the worst that can happen? He turns you down, then things are horribly awkward from here until the kid graduates high school?
She lifted her head. His eyes were pinned on hers.
“You interested in a beneficial arrangement?”
A tick at the side of his mouth was his only tell. “Are you asking me if I’d like a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Yes?”
“Fucking you was great. I’m not fucking anyone right now.
Neither are you. Doesn’t look like we’ll be fucking anyone else for a while.
” He tilted his head toward her stomach.
“Might as well fuck each other.” He nodded.
“Seems like a reasonable solution.” His gaze drifted to one of her pregnancy books on the coffee table.
“Besides, that book says a pregnant woman’s libido increases, and from the buzzing sound emanating from your room each night, I’m guessing you’d like the real thing by now. ”
Her bottom lip nearly hit the floor.
He heard her?
“Thin walls, baby.”
Was the house on fire, or were those just her cheeks?
He grabbed her with scary ninja stealth and hauled her over to the couch to straddle his lap.
“The night we made the baby was fun. We don’t have to worry about protection.
I see no downside. We can do it for as long as it works.
” He rested both of their bowls on the side table before letting his hands come up and cradle her ribcage and back.
She couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped her from how good, how right it felt to be in his arms.
They hadn’t had this much contact since that night … and yet it didn’t feel nearly as weird as she expected it to. She didn’t expect it to feel this normal.
She licked her lips. “You’re being very businesslike about all of this. Should we be drawing up a contract?”
He shrugged as his hands traveled up under her sweatshirt and his thumbs grazed her peaked nipples. “It’s the practical solution to both of our problems.”
She had to choke back a laugh even as her body trembled beneath his erotic touch. “And what would be your problem? You can’t tell me you have trouble getting laid.”
He didn’t say anything but instead grunted and adjusted himself, making his arousal, his need for her very present.
“Besides,” he went on, “I’d rather fuck you than watch this cooking show garbage any longer.” His mouth crashed down on hers, and his tongue wasted no time waiting for permission and wedged its way into her mouth, lapping and twirling around her own.
And once again, they were frantic. What had just moments ago been a relaxing dinner between what was quickly becoming two friends and future co-parents was now a lust-filled and almost determined animalistic need to fuck.
Hands roamed and peeled away at clothing as fast as their fingers could move.
Leaning forward, she licked his throat and pressed a kiss to his Adam’s apple before he pulled away, and she motioned to remove his shirt.
Krista paused and just stared as he tossed the soft black cotton to the floor.
“Holy God.” She swallowed. “Are those even real?” She poked a finger at one of his pecs.
It was hard as stone. “And those? Are those real too?” Both her hands ran up his arms and gripped his biceps.
Once again, boulders beneath her fingertips.
She hadn’t a chance to admire him, his beauty, his power, his strength when they were together last time.
It’d been late, dark, and she’d been incredibly drunk and single-minded.
But tonight, they were sober, the light was on, and the man in front of her was a work of art.
Art that needed to be, deserved to be ogled, worshiped, appreciated.
“Everything is real.” His voice was deep and thick.
With brute force, he grabbed at the hem of her hoodie and pulled it over her head, bringing her T-shirt with it.
His eyes flared as he drank her in, raking her body.
His scan stopped on her stomach, and his chest actually shook as his hand fell to her belly, his eyes searching hers for permission. She gave it to him.
“You’re sure I can’t hurt the kid?” he asked softly, his fingers and palm taking up the entire span of her stomach. He was warm, and his touch soft, although calloused and worn from hard work. She felt safe in his touch, in his arms.
“I’m sure.” She smiled.
“Well in that case … ” And with the flick of his wrist, he pushed her up out of the chair and off him and stood up.