Thursday, August 24th
Ronan
Eleven days. That’s how long it’s been since Cat started staying here full time.
Technically it’s supposed to be temporary—just until things cool off with her dad, just until we figure out what to do once the baby comes.
But the longer she’s here, the more often I wake to the sound of her humming while she brushes her teeth, the more often I fall asleep with her stealing my pillow to wedge between her legs and even out her hips, the more I want this.
Us. Together. In this apartment. With my best friend and my best friend’s girl.
It’s cramped as hell—two bedrooms, four people, one tiny-ass bathroom and an even smaller kitchen—but I wouldn’t change a thing. I love knowing who and what I come home to. There’s no guessing, no analyzing anyone’s mood beside Cat’s current pregnancy craving.
Cat has appointed herself the designated grocery shopper, relieving a grateful Shane and guaranteeing her most random craving can be satisfied anytime.
Shane, on the other hand, has prohibited Cat from doing any laundry; he thinks she shouldn’t have to schlepp an overfull basket down four flights of stairs, then stoop and bend in front of washers and dryers.
Tori keeps slipping Cat little self-care things—fancy lotions, herbal teas, some noisy pillow filled with clay beads that gets warmed up in the microwave.
So basically, Tori and Shane have appointed themselves Cat’s backup support team while I’m at work, and even if I haven’t said it out loud yet, I’m so fucking grateful.
We don’t have everything figured out, not by a long shot.
But I look around this cramped, noisy apartment and all I can think is: we’re going to be okay.
And thank god summer classes are finally over. I took my last final yesterday and now I get a whole week without lectures, quizzes, or cramming during my ten-minute breaks at work. Sleep, here I fucking come. I swear, if I could crawl into a dark cave and hibernate for seven days straight, I would.
“Hey, sweet boy,” Cat calls softly from the living room when I finally come through the door tonight. It’s past two-thirty in the morning. I’m surprised she’s still awake.
I drop my keys on the entryway table and make my way over to her. “Hey, baby.” I press a kiss to her forehead. She’s curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over her, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
“Why are you still up?” I lift her legs to sit down before laying them back across my lap.
“I can’t sleep,” she says, voice gravelly. “My back hurts.”
“Want me to give you a back rub?”
She smiles at me gratefully, then shifts upright, turning her back to me. I start to knead gently, working my thumbs in slow circles.
“Lower,” she says, and I follow, my hands gliding beneath her shirt. Her skin is warm and soft beneath my fingers. I’ve touched her a thousand times, but somehow I still can’t get enough.
“That feels nice,” she sighs, her head dropping forward.
“How was your day?” I ask, my voice low. Between classes and back-to-back night shifts, I’ve barely seen her except when she’s asleep. So even if it’s the middle of the night, I enjoy this quiet moment she and I get to share.
“It was alright,” she says groggily. “I missed you.” She turns to me, brushing her lips softly against mine.
“I missed you too,” I murmur against her lips, then slip my tongue into her mouth, tasting her.
My body reacts instantly—like it always does with Cat—and I carefully guide her down onto the couch.
Her hands are already tugging at my shirt.
I pull back just long enough to yank it over my head and toss it to the floor.
“Where’s Shane?” I ask, breathless against her mouth. My hands slide under her shirt, greedy to feel her skin.
“He and Tori went to bed hours ago,” she says, her breathing already uneven as my thumb brushes over her nipple.
I sit up, pull her shirt over her head, and let my gaze trail down the curves I can never get enough of. Her breasts. Her stomach—not flat and toned like it used to be, but full and tight and round, her skin stretched over the unmistakable swell of the baby growing inside her.
“God damn,” I whisper. “I never get over how fucking beautiful you are.” I lean in to kiss her—first her lips, then her neck, then lower, over her collarbone, across her chest. I take my time at her breasts, licking each nipple before sucking it gently into my mouth.
She tastes like heaven. And I hadn’t expected it, not really, but her pregnant body drives me absolutely wild.
Every curve, every soft new edge of her—it’s like my body is permanently dialed to crave hers.
She lifts her hips, letting me slide her panties down to her knees.
She kicks them off, and I waste no time sliding my hand up her thigh, between her legs.
She’s already worked up, and it makes me smile.
I tease her slowly, letting my fingers sweep over the spot I know she likes, again and again.
She moves with me, grinding into my hand with a rhythm that sets my pulse racing.
Watching her unravel beneath me, hearing her moan my name—it undoes me every single time.
She comes hard, her body arching, her breath catching in my ear, and all I can think is: I’ll never get tired of this. Of her.
“That was fast,” she breathes, dazed. She flashes me that smile that always kills me. “Your turn, sweet boy.”
She unbuttons my jeans, pushing them and my boxers down. I kick them off and let my eyes fall closed for a second as I slide into her. Her warmth surrounds me, and I exhale like I’ve finally come home.
She pulls me close, her arms winding around my shoulders as I begin to move. God, I love this—being surrounded by her like this, her hips rising to meet mine, like she can’t get enough of me. Like we’re both starving.
And we are. I need more of her. More of this. Every thrust just makes me want her deeper, closer, until I’m fighting to stay grounded, to hold on just a little longer. But I’m already on the edge.
“Baby,” she breathes, nails digging into my back, dragging hard as she rakes them upward.
The sharp pain against all that pleasure—it tips me over.
I lose it completely, groaning her name as the wave crashes through me.
And even through the haze I feel her body tighten again, feel her tremble as she falls over the edge with me.
God, she has the most perfect post-sex glow: flushed cheeks, heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted, catching her breath. Her mouth is too irresistible not to kiss, so I do. Once, twice, then again. Slow and lingering.
We stay there like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, slowly coming down.
Cat
I’ve been uncomfortable all day, shifting restlessly behind the front desk at my mom’s office—sitting, standing, then sitting again. It was mostly my back, this weird, aching pressure I couldn’t relieve no matter what I did. Eventually my mom noticed how miserable I was and sent me home around two.
I went straight to Ronan’s apartment, drew a warm bath, and soaked for the better part of an hour before finally reemerging.
I slipped into a fresh pair of underwear and one of Ronan’s t-shirts.
The place was empty. Ronan and Shane were both at Murphy’s, and Tori was still working her shift at that bagel shop near campus.
I spent the rest of the afternoon sprawled on the couch, watching mindless TV and occasionally reheating the clay bead pillow Tori gave me—the one that’s supposed to relax sore muscles.
Tori got home a little after six. Shane around 8:30, carrying takeout containers like a hero, as usual. But much to their concern, I barely touched my food.
“You’re growing a human in there; shouldn’t you be eating more?” Shane asked, nudging the container toward me.
I shrugged. “I’m not that hungry. My back’s bugging me—it’s kind of messing with my appetite.”
“Have Ran give you a back rub when he gets home,” Tori said. I reminded her that Ronan had the late shift—he wouldn’t be back until after two.
It didn’t matter. I couldn’t sleep anyway.
I lay on the couch watching more mindless TV, too restless to settle.
But the second I heard Ronan’s key in the door, everything inside me softened.
It always does when he’s near. Seeing him is still the best part of my day, especially lately, when we haven’t had much real time together.
And once his back rub turned into something more? I wasn’t complaining. Say what you want about orgasms—they’re underrated for pain management. For the first time all day, the ache in my back finally disappeared.
We stayed curled up on the couch for a while, limbs tangled, skin warm.
When I felt him start to doze off, I suggested we move to the bed.
He carried me into his room, laid me down gently, then pulled on a pair of sweatpants before crawling in beside me, shirtless and warm.
I fell asleep with my head on his chest, lulled by the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
I can’t have been asleep more than forty-five minutes when I wake up with a jolt—my lower back screaming in pain, sharp and sudden and nothing like before.
I sit up abruptly, blinded by both the dark and the intensity of it.
The pain wraps from my spine all the way around to the front of my stomach, tightening my abdomen like a vise.
I press a hand to my belly, breathing through it. After about a minute the pain lets up, and I exhale shakily.
“What the hell was that?” I whisper into the dark.
A moment later, I feel a different kind of pressure, lower. I shift in bed, ready to climb out and head to the bathroom when suddenly, oh no, a warm gush floods between my legs. I freeze.
Something’s wrong. Something is very wrong.
I fling the blanket back and my breath catches in my throat. Blood. Bright, red blood, pooling between my thighs and soaking the white sheets beneath me.