Chapter 8
8
Kit
Ten minutes. He’ll be here soon.
I should’ve had something to drink. It didn’t seem like a good idea. Clear-headed seemed better, but now clear-headed feels like torture. My nerves are hopping, my belly’s twisted up. If I’m not careful, I’ll throw up.
There’s a bar downstairs. I could run down. Or call room service and order a shot. Or three.
No. No, this is about keeping my cool, being clear on what we’re here for. This isn’t about sex.
I can be level-headed.
Shutting my eyes, I breathe deep.
I’m calm. Pretend this is the doctor’s office. Pretend the nurse let me into this very fancy room. She’s taken my vitals, put me in a robe.
I look down at the high-necked dress I’ve got on. Bare feet. Bra, no panties.
Yeah. Close enough.
Another breath, counting in, then out. Maybe I’ll meditate. It’s worked in the past. After the separation, it was just about the only thing that?—
A knock at the door has me jumping out of my skin. I barely manage to suppress a startled scream. Come on, Kit, woman up already. You’re stronger than this.
I am. I’m strong. A thick-skinned survivor. If I don’t nip this in the bud I’ll freeze up or something and he won’t even be able to get the damn thing in.
Ugh, why’d I have to go and think about that?
Because it’s what’s about to happen, Kit, you fool.
With another slow inhale, I walk to the door, pause with my eyes closed for three more seconds, and then swing it wide.
Whoa. Oh shit. Wow.
He’s cleaned up. The man I’ve only ever seen looking scruffy in leather or denim and chefs’ clothes is wearing honest to god suit pants, his white button-down shirt so well cut, I can’t imagine it wasn’t custom tailored for those muscles. His hair looks slightly damp, like he recently showered, and it takes effort to resist reaching up to test its softness.
I could.
No. No extra touching. Nothing that will make this… more .
“Hey.”
“Come in.”
I step back and he walks in and I smell him, only this time that pure man scent’s mixed with cologne or aftershave and it is delicious .
Is this how he’d dress for a date? Is that what this look is about?
No. No, this is more like interview wear. Or first day at the job or, who knows, a meeting with a parole officer or something.
“Nice hotel,” he says, taking in the crisp bedding, the thick curtains, the dark furnishings, the tasteful, minimalist art on the walls.
I’m ignoring the issue of the bathroom having no door which would have been a no-go, had I known. We’ll deal with that if we need to, at some point. I mean, the toilet has a door. That’s what matters. I doubt we’ll be taking a shower here today. At least not together.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Um, so I was thinking about how we should…” I swallow, shut my eyes and fill my tight lungs again. “Proceed.”
He watches me, one eyebrow up. “With the…”
Don’t say insemination. Don’t say insemination.
“…main event?” He’s smirking now, which is worlds better than all the seriousness.
“Right,” I release with relief. “That.”
“What do you need?”
I blink. “Need?”
“Yeah.” His dark eyes flick over my body. “To get ready.”
“Oh. Um…well, I, uh closed the curtains.”
When he turns to take in the windows, the muscles in his neck shift, stretching the dark lines of ink and underlining just how hefty his frame is. I’ve never been with someone this powerfully built.
It’s intimidating as it occurs to me, for the first time, that I’ll have that— him —between my thighs. His bulk, his heat, his human scent.
Panic races through me like a chill wind.
“I’d rather do it in the dark,” I squeak. “If you don’t mind.”
He barks out a surprised laugh. “You’re kidding me.”
“No.”
With a sigh, he shakes his head, runs a hand through his short hair and then looks at me. “Fine. What else?”
“No touching at all.”
“I remember.” His smile’s devoid of humor. “It’s in the contract.”
“Clothes on.”
His dark brows lift, giving him a sardonic air. “Gonna be a little tough, isn’t it?”
“I can…” I gulp. I’m not a prude. Why is it so hard for me to discuss this like an adult who has actually had sex in her life? “I’m in a dress, so that’s easy. And you can unzip.”
“You commando under there?”
My face goes hot. “Yeah.”
When his only response is another perusal of my very much covered body and a muttered, Christ , I get the distinct impression that this man is perfectly up to the task of impregnating me without removing a single item of clothing. Hell, just the way he looks at me feels potent enough. I swear my ovaries are revving up in preparation.
“What else?” he asks, voice tight, jaw rigid.
“Um. Once it’s, uh, done. You can just…head out. If that’s okay.”
“Sure. Your show. Your call.”
Why does that easy acquiescence make me almost angry?
Maybe it’s just a man thing. They just want to fuck so bad, they don’t much care for how it happens.
Right. That’s probably it. Men.
Clark’s easy, cheery smile flashes briefly through my mind, making my feet go cold and my spine stiffen. Your call, sweetie pie , he used to say when I’d ask for any opinion relating to our home, vacations, lives. Your call , he said, all the while apparently working hard at getting his twenty-year-old barista girlfriend pregnant. The barista from the coffee shop I liked to go to. The one where they put homemade marshmallows on their hot chocolate and there’s this cozy back room that’s perfect for people with kids. I’d pictured bringing our children there.
“What about you, Kit? What do you need?” His voice, though soft, startles me from my uncomfortable memories.
“Me?”
“How do we get you ready?”
“We?”
When he shifts closer to me, I see that his eyes, which had been as soft as his voice a second ago, have gone dark and ice hard. “What’s the plan, Kit? You gonna just spread ’em in the dark and hope I’ll fit?”
All the blood in my body whooshes south. Why on earth is that idea a turn-on? Is it the insinuation that he’s big? The notion that it’ll take work to get his body to slot into mine?
He’s closer than I realized, his height and bulk blocking out most of the light from the bedside lamp. “You bring lube?”
“Oh…” Crap, what was I thinking? I am so unprepared for this. “No.”
“We’ve got to get you good and wet then, don’t we, Kit?”
I wish he’d stop using my name because every time I hear it in that voice, it’s like he’s handling me. Getting me where he wants me without once having to use his hands.
“I’ll be fine.”
He grunts, clearly not believing me. I don’t know why I find that annoying.
“It’s good. I’ve done this before, you know.”
“Had clothes-on hotel sex in the dark to get pregnant?”
“No, I mean sex.”
“Sure hope so.”
“Listen, let’s… You just…”
“Go ahead. Tell me what to do. I’m all yours.”
There he goes, giving my nerves a work-out again with his words. What is it? Is it the innuendo, intended or not? Is it that it’s him? Or is it this weird situation? Would I always be up and down like this, given the circumstances? Skittish one second and half-aroused the next?
“All right. Good.” I nod at his pants. “You, um, get ready and I’ll…be right back.”
I head into the bathroom, lock myself in the toilet cubicle, and lean back against the door. What are you doing, Kit? Get a hold of yourself. This isn’t you, this nervous crap.
I’m a confident person. I know my mind. I’m not someone who faffs around, trembling for no reason. This is sex. That’s it. I’ve done this more than a few times. I’ve had a few partners. I mean, it’s been years since I’ve done it with anyone but Clark, but it’s just like riding a bike, right? One leg over, ass in the saddle…
After a deep breath in, I walk out, wash my hands, and head back into the room, which is now as dim as it can get without shutting off the light entirely. He’s seated in one of the armchairs, waiting.
“Go ahead and get on the bed.” I guess he’s in charge now. “This dark enough for you?”
“Totally dark, please,” I whisper, heading to the bed, feeling like I’ve completely miscalculated this whole thing.
I sink onto the white comforter, then change my mind and get up to pull it, along with the top sheet back, then scramble onto the middle, self-conscious and awkward, but also tempted to squeeze my thighs together for a hit of friction.
Over the next few beats, Jake heads over to the lamp and shuts it off, the clicking sound final and grim in the quiet. He then settles on the side of the bed, his breathing audible.
Seconds tick by.
“You mind if I get ready?”
“Oh. Go ahead.”
The sound of fabric, a zipper coming undone, the dry swipe of skin to skin.
Good lord, why didn’t I think of how the noises would be worse in the dark?
A low grunt joins in the unexpectedly erotic sound of the man using his own hand to get himself hard. For me.
Another grunt, raspier, and for some inconceivably ridiculous reason, I want to know what he’s thinking about while he does this. Is he picturing the two of us together? Maybe he’s imagining something else entirely. A porn or a fantasy situation.
“Are…are you…” I swallow, no idea what I’m going to say, but Jake knows. He knows.
“I’m thinking about those big, soft tits of yours. How they’ll bounce when I’m fucking you.”
My insides clench up, achingly empty.
“Thinking about how tight you’ll be around me, how good you’ll feel. Oh, fuck .”
“Are you… Are you okay?”
He laughs low and private, the sound the warmest thing I’ve ever heard. “I’m about to get inside you, Katarina. Doing just fine.” A pause, filled with the sound of his hand—or hands?—stroking up and down his shaft, squeezing, maybe?
I wish I knew how tight. Why did I need the lights off?
As if reading my mind he says, “Let me turn the lights on, Kit. Forget the rules. I’ll make it good for you.”
What if… “No.”
“Fine. Get ready, then.”
It takes me a second to realize I should probably lift my skirt up. “Um. Okay. I’m good.”
“Good. Your legs spread?”
“Yes. They’re…” I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Open.”
“That’s it. Get them good and wide for me.” His hand’s moving faster and then suddenly, the sound stops. “All right. Let’s go.”