Chapter 18
eighteen
Cordy tugged at the blanket wrapped around the baby doll and tried not to swear.
This was their last labor and delivery class and since they’d finished all the material, Ms. Reston was having them practice their swaddling as a treat.
It didn’t feel like a treat to Cordy. It felt like torture. How was she supposed to do this to a real, live baby when she could barely do it to a doll? Getting it tight enough to stay on felt tight enough to suffocate the baby.
How many babies died from too-tight swaddles? Cordy had no idea. Great, another thing to panic over. She was due in five days and had to get this right. There was no more time.
Chance poked disgustedly at his wrapping job. The blanket slipped, then slowly unraveled. The baby doll sprang out, its rubber limbs flailing.
“Some duct tape would help,” Chance muttered. “Maybe if I could get a knee into the baby’s chest, I could get it tight enough.”
Cordy sent him a horrified look.
“Joking,” Chance said. “You’re getting too serious.” He rewrapped his doll, then inspected his work. “Not bad. Maybe we ought to make a contest out of it. Whoever does it fastest wins. We’d need a real baby, make it more real. If the baby wriggles out, you lose.”
Cordy stared at him.
“Baby rodeo,” Chance said. “I think it’d do real well around here. Maybe add a diaper change competition. Bottle preparation.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Milking competition.”
Cordy resisted the urge to smack him even as she held in a laugh. “You will not milk me. I am not a cow.”
“Never said you were. But you’d be good at it.” He let his gaze linger over her chest as his voice dropped. “You’ve got the most magnificent tits. Best I’ve ever seen.”
She ought to be embarrassed. Or offended. But all she felt was a dizzying warmth.
“Thank you,” she whispered back to him. “You did much better at swaddling than I did.”
“Not going to say anything nice about my tits though?”
“They’re magnificent.” She ducked her head to keep from giggling.
“Thank you.” He ran a hand down his chest. “I’ve been doing my exercises.”
“Exercises?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at her. “You know, the exercises girls do.”
Cordy could only stare at him. Chance seemed deadly serious. “There are… there are no exercises to make your boobs bigger.”
“Yes, there are.” He was serious. “The girls used to do them behind Mrs. Huntington’s classroom when we were in middle school. They would get together, hide back there, and tell us boys we couldn’t watch. So, of course, we snuck over to see what they were up to.” He stuck his elbows out and did some kind of iron-pumping chicken dance. “That’s what they were doing.”
“And you thought they worked?” Cordy clapped a hand over her mouth. Dear God, the man had known so many women—how was he so damn ignorant?
“Well, yeah,” he said defensively. “They did them throughout seventh grade and then in eighth— whoomp .” He cupped his hands in front of his chest, marking off novelty-sized breasts.
“They hit puberty,” Cordy told him. “It wasn’t the exercises, they just grew up.”
“What?” Chance looked as if she’d told him unicorns weren’t real. “No. No, it worked.”
“If I didn’t know you had no sisters, I’d know for sure after you told me that.”
“If it didn’t work, why were they doing the exercises?”
Cordy thought about it. “They were probably playing a joke, and you boys fell for it.”
Realization was dawning on Chance’s face. “They did laugh a lot when they did those exercises.”
“They were… at your expense.” Cordy couldn’t hold in her own laughter anymore. “Who was it? I want to meet these girls. I bet they grew up to be amazing.”
“What are you two laughing about?” Ms. Reston asked as she came over to inspect their work. “Nice swaddle,” she told Chance.
“Thanks. I’m thinking of adding some duct tape next time to make it extra secure.” He shook his swaddled doll, testing the blanket’s hold. “But maybe I’ve got it.”
“I know you’re joking about the tape,” she said repressively. “The swaddle is… good. It’s a good swaddle.”
“Well, thank you, ma’am,” Chance drawled. “I’ve been practicing.”
Ms. Reston pressed her lips together. Cordy braced for the teacher to give Chance another lecture about being serious, which didn’t seem entirely fair. Chance was honestly being wonderful and yes, he made a lot of jokes, but Cordy liked that. He knew when she was getting wound up and would make her laugh to get her to come back down. It was almost uncanny how good he was at sensing her mood.
Cordy couldn’t imagine doing this class with anyone else. Chance had been the right choice, even though she’d thought he’d be completely wrong.
“I can tell.” Ms. Reston’s praise came reluctantly. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure about you when you started.”
“Me?” Chance pointed to himself. “Because I’m a rancher?”
“It’s not that.” Ms. Reston sniffed. “It’s the joking. Men who only want to make jokes rarely do well in a labor class. And definitely not in the labor room.” She pinned them both with her stare. “None of this is a joke.”
Cordy didn’t think it was. But there was room for laughter, surely? It didn’t have to all be frowns and everything super serious. When Chance made her laugh, it helped. She felt like she could actually do this when he pointed out the humor in it.
“I know that, ma’am.” Chance was quietly sober.
“Yes, well”—Ms. Reston cleared her throat—“I know that you’ll do fine. The men who come in here ready to make everyone laugh, they do it to get attention. They’re not good partners because they can’t share the spotlight. The entire focus of the birth needs to be on the mother, and they can’t do it.” Ms. Reston put her hand on Chance’s shoulder. “But you proved me wrong. Even if you are a cut-up, you’re incredibly supportive of Cordy. You’ll be a wonderful partner for her. Just don’t tell any cow-birthing stories in the delivery room.”
“What if she wants me to?”
Cordy realized her eyes were stinging because Ms. Reston was right. Cordy was so lucky Chance had answered her ad.
Cordy sniffed, getting her emotions under control. “I’ll tell you if I want any ranch stories,” she told him. “But I might be kind of distracted.”
He took her hand, squeezed it. “I know. But I’ll be there the whole time.”
“Perfect.” Ms. Reston clapped her hands like that settled it, and moved on to the next couple.
“The ad said you wouldn’t have to be present at the birth,” Cordy said huskily. “So don’t feel you have to say yes.”
The frown that crossed his face was thunderous. ‘“Are you kidding me? And leave you all alone? Didn’t you hear her talking about everything that could go wrong? Who’s going to be there for you if something terrible happens? These doctors, they don’t always listen to women.”
It was true, but hearing it come from Chance’s mouth was something. It looked like he had been listening.
“Everything should be fine,” she said. “Most births are.”
“Well, I can’t stop thinking about everything that could go wrong.” His face was pale.
“I don’t want to think about it,” she confessed. “I’ll be too scared if I do.”
“You won’t. But you let me think about it then. I’ll worry for you. And I’ll make the doctors listen.”
“Thanks.” Cordy tugged at the blanket wrapped around the doll, wondering what had just happened.
All of this was supposed to be temporary. But somehow, they’d slipped into something that was starting to feel… permanent? Kind of? At least it seemed that way, not that she had any experience with permanency. Chance himself was positively allergic to it.
She ought to tell him about Reed’s house and let him know she would move out once she got that sorted out. That would make things between them more familiar. Yes, they’d still be friends, but the benefits part would end.
Cordy had already contacted a lawyer about Reed’s will. She’d let the Saxons know she’d done it, and Mrs. Saxon had replied “okay” to her message. It was neutral enough that Cordy counted that as a win. Things were in motion. She might have access to the house very soon.
And yet, she couldn’t make herself say anything. Instead, she swaddled the baby doll again, telling herself there was no point until matters were settled.
Chance didn’t let himself think.
Not about the situation with Cordy, not about what would happen after the baby came, none of it.
He liked coming home to her, so he just enjoyed that. He liked feeding her, so he enjoyed that. And he loved making her come every night, so he reveled in that.
He broke out in a cold sweat whenever he tried to think about what might happen once the baby was here. So he didn’t. They had a week to go; he didn’t have to worry yet.
Chance studied the chicken on the grill, wondering if he ought to baste it again. Probably. He didn’t want it to get dry, not when it was for Cordy.
Barbecuing was good for zoning out and not thinking, so he was taking advantage this evening. He brushed the marinade over the chicken, careful not to let it drip too much into the coals. The spicy scent wafted up, along with the hint of smoke. Oh, Cordy was going to love this. She had a taste for food with a kick.
Cordy pushed open the screen door with her hip, her hands filled with a salad bowl. She’d been craving the wildest salads lately, filled with all kinds of vegetables, raw, pickled, and roasted, along with beans and fancy cheeses. Chance had grown up on iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing and hadn’t realized what he’d been missing.
“Chicken’s almost ready,” he told her.
The pleased smile she gave him made his entire day.
Afterward, he couldn’t remember exactly what they’d talked about. What they’d done that day, this and that, he supposed. He threw chicken to the dog when she wasn’t looking. She put her bare feet on the chair next to her, toes flexing in a beam of sunlight.
The evening was good. Better than good.
They could do this every night .
That thought had him pushing out of his chair and disappearing into the kitchen to clean up, cold sweat beading on the back of his neck.
The rhythms of washing dishes settled him enough to get his mind properly blank again.
Cordy was waiting for him in her bed once he was done. That was part of their routine, too. She went into her room and got ready for him while he cleaned.
She wasn’t shy anymore. Cordy was laid out on the bed, all bare skin and spread thighs and glistening folds. It hit him hard every time he saw her, so much so that he had to catch his breath.
She looked like a ripe peach that would drip juice down your chin the moment your teeth sank in.
That raised all kinds of interesting scenes in Chance’s head.
He stalked over to her. She already had her lower lip caught between her teeth, anticipating his arrival.
“I’ve got an idea.” He ran his hand up her thigh, savoring the feel of her.
God, but he loved touching her. Being with her night after night, discovering what she liked and what she loved, was an unfamiliar experience. He didn’t have to learn her body anew each time—he knew what she liked, what she needed. He knew the sensitive patch behind her knee would make her squeal when he licked it. It was like it was directly connected to her pussy. He knew her nipples were more sensitive some days than others, and he always had to check before he could touch. He knew she loved having her hair pulled. And he’d found it satisfied something primal inside him, having her at his mercy, neck bared, held fast in his grip.
“What?” Her voice was already high and breathy.
Chance kissed her because he loved doing it so damn much. “You’re going to sit on my face.”
She gasped into his mouth. “Oh. Oh, yes. Please, yes.” Cordy pulled back, her brow creasing. “Wait, will that work?”
“Can you kneel comfortably? We’ve got all these pillows to help.”
“I can.” She climbed to her knees, her lush tits swaying. “Why do you have these? You don’t do frills. Like pillows.”
He tucked one under her hips, then added another one for good measure. “That good?” When she nodded, he went on. “Ruby decorated this guest room. I got furniture for the rest of the house, but I ran out of caring when I got to here. Put an army cot and a sleeping bag in and called it good. Ruby was horrified.”
Cordy shifted her hips, her knees spreading wider. The dark, damp curls at her core peeked back at him. Goddamn, but she was an erotic dream come to life.
“Ruby likes to manage things,” she said.
“She does.” He couldn’t help reaching out and squeezing the supple skin of her hip. “But I’ve got frills around the house now, thanks to you.” Chance looked her up and down. “Christ, I didn’t think this through. Should have gotten under you before I got the pillows in place.”
Cordy threw back her head and laughed. “We’ll be better next time. Let’s call this the dry run.”
He ran his fingers through her folds. “Not dry at all. Have to call it a wet run.”
She laughed again as she moved the pillows. Then she rose, making space for him, so powerful and radiant she could have been a goddess. He said a little prayer of thanks as he slid between her thighs.
When she sank back down, he was surrounded by her. Her scent, her taste, her skin. He could get drunk on her. His head was already spinning, his cock hard enough to drive nails.
But this was about Cordy. Not that it was any hardship for Chance to lick and suckle her swollen folds. Her taste, sharp and musky, spread over his tongue.
He closed his eyes. Her small reactions—the tensing of her thighs, the flex of her feet, the shift of her hips—were heightened when he did that. Every sensation running through her was telegraphed to him.
All the hunger in him for her he poured out through his lips, his tongue. She squealed and squirmed and begged him please, please, please. When Chance tenderly scraped his teeth over her clit—just the kind of gently fierce thing she liked—Cordy fisted her hand in his hair and held on for dear life.
He sucked in a breath as his blood flamed out. Turned out he loved having his hair pulled, too.
Chance thrust his tongue inside her pussy, needing more of her taste. His hips bucked. God, if only it were his cock inside her instead of his tongue. He’d fuck her so hard and good, he’d make her love it.
No, he had to stop thinking about that. Chance was here to give her orgasms, a place to stay, and some help. His cock couldn’t come into it.
Love definitely couldn’t.
Cordy’s thighs tightened around him. Her moans went high, thready. She was close. Chance put his lips around her clit and sucked.
Her hips rocked into his face, her knees splayed, and she damn near tore his hair out as she came. He loved that about her orgasms—she never held anything back. When she was well pleasured, she let him know it. He’d replay this moment later when he was alone in the shower, cock in his hand.
Slowly, she curled up on her side. Her skin was flushed, dewy, and her eyes were pleasure-drunk.
“Could you breathe?” she asked.
“Nope. I died and came back to life when you came.” It was closer to the truth than he was comfortable with.
Cordy laughed and let him help her into her pajamas: a faded, oversized T-shirt Chance recognized as Reed’s, and some tiny booty shorts.
He kept himself awake until her breathing went slow and even and deep. Cordy was asleep, which meant he had to leave.
Leaving got harder and harder each night. He fought sleep as he held her, willing himself to be good, to stick with what they’d agreed to—pleasure for her, denial for him. That’s what she needed. With the baby coming, she had to focus on that, and he had to let her, not distract her with his urges.
Eventually, he pushed himself away. He allowed himself one kiss on her forehead.
Cordy opened her eyes. “You’re leaving?”
Was that sadness in her tone? He’d better not hope for that.
“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”
“Okay.” Instead of closing her eyes, she reached out and laid her palm against his jaw. “Your beard grows fast.”
Chance nuzzled his face into her hand. No one had ever told him that before, probably because he’d never been close enough to a woman for her to notice how his beard grew.
It felt good to be seen like that. And then the cold sweat came.
He pulled away. Cordy was already closing her eyes, probably not even missing him.
The cold sweat on his back blew away as he went for the door. But so did the good feeling about being seen.