13. Chapter 13
T he morning light filters through the blinds, casting stripes across the counter as I nurse my first cup of coffee. Savoring that first hit of caffeine, I let the warmth seep through my veins. Last night, I couldn’t get my brain to shut off.
When Savannah came in from her walk and chat with my sister, she seemed off.
Not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that I couldn’t get a feel for.
Her body language was tight, but her movements were filled with kindness.
I was tempted to text Bret to see what they talked about, but I didn’t.
Instead, I sat on the couch with Sav, rubbing her swollen feet as we watched a baseball game.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mom texted twice, inviting me over for dinner. I left her on read both times. She’s gonna start calling soon—hell, she’ll probably arrive on my doorstep if I dodge her much longer. Which I don’t want happening.
But what am I supposed to say?
Oh, hey, Mom. That girl I used to hook up with—the one who appeared at my graduation carrying someone else’s kid? Well, she’s living in my guest room now. No, we’re not together, but we’re not not together.
I rake my hand down my face, relishing the scratch of my beard on my palm.
My face needs a shave—my beard’s getting longer than I usually keep it.
I groan into the quiet. Not because she’s here, but because I like having her here.
Maybe too much. I’ve been waking, hoping I’ll catch a glimpse of her before I leave.
But I can’t bring her around my parents when I haven’t even figured out what the hell we are.
Roommates? Friends? Something in between and more complicated than I want to admit?
Savannah Holycross is Wonder Woman. She’s eight months pregnant, finishing her degree, working damn near full-time, and still finds time to help around the apartment.
She’s constantly stretching herself thin by going to the grocery store, cleaning the apartment, even though I’ve told her countless times to leave it.
She never complains about anything. With a smile, she tackles everything life throws her way.
All I want is to help her, to make her life easier. But I know she’ll bite my head off the second I approach the idea of me taking some of her burden.
Savannah is proud and determined to do it on her own.
It’s not about being her hero. I don’t have a hero complex like my sister claims. It’s about doing the right thing.
I have the means to help, so why won’t she let me?
My dad taught me how a man should treat a woman.
When you find the one, you’ll do whatever it takes to make her feel safe, valued, loved, exactly as your partner should feel.
A soft click echoes down the hallway, interrupting my thoughts. I glance up, checking the time on the microwave. Seven-fifteen. It’s early for her, way earlier than usual. Sav is a night owl who requires sleeping through the mornings.
After a few minutes, she rounds the corner into the kitchen, clearly half-awake, the sour look on her face saying it all—she’s in a mood.
Her brunette hair is a messy halo, her face bare, with swollen purple bags under her eyes.
What used to be an oversized tee now stretches tight over the swell of her belly.
And still—goddamn—she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I sip from my mug as she waddles past with a grunt. “Good morning, Peach. You’re a goddamn delight this early.”
Her head whips toward me, eyes narrowing into slits as she reaches for a coffee mug. “Don’t start with me, Campbell.”
My eyebrows lift at her throwing out my last name. And because I’m an idiot, I poke the bear. “Someone’s feisty.”
“No,” she snaps. Savannah places the coffee carafe back on the warmer, harder than needed, before spinning in my direction, hands finding her hips. “I’m fucking horny!”
I choke on my coffee. “Well...okay, then.”
She groans and throws up her hands. Coffee is long forgotten, even though the grizzly in front of me could use some caffeine. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been properly laid?”
I blink, eyes widening.
She doesn’t stop. Instead, she takes a deep breath before continuing. “Like…fucked. Worshipped. Tossed around. Hard and dirty. It’s been months. I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust. My body is hard up, Grant.”
The silence that falls between us is thick. Her chest heaves from her outburst. Then slowly, I set my mug down. With my heart pounding, I cross the room and plant both hands on either side of her, gripping the counter, caging her in.
Her lips part slightly, eyes staring into mine, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to break away from this connection.
With her caged between my arms, I lean in close to her ear.
“Say the word, Peach,” I murmur, my breath causing her breath to quicken. “I remember what it feels like to be inside you. The way that pretty, perfect cunt felt gripping my cock. The way your cum dripped down the length of me. You want to be fucked, then say the word, Savannah.”
Her breath catches as I watch her pulse race.
“Rule number four: take whatever you need,” I say, reminding her of our roommate rules she was desperate to have. “If you want that again—want me again—all you have to do is say the damn word. I’ll take care of you.”
She stares at me, fire behind her gaze, but never makes a sound. As I start to pull away, her hand jerks out and grips my shirt. Our eyes lock, and it’s then that I see the desire in her amber eyes.
“Fuck me, Grant. Make me feel good.”
Something I could only describe as a growl rips from my throat as the invisible tension-filled rubber band finally snaps.
I grip the back of her neck and crush my mouth to hers like I’ve waited patiently to do. It’s rough and hungry. Our bodies practically sag in relief. We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, both avoiding making the first move.
A moan leaves her lips, and I slide my tongue against the seam of her lips, begging for more. Her lips part, granting me access as our tongues dance together. She tastes like spearmint and desperation, and I eat it up.
My free hand roams over her body. Over her bump and down her hips until they graze the soft, smooth texture of her cotton sleep shorts.
Savannah’s hands glide over my arms, across my shoulders, until she pushes her hands through my hair, gripping the soft locks as she holds on to me.
It’s an awkward connection with her growing belly in the middle, but we make it work.
Her hips thrust forward, chasing friction, wanting me to touch the place she’s desperate for.
But before I do, I break our kiss. She starts to let out a groan of frustration, but before she can, my lips trail down the side of her neck. Sucking the soft flesh between my lips before nipping gently.
“Grant,” she moans breathlessly.
“You sure about this, Peach?” I ask, voice rough, praying she says yes. But if she told me to stop, to slow down, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
“God, yes!” She nods eagerly. “Fuck me, Grant. Make me feel good. I mean it.”
Pulling back, I reach for her hand. As much as I want to lift her in my arms and carry her to my bedroom, I don’t. It’s not because I can’t, but I wouldn’t want to risk stumbling over my feet. Not when she’s this far into her pregnancy.
With her hand gripped in mine, I pull her to my room.
If I’m finally going to have Savannah Holycross, it’s going to be in my bed—so every time I rest my head, I’m reminded of this moment.
I want her peach and vanilla scent clinging to my pillows.
I want the sounds she makes burned into my memory, the image of her squirming under my touch etched into me.
Does that make me a masochist? Probably.
I stop at the edge of my bed, turning to take her in—flushed cheeks, chest rising fast, eyes full of desire.
She’s so fucking sexy, and my cock twitches. It’s rock hard, pressed against the zipper of my khaki shorts, reminding me I’m dressed for work. I’m going to be late, and I don’t give a fuck. Nothing is taking me away from this moment.
“Strip, Peach,” I demand. Her eyes widen at my tone before her lips tilt in a seductive smirk.
Pushing her shoulders back, confidence oozes from Savannah.
Without breaking eye contact, she pushes her shorts down, kicking them to the side.
Her fingertips trail up her thigh before sliding into the waistband of her panties.
A rush of warmth goes straight to my cock, and my balls instinctively constrict. It’s been so fucking long since I’ve been with anyone. I’m wound as tight as she is.
Her hands grip the hem of her shirt as she strips it over her head. Full tits bounce as she tosses the shirt onto the floor. My mouth waters. Savannah’s always had perfect tits. Nice sized—more than a handful—and full, but now, fuck . Now, with the faint stretch marks, they’re delectable.
“Goddamn, Peach. Fucking look at you.” I rub my hand down my face as I meet her heated stare. Her cheeks flush a darker shade of pink, and her hands move to cover herself. “Don’t hide from me, sweetheart. You’re perfect.”
Her lips part, a choppy breath escaping. “Touch me, Grant.”
We erase the space between us, our lips colliding as I help guide her onto the mattress. Climbing onto the bed next to her, my subconscious is aware of her belly as my lips find her neck again.
My hands move to cup her breasts, the fullness making me unable to hold them all.
I begin kneading her soft flesh, moving my fingers to play with her nipples.
A moan slips free as I thrust my hips forward, practically dry-humping the bed.
If I don’t get inside her soon, I’m going to come in my pants.
But it’s not about me right now. It’s about worshipping this incredible woman who’s growing a human life.
This isn’t just about sex—it’s about making sure she feels cherished, desired, wanted.