Chapter 17
Mariah
Ithink I broke Titus.
He’s just staring at me. Completely still. Completely silent. As focused on where I stand as he was on his computer last night. He’s looking at me like nothing else exists. Like nothing else matters.
No one’s ever looked at me like that. Not any of the guys I’ve dated. Not my dad. Not even my mom.
I’ve never been the most important thing to someone. It didn’t matter how hard I worked. How big I smiled. How happy I acted. I couldn’t find a way to hold anyone’s attention. I was never…
Enough.
I swallow hard, fighting for air in a moment I’ve been chasing my whole life.
When Titus finally begins slowly walking my way, oxygen becomes even less available as my body forgets how to function under the weight of his gaze.
I don’t know why, but I start to back up.
It’s probably a prey response. Because right now, I feel like I’m being hunted by a predator who is after only one thing.
Me.
It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Just like so much else with Titus is. I know most of the decisions I’ve made involving him haven’t exactly been the best, but this one for sure takes the cake.
When the backs of my legs hit the bed, I’m moving fast enough I tip back, dropping right to the mattress I slept on last night. And judging by the big warm spot beside me when I woke up, I’m pretty sure I didn’t sleep on it alone.
My back has barely touched the mattress before Titus is over me.
His big body blocks out the light peeking around the edges of his blinds as he hooks one arm behind my back, using the hold to drag me up until my head is on the pillows.
Once I’m in place, he pushes up to his knees, the green of his eyes fixed to my face as his hands slide up my thighs.
Strong fingers hook in the elastic waist of my favorite flannel pajama pants, skimming them down my legs.
Even once my lower half is naked, Titus’s eyes don’t leave mine.
I can’t look away from him either. Not as his big body slowly lowers between my spread thighs. Not as the drag of stubble along his left jaw brushes against my skin, sending goosebumps down my limbs and my nipples pulling tight.
It’s not until Titus’s mouth meets my slick flesh and his eyes slip closed on a groan that I manage to look away. Even then, it’s only because all I can see is the inside of my eyelids. Because holy shit. How can one lick feel so freaking good?
I’m used to the mediocrest of mediocre when it comes to this act. Men who do it out of obligation, not enjoyment.
But based on the way his fingers grip my thighs and how his mouth latches onto me, Titus is for sure enjoying himself. A revelation that has my eyes snapping back open in disbelief as I push up to my elbows so I can watch as he feasts on me like I’m better than caramel cake.
Which is saying something.
The sight before me might be the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Titus is gorgeous in any capacity, but naked Titus is a fucking work of art.
The towel at his waist was lost somewhere in the process of us climbing up the bed, affording me an unhindered view of not just his upper body, but also his perfectly shaped ass and thick thighs.
The sight of his taut muscles bunching and flexing as he does things with his mouth I didn’t know were possible works me up at a disappointingly fast pace.
I want to savor this moment. Memorize the view.
But the steady flick of his tongue on a spot right next to my clit has my body tingling and my muscles clenching in a way I can’t control.
When he slides a long finger into me, it’s like lighting a fuse.
A very short one.
Because a second later, I explode, coming harder than I thought possible as he continues teasing against my clit and fucking me with a finger that strokes against the unicorn of spots inside me.
Titus groans along with me, his hips flexing against the mattress.
Imagining him fucking me like that instead of the blankets sends an aftershock that might actually be a second orgasm rippling through me.
It’s too much, and I end up collapsing back to the pillows, losing my view.
But it’s fine. Because thanks to Titus, I can’t currently see straight anyway.
I’m boneless, completely incapable of movement as he crawls up my body, lips coasting along my skin. I could swear he seems to pause just below my belly button, spending an extra heartbeat at that spot. But I’ve probably just lost all concept of time along with the ability to see straight.
Titus noses against one of my tightened nipples, teasing it through my top. “I hate that I didn’t make it up here.” His eyes lift to mine as he mouths my breast through the soft fabric, puckering my skin further. “Next time.”
Next time?
Will I sound greedy if I ask when he thinks next time might be?
Maybe.
Titus’s face twists into a grimace as he shifts on the bed, lifting one of his legs away from the blankets. “Next time I’m also going to make sure my towel ends up under me.”
I lean, looking in the same direction he is, to discover a very obvious wet spot right where he’d been laying.
“Did you…” I could tell Titus was having a nice time, but I didn’t think he would…
Could…
Instead of answering my question, Titus nuzzles along my neck, voice low in my ear as he asks, “What do you want to eat for breakfast?”
“Toast?” I’m not really hungry, but that’s nothing new. I rarely wake up hungry these days. However, I’ve learned the hard way I have to eat anyway.
Otherwise—puke.
He nods. “I can make toast happen.”
Sliding off the bed in a way that obscures my ability to get a peek at the only part of his body I haven’t yet had my eyeballs on, Titus goes to the large walk-in closet, stepping inside.
When he comes back into view, he’s wearing a pair of jeans slung low on his hips.
His gaze lands on where I’m still lying—half naked—across his bed.
A slow smirk lifts his lips. “Having a hard time getting moving?”
Fuck a duck.
I've seen serious Titus. Worried Titus. Stressed Titus. I've even seen funny Titus and glimpses of charming Titus. All of them have made it difficult for me to stick to the plan I came here with.
But cocky Titus? He's got me wanting to throw the whole plan out the window. Then set it on fire. Then grind it up into dust.
Then scatter that dust into the wind.
Collecting my pajama pants from where he abandoned them, Titus shakes them out before sliding them back into place. Once I'm dressed, he grips my hands and tugs me upright, using enough force that not only do I end up on my feet, but I also end up pressed right against him.
He leans close, running his nose alongside mine. "You go downstairs. I'm going to throw the sheets in the washing machine and then I'll be down."
Not only is he going to service me, but he's also going to clean up? That’s… unexpected. Not from Titus specifically, just from a man in general.
I hesitate, because it feels weird to have someone handling so much, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. "I can help—”
"You can also go downstairs." Titus straightens away from me, turning my body for the door. "It'll take me two minutes."
I guess that's true. That's how long it took me to strip his bed last night. It still feels weird to be the one wandering away when there's work to be done.
I'm halfway down the stairs before a few thoughts connect, settling bitterly in my stomach.
Maybe my unwavering positivity hasn't been the only way I've attempted to maintain relationships.
I've always felt like I had to work for them.
Put in the effort. The time. The energy.
That I had to be deserving or it would all go away.
Obviously that was wrong. Because even when I was happy and positive and busting my ass, nearly every relationship—friendly or romantic—has evaporated. And I don't know what that means.
Maybe that I'm trying too hard? That I'm generally unlikable? That I have terrible taste in the people I choose to interact with? I can confirm that last one, because I do seem to have a terrible picker.
That's the whole reason I thought it was safe to come to the middle of nowhere Wyoming. There would be nobody to pick from. Nothing to tempt me into a false sense of optimism. No one to spawn the dreamy plans I can't seem to stop myself from making.
I turn away from the kettle I’m filling in the sink as I hear Titus coming down the stairs. He's fully dressed now with a shirt covering the hard ridges and lines of his chest and arms. He’s still fucking gorgeous. Definitely the kind of man dreams are made of.
Maybe I should have done a little more research on the Bradshaw brothers before I took this job. At least then I would've seen this coming. Had the opportunity to gird my loins and build up some defenses.
But when Titus comes to my side, gently working the kettle from my hand, I have to face the truth. There might not be enough defenses in this world to keep me from accidentally falling for this man.
He tips his head at the bar where he normally works. "Go sit."
"But…” I don't know what to do right now. I know what I want to do. I want to float on a cloud and think that everything has changed between us. That the future looks bright and shiny and wonderful. But historically, I’ve been a little bit of an over-expecter.
That leaves me falling back on the only other thing I know how to do—earn my place.
Except Titus doesn't seem interested in allowing that. He shakes his head, voice soft when he says, "Let me take care of you."
How long have I waited for someone to say those words to me?
Forever.
Just like no one's ever put me first, no one's ever taken care of me.
Not the way I really needed. My mother kept a roof over my head and food in my stomach, and I will be forever grateful to her for that because it was a hell of a lot more than my dad did.
But that was where her care of me ended.
There was no emotional support. No life advice.
No affection. She'd decided that if my dad didn't want it, nobody else could have it either.
"I..."
One corner of Titus’s mouth lifts. "I know." He turns me, urging my feet to begin moving. "But you'll get used to it."
I don't foresee that happening. It's too strange. Too different.
Too close to what I've dreamed of a million times for me to trust it.
Stiffly, I slide into the seat he normally occupies, spine straight as I watch him work across the island.
After rummaging through the refrigerator and cabinets, Titus pulls out a skillet and cracks a few eggs into melted butter.
While they fry, he lowers toast to brown, timing everything perfectly.
In quick order, there's a plate sitting in front of me with expertly fried eggs, buttered toast, and a scoop of the prepared fruit I keep in the refrigerator.
Titus has cooked for me before, but it's always been something quick and very easy.
This is too, but today I'm paying closer attention and I can't help but notice there's an amount of experience that went into the food.
Thinking back, everything Titus has cooked has been properly prepared.
Definitely not thrown together by an inexperienced hand.
I lift my eyes to meet his across the counter. "You know how to cook."
Titus shrugs, dropping my gaze as he carries his own plate around the island.
I spin on my stool to face him as he sits down beside me. "If you know how to cook, why have you been eating nothing but cereal and protein shakes?"
Titus doesn't look at me as he cuts a piece of egg and piles it on his toast, biting off the chunk before finally answering. "I ordered takeout sometimes too."
He's being cute, but I can't get distracted. I tilt my head, trying to force myself into his line of sight. "Why weren't you feeding yourself properly?"
After a few seconds, Titus slowly turns to face me, and the answer is right there. Part of it anyway.
He didn't take care of himself for the same reason he didn't leave his house.
"That is a complicated answer, and I don't know that I have it in me to get into it today." Titus’s green eyes drift down my body, resting in the general vicinity of my lap. "Not when we have more important things to talk about."
Oh no. He's already regretting what happened between us. I'm so fucking stupid. I let myself get whisked away by possibilities I should know by now aren't mine. I let myself think—
"When is the baby due?"
I can almost hear the tires screech inside my brain. "What?"
Titus’s eyes flick to my face before dropping to look at my lower belly. "The baby. How far along are you?"
“Oh." I clear my throat, wiggling in my seat because I feel weird discussing this with him. Not because Titus has made me uncomfortable, but because I can't imagine any man loves the idea of a woman he's... interacting with… carrying another man's baby. "I'm almost twelve weeks."
Titus sits straighter in his seat, one arm coming out to drape across the back of mine. "When is your first doctor's appointment?"
I lick my lips before rubbing them together. I don't have an answer for that. I've been putting that part of all of this off. Scheduling an appointment makes it all feel so much more real. Like more than just a secret I'm carrying.
“I don’t have one scheduled yet.” My voice is small. The way it always is when I have to face a way I’ve fallen short. When I know I’m shining a light on something people will see as a failure.
And ignoring the reality of my pregnancy is for sure a failure.
But Titus doesn’t look disappointed. He doesn’t even seem judgmental.
He almost looks… relieved as he says, “Good. That gives me the chance to make sure the one you see is the best there is.”