Chapter 27
Mariah
Idon’t know how much longer I can stand this. Waking up with Titus curled around me, one strong arm banded at my waist and a very hard dick pressing against my ass, has me starting every day hot and bothered.
Emphasis on the bothered part.
Titus sucks in a breath as his alarm goes off, inhaling against my hair as his hold on me tightens. “Good morning.”
I wiggle closer to him, working my butt against the hard line of his cock in what I hope is an inviting—maybe even enticing—way.
And, like every morning for the past week, Titus groans, one hand gripping my hip as he rocks against me. Teasing me with a taste of what I want.
But instead of tugging down both our pants and shoving his way into my very willing body, Titus’s hand at my hip shifts, sliding into the waistband of my pajamas.
He slicks his fingers along my eager flesh and I spread my legs, sucking in a breath as he finds the hard bead of my clit and teases against it.
It feels fucking amazing. Just like when he plops me onto his desk and makes a meal of me instead of consuming the actual meal I’ve brought him.
The man doesn’t hesitate to get me off. Frequently and eagerly. I’ve even managed to get my hands—and mouth—on him a few times. But not once has he tried to fuck me.
And I’m starting to develop a complex about it.
When his long fingers sink into me, I whimper. Because it just isn’t enough. I want him filling me. Buried inside my body as deep as he can go. Pounding me through the available surface of his choosing. Couch. Bed. Counter.
I.
Don’t.
Care.
I just want all of him.
When he pulls his fingers free and brings them back to my clit, they’re so wet, each pass of his touch makes an obscenely sexy sound. It makes me think of what it will sound like when I finally figure out how to get Titus over whatever hump’s stopping him from taking all I’m willing to give.
And that’s more than enough to have me coming, thighs clenching at his hand as I convulse against him.
My ears are still ringing when Titus presses a kiss to the spot just beneath my ear and rolls away, sliding off the bed before slipping into the bathroom.
I flop onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling only partially satisfied by the orgasm still rippling through my limbs.
I don’t know how it’s happening, but pregnancy has got me acting like a dog in heat.
To be fair, it could just be Titus that has me feeling desperately needy.
The man is so freaking fine. Handsome, kind, caring, attentive.
He always puts me first. Worries about my well-being and safety to an extent I might think was unhealthy if I didn’t know his past.
And I think that might be exactly why he’s not dicking me down. Fear. I thought maybe he was waiting to make sure everything was okay with me and Peanut. That once I had my doctor’s appointment, it would be green lights all the way.
Nope.
Not where penetration is concerned anyway. And I don’t know how to get him past it.
With a sigh, I roll off the bed, padding to my rooms where I take a quick shower and dress in my favorite pair of stretchy pants and matching top, tucking the drapey knit into the front of the drawstring waistband.
After sweeping my hair into a messy bun, I make my way downstairs and find Titus already in the kitchen, making me tea and toast.
“I’m the one who’s supposed to be making you breakfast.” I give him a smile so he knows I’m teasing. “If your mom shows up and catches you cooking for me, she’s not going to be happy.”
“You’d be shocked at what makes my mother happy.” Titus shoots me a smirk. “She’s a complicated woman.”
I slide into one of the seats at the counter, watching him work, my gaze zeroing in on the hands that have quickly learned exactly how to touch me. How to make me feel better than I’ve ever felt.
It’s just another reason I’m so desperate for more from him. I can only imagine how good it will be.
But his last comment manages to pull my horny mind out of the gutter, dragging it to a spot way less appealing.
“What do you think she’s going to think when she finds out…” I trail off because I’m not sure what I’m most worried about Deidre discovering—my pregnancy or whatever it is that’s happening between me and her son. I can’t imagine either would thrill her, but both together?
Her reaction is probably not going to be great to say the least.
Titus slides the tea and toast in front of me. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks.”
Oh, but it does.
Rounding the counter, Titus uses one finger under my chin to tip my head back. He leans in, lips brushing mine in a soft kiss that melts my insides. He’s so freaking gentle and tender and careful. Probably more reasons he hasn’t railed me through the mattress.
“Eat your breakfast.” He picks up the cup of coffee he made himself. “I’m going to send some emails and then I’ll come check on you.”
He’s going to check on me because I’m past the point most people’s morning sickness subsides, and still barfing on a regular basis. Still struggling to keep down more than just tea and toast. Still getting dizzy sometimes. And since Titus watches me like a hawk, he doesn’t miss a single episode.
I’ve tried out all the suggestions the doctor gave me. As hopeful as I was, none of them really helped. That’s left me trying to make the most of every nausea-free moment I get. Luckily, it seems like I’m having more of them each day, and it’s making it easier to think about what’s coming.
Which is why I grab my phone and open the app I use to organize everything from recipes, to outfits, to…
Baby items.
The board I have for Peanut is new, but I’ve already got quite a few things added.
While I eat, I manage to add a few more.
I’m sticking with the basics for now. Items I know I’ll need—a diaper bag, car seat, stroller, a crib.
I’ve also added some maternity outfit ideas.
I’m doing okay with my leggings and lounge pants so far, so I haven’t ordered anything yet, but I know it’s coming.
My stomach isn’t any bigger—likely due to all the puking—but it does feel firmer.
So do my boobs, and I’m gonna take the wins when I can get them.
I’m just finishing off my breakfast when the doorbell rings, pulling my attention from the screen.
What in the heck has Titus ordered now?
I stand, intending to see who’s here since he’s in his office working, but Titus beats me to the punch, striding out to open the door.
The face on the other side is familiar.
“Jason. Thanks for coming over.” Titus shakes the architect’s hand as he welcomes him inside. “I appreciate you driving out here.”
“It’s not a problem.” Jason turns to me, offering a warm smile. “Good to see you again, Mariah.”
“You too.” I’m a little surprised to see Jason so soon. With so much happening—my doctor’s appointment, the breaches at Alaskan Security and Titus’s company, the weekly family dinners—I figured it would be a while before we revisited the house renovation thing.
Titus closes the door and comes to where I’m standing, wrapping an arm around my waist before directing me toward his office. Once I’m in and situated in the chair behind his desk, Titus turns to Jason. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Sneaky man. Made sure I was sitting before he offered because he knows I’d go straight to the kitchen to grab whatever Jason wants.
Jason shakes his head, holding one hand up. “I’m fine, thank you.” He digs through his soft-sided briefcase, pulling out a pile of papers. “I brought over everything you wanted so we can get started.”
That has my brows lifting. Deep down, I didn’t really think Titus would rip his house apart for me. I sure as heck didn’t think he’d pay an architect to draw up plans for him to rip up his house.
But here they are, spread across the desk in front of me.
Titus moves in close beside me, leaning down to scan the clean lines and perfect letters. “You busted your ass on this.”
Jason sits a little straighter, looking pleased at Titus’s praise.
“You said we’re working on a tight timeline.
” He starts pointing to different areas of the plans.
“That’s why I did my best to keep as much of the existing structure intact as possible.
The fewer big changes we have to make, the faster the process can go.
” His eyes flick to Titus. “If you want to make extensive changes to the footprint, we can, but it will draw the construction out pretty extensively and leave you with nowhere to stay during construction.”
“I’d prefer not to do that if we can get away with it.” Titus turns to me, his eyes fused to my face. “My goal is to have everything completed before summer.”
“I think that’s possible if we start now.” Jason continues on, babbling about construction crews and inspections and material sourcing.
I don’t hear any of it.
Because while I have a bare-bones Pinterest board, Titus has an architect, a builder, and a timeline. He’s not just making plans.
He’s following through.
And I genuinely don’t know how to handle it. How to wrap my head around the way he’s changing his whole life for me.
For Peanut.
I stand, shoving the chair back as I mumble something about being right back before rushing from the office.
I can’t decide if I’m thrilled or terrified.
I want this. I want every freaking thing Titus is willing to offer me.
And I know—at least to some extent—I’m not just seeing what I want to see.
I didn’t imagine a whole ass rendering of the house Titus envisions for his future.
My future. Peanut’s future.
Our future.
But accepting that all of that is real means I have it all to lose. When shit I’ve imagined—plans I’ve concocted—go ass up, it’s nothing but my own pride that suffers.
If this falls through, I don’t know if I'll recover.
Going straight to the half bath just off the kitchen, I rush in and close the door. Leaning on the sink, I pull in deep breaths, trying not to hyperventilate while the full scope of my situation settles around me. And it’s so much worse than I thought.
Somehow, all the lunch tray notes and text messages, every gentle touch and calming word, the nightly couch cuddles and morning cups of tea, might have made me accidentally fall in love with Titus Bradshaw.
“Mariah? Sweetheart, are you okay?”
I suck in a breath and hold it, because how in the hell do I answer that?
“I’m coming in.” The warning comes as the door opens. When Titus’s eyes land on me, he lets out an audible breath. “Fuck. I thought you passed out again.” He steps inside, closing us in, the fear in his eyes turning to concern. “What’s going on?”
Umm… I probably love my employer, who’s freaking perfection, while I’m pregnant by some dipshit and staring down stretch marks and leaking nipples. Do I really believe Titus will be just as interested when my belly starts swelling and the baby baggage I’m carrying is staring him right in the face?
I don’t see how it’s possible. And he’s about to spend God only knows how much money redoing his whole house for something—someone—who isn’t his.
I can’t let him do that.
“I don’t want you to tear your house apart for me.” My voice wobbles a little, betraying me. “It just doesn’t make sense.” I press my fingers to my temples, trying to ease the throb building there. “What happens when…”
Titus reaches up, his touch warm as he pulls my hands away from my head. “Take a deep breath.” He pulls in air, slowly filling his lungs before releasing the breath. He does it again.
And again.
I don’t mean to follow along, it just happens, and soon I feel a little less like crying.
But only a little.
“Good girl.” His hand comes to my face, cradling it in his palm. “Now, why do you think we shouldn’t renovate the house?”
We. Why shouldn’t we renovate the house?
“Why do you keep saying we?” This isn’t the first time he’s put us together like that. Made it seem like we’re a team in his mind.
Together.
But we’re not. We’re in some sort of weird limbo where we make out and sleep in the same bed, but I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not someone he’s dating.
I’m not even someone he’s fucking.
Titus goes still, the thumb that was stroking my skin stalling out. The room is so quiet as we stare at each other.
As I wait for him to answer.
And wait some more.
Titus is definitely in the right field, because he analyzes everything, including himself. He never speaks without thinking, and normally I love that.
But right now the buffering is torture.
He finally takes the deep breath I know precedes most of his answers. Voice soft but filled with certainty, he says, “Because that’s what we are.”
I shake my head. “We’re not though. You’re just you and I’m just—”
“You’re not just anything, Mariah.” This time Titus’s tone is sharp. He leans down, aligning our eyes. “You’re everything.”
My next breath is a weird spasmy, hiccupy sort of amalgamation. “But—”
Titus keeps talking, cutting off my attempted argument.
“This is our home. Yours and mine. It doesn’t make sense the way it is.
What worked before doesn’t work anymore, and it needs to be fixed.
We’re going to fix it before the baby comes so we don’t have to worry about all the drywall dust and noise once Peanut is here. ” He lifts his brows. “Okay?”
I sniff, a small smile working across my mouth. “Okay.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love. It wasn’t even a claim of coupledom.
But he said I was everything, and I’ve never been anyone’s everything. Not to my parents. Certainly not to a man.
But I’m everything to Titus, and I think that’s way better than being just someone he’s dating.
It’s even better than being a girlfriend.
I’d still like to be someone he’s fucking, though.