Working For It Page 6

  I lower my head, telling myself just one kiss is okay. Hell, there isn’t a part of my body that hasn’t been up close and personal with hers, or an inch of her skin I haven’t licked, sucked and tasted, but this is different. This is… something.

  A knock at the door kills the moment, and we jump apart like two teenagers caught necking on the couch.

  “How are you going in there?” the nurse calls out from the other side of the door.

  “Good…” Gilly says thickly before clearing her throat. “Good, thanks. I just need one more minute.”

  “All right. No problem,” the nurse calls out.

  Gilly spins around, the hospital gown now clutched tightly to her chest. I look down at it and back up, unable to stop my grin.

  Gilly glares at me. “No getting freaky at the doctor’s office,” she grinds out.

  “Then don’t turn me on at the doctor’s office.”

  “You once said I turn you on just breathing.”

  I shrug, not stopping my enjoyable perusal of her half-naked form. “I also like it when you pretend to be annoyed.”

  She growls under her breath.

  “That works too,” I say, making a show of adjusting myself.

  She gives up the fight, and her lips curve up into a half-smile. “You’re terrible. How on earth are you going to be able to control yourself when we have a child around all the time?” She slaps a hand over her mouth. “I mean—”

  “April and Jamie pick their moments. I bet Abi and Cade do too. We’ll manage,” I say, not missing a beat.

  She quickly turns back around and removes her clothes, her attempt at modesty endearing.

  When I see black satin underwear sliding down to the floor, it’s my turn to growl. She sends me a knowing grin over her shoulder, and I can’t help myself.

  “Want me to hold those for you?” I ask, one brow raised.

  “I think they’ll be fine with the rest of my clothes.”

  I lean back in the chair and cross my arms behind my head. “Just trying to help.”

  “Maybe you can stop trying to get me worked up before a doctor has to get intimately acquainted with my girly bits.”

  I sit up straight, my back going stiff as a board. “What?”

  She crosses the room and flicks the switch to let the nurse know we’re ready for her before she walks over and takes the seat next to me.

  I eye her skeptically. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

  Leaning over, she pats my leg and winks at me. “You said you were all in, baby daddy. So I guess we’re about to see how in you really are.”

  “I’m not so sure about this anymore,” I grumble. Gilly laughs and turns toward me. “I once read a book where the girl had an orgasm during her doctor’s examination.” Then she shrugs… shrugs!

  “Now I know you’re fucking with me.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not this time. I’ll let you know if it does it for me.”

  “You know I’ll get you back for this.”

  “For what?” she asks, feigning innocence.

  “The only person who’s going to make you come is me.”

  That earns me a quirked brow and a sharp glare. “Oh really?”

  Thankfully, the nurse saves me as she walks back in.

  Twenty minutes later, the doctor instructs Gilly to lie down, and after gently prodding her stomach, he wheels over the ultrasound machine and angles the screen so we can all see it.

  Sitting beside the bed, I reach out and take hold of Gilly’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. She turns her head and smiles at me while the doctor gets ready.

  “Okay, so we’ll be doing a transvaginal ultrasound today,” the doctor says, causing my head to snap his way. My eyes bug out when I see the size of the plastic wand in his hand. It’s longer than my dick and about the same girth.

  “Holy shit,” I say before I can stop myself. The doctor chuckles, and Gilly shakes her head when my wide eyes meet hers. “Um… wow.”

  She flexes her fingers against mine. “It’s okay, Ez. I promise it won’t mean anything.”

  “Are you sure it won’t hurt her?” I ask the doctor, watching as he slides a giant condom over the torture device in his hand and grabs a big bottle of what I hope for Gilly’s sake is lube.

  Surprised he’s able to keep a straight face when jacking off what could easily pass for a plastic dildo in his hand, the doctor’s professionalism doesn’t falter.

  “We use this,” he says, waving the attack on my manhood in the air, “to get more accurate results. It’s only mildly uncomfortable, and it’ll enable us to get a clear idea of the baby’s gestation, size, and the position of the placenta.” It makes sense, obviously, but damn.

  “Ez,” Gilly says softly, rubbing her thumb over mine. “Let’s meet our baby, yeah?”

  My eyes roam her face, and finding absolutely no uncertainty there, I lean an elbow into the bed, gently kiss her forehead, and look back to the doctor. “Ready when you are.”

  He chuckles and turns to Gilly. “I think it’s up to the pregnant one, not us.”

  “Show us our baby, doc,” she says.

  I watch her face rather than what the OB is doing to Gilly, but when her eyes go glassy, I follow her line of sight to the monitor. Filling the screen is a black and white image, which at first looks like floating blobs and circles, but then I get my bearings, and the doctor explains what we’re seeing.

  “Wow,” I whisper, staring in complete and utter amazement. Thirty-seven years and absolutely nothing compares to this moment right now. Then he adjusts a knob on the ultrasound machine and the sound of a strong—and very fast—heartbeat fills the air.

  Gilly squeezes my hand, and I tear my eyes away from the screen to look at her, blinking rapidly when I see the look of absolute relief and happiness on her face.

  After lifting her hand to my mouth, I brush my lips against her knuckles. Needing more, I lean in and kiss her soft and slow and gentle.

  I touch my temple to hers. We stay like that, and both go back to watching the show that our unborn child with the heartbeat of a racehorse puts on for us.

  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for either one of them from this day forward.

  After arguing—and losing said argument—over paying the bill, I grab hold of Gilly’s hand, and together we make our way to the parking lot. Neither one of us talks, probably because I’m still riding the high of what we just experienced in that room.

  Once we’re both in the car, I start the engine so we can warm up and turn to the passenger seat. “After that, you deserve dinner.”

  “We don’t have to. You can just take me home if you want.”

  I study her. She puts on a good front, but I can see exhaustion settling in. “Are you tired? We don’t have to go to a restaurant. We can just grab takeout from that place you like near my apartment.” I’m not opposed to using bribery and temptation to get her in my bed tonight. “They have that chicken noodle soup you like…”

  She bites her lip. “Okay. But I should really get my car tonight.”

  “It’s Friday. We don’t have work tomorrow, and we can get your car from the parking garage tomorrow.”

  “Are you going to be bossy for my entire pregnancy?” she asks with one perfectly curved brow.

  “It’s our pregnancy, and one of my many jobs is to look after you two. You’ve had a long day, I can tell you’re tired, and I’d feel better knowing you were warm, safe, well-fed, and getting a good night’s rest.” I rub her leg. “Can you let me do that for you?”

  “You’re going to be a good baby daddy, Ezra Baker.”

  “Just you wait, baby mama. Just you wait.”

  Gilly

  I’ve only been home from work for ten minutes when there’s a knock at the door.

  My jacket is draped over a dining room chair, my white shirt is unbuttoned and open, and I’m still wearing a grey pencil skirt and stockings, having kicked my heels off the second I got home
. I peek through the peephole and see Ezra on the other side, and no longer care about my state of undress.

  Opening the door, I let him in and turn around toward my bedroom. “Hey. You’re early, and I’m running late, so just make yourself at home while I jump in the shower. Unless you want to join me.” I look over my shoulder and stop mid-step when I catch his intense gaze on my ass.

  His eyes snap up to mine, and there’s an indiscernible mixture of heat and uncertainty in his expression.

  “Ez?” I ask, quirking a brow. I have a moment of insecurity, something that never happens around him. We’ve been explosive since the start. It’s just one of the reasons why our friends-with-benefits situation works so well for us. It did until I got pregnant, anyway.

  In the blink of an eye, he schools his features and shoots me a sexy grin. “I cleaned up before I hit the grocery store, so go relax and have your shower, and I’ll make a start on dinner.”

  I open my mouth to tease him but shut it again because his body language right now is not screaming ‘I’m going to jump your bones.’ He moves toward my kitchen, grocery bags in hand.

  “That’s a lot of food, baby daddy,” I say, looking down at the bags of food from the opposite side of the island. “I can fend for myself, you know.” It was said playfully, but his frown is anything but.

  “I figured since I was here with you a lot and eating your food, the least I could do was contribute.”

  “Hey. Is everything okay?” I ask.

  He looks up at me, his hands gripping the edge of the counter tightly. “Yeah.” His voice is soft and warm, but there’s an edge underlying it, and I get the sense he’s holding back.

  “Why are you not jumping my bones? I’m standing here half-naked, and you’re all the way over there.” I shoot him my best seductive pout and earn a small twitch of his lips.

  “I’m trying to be good here, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Let me cook dinner for us while you’re washing off your day, and then you can relax.”

  “Okay…”

  He moves around the counter and wraps his arms around me, pressing a barely-there kiss to the hinge of my jaw. “You feeling okay today?” he asks, pulling back. His touch settles my unease, but my Spidey senses are still pinging. I’m not liking this controlled version of the man who’s been known to walk in the door, tear off my clothes, and bend me over the couch for his pleasure—and, ultimately, mine.

  He’s being sweet though, which goes some way to counteract my unease.

  “I’ve been a little queasy off and on today, but I haven’t vomited so yay,” I say. His eyes crinkle in that sexy way I like, so I do something about it. I lift up on my toes, run my fingers into his hair, and hold him in place as I brush my lips against his. As I’d hoped, his arms slide down to my ass and he groans into my mouth as I open for him, and his tongue sweeps inside. Pressing my hips to his, I feel him hard and hot against me, and my moan fills the air around us.

  Then he tears himself back, gently easing me down onto flat feet, his hooded eyes and obvious arousal offering some relief—if not the exact kind I was hoping he’d be giving me right about now.

  “Let me feed you. Is a stir-fry okay?” he asks, letting me go and making his way back around the island, the kitchen counter between us.

  I stare at him wide-eyed, feeling a form of sexual whiplash—and not the good kind. “Yeah. It sounds good,” I say, scrunching up my forehead.

  “Okay,” he says, pulling vegetables out of a brown bag and turning to put them in the refrigerator. He straightens and faces me. “Is our baby still hating red peppers?”

  I grin and run my palm over my stomach. “And green ones too, unfortunately. Just the thought of them makes me gag.”

  “Then you better stop thinking of them then, and I won’t cook them.”

  “Much appreciated,” I say with a giggle.

  “Now, off with you, baby mama. Relax, take your time, and I’ll aim to have it ready in twenty minutes. Does that work for you?”

  “Sounds good.” I quirk a brow, and place a hand on my hip, seeking—and getting—a flash of heat in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want to come wash my back for me?”

  His lips twitch, and he shakes his head. “I’ll take a rain check.”

  I shrug and reach a hand to my side, making a show of slowly lowering the zip of my skirt until it’s pooling at my feet. He bites his lip, his hand white-knuckling the wooden counter like his life depends on it.

  “Okay, baby daddy,” I say, spinning on my toes and slowly sauntering down my hallway, knowing he has a direct view all the way down into my bedroom doorway. I bend at the waist, giving him an even better look over my ass as I lazily dip my fingers into my stockings and pull them down my legs, one by one. A muted growl coming from the kitchen makes me smile. It also fills me with relief that I can still do it for him.

  “Shower, Gilly. Before I fall over from lack of blood to the head.”

  “As long as it’s going south, it’ll be going in the right direction,” I say, and with one last glance back at him, I unclasp my bra and drop it slowly to my bedroom floor. Then, with swinging hips, I somehow manage to walk out of sight and into my bathroom, deciding to utilize my detachable shower head to ease the ache between my legs until I can figure out whatever it is holding Ezra back.

  I’ve always loved a good mystery, and this is definitely one I’m determined to solve. Sooner, rather than later.

  Unfortunately, my shower was interrupted by a strong lurch of my stomach and a naked lunge for the toilet.

  When I walk back out, teeth brushed, body smelling like peaches thanks to my favorite moisturizer, and my girly bits landscaped to perfection, I take a moment to stop and admire the gorgeous man standing in my kitchen. When he turns around, a hand towel draped over his shoulder, his chocolate brown hair tousled in that messy way I like, and a steaming wok full of food in his hand, I have to lock my knees to stay standing. I never thought food could make a man sexier, but my growling stomach and endless pregnant appetite continue to prove me wrong.

  After near-on inhaling the delicious honey chicken stir-fry, I put down my plate and get comfortable again with a satisfied sigh.

  I turn and lean my cheek against the couch. “I think I’ll keep you ’round if you continue to cook like that.”

  He shoots me a lazy grin. “Do you want more? I can go get you some.”

  I reach out and rub my hand along his thigh. “I’m good, thanks.”

  His muscles are tense, and I’m seriously starting to wonder if it’s not just the sex he’s holding back from me. What if he’s having second thoughts?

  “Ez, is everything okay?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?” he says, but the reassurance he’s offering doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “You’re just… acting a little differently. You’re taking care of me a lot lately and not getting any of the perks.”

  He jolts slightly as if not expecting me to bring it up. “I like helping out. I hate hearing you be sick and knowing you’re doing all the heavy lifting, so to speak. If I can make it even a little easier by cooking you dinner and doing dishes and laundry, I want to do it.”

  I sit bolt upright, mouth gaping. “You did my laundry?”

  “Yeah…” he replies, rather cautiously.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” he asks, his brows scrunching.

  I shake my head, “I’d never expect you to wash my clothes.”

  His eyes gentle. “You worked all day, and I could see you were tired, and you had that slightly green look you only get when you’re at risk of running to the toilet.”

  “I always have that tired, queasy look these days. It’s called the joys of the first trimester of pregnancy,” I muse.

  “Are you alright, though? Are you feeling sick again?” he asks

  My cheeks blush. “You heard me?”

  “Yeah,” he says, lifting my feet into his lap. “I put the folded laundry on your bed, and there was
dry-retching. I wasn’t sure if I should knock and see if you needed me.” He gently kneads his fingers into the arch of one foot, and I have to fight against moaning from how good it feels. “I hate that I can’t take that away from you. All I had to do was have an orgasm. You have morning sickness, tiredness, and everything else that’s still to come.”

  “Don’t forget the mood swings and sore boobs,” I say with a grin.

  I expect a twitch of his lips or a wry smile. Instead, he frowns “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping the boundaries. I’m honestly just trying to—”

  I bend forward and cover his spare hand with my own. “It’s lovely, Ez, and the baby and I appreciate it.” I give his fingers a squeeze and feel his body relax. Time to test this theory of mine.

  “So,” I say, walking my fingers up his arm. “You just want to help me?”

  “Yeah…” he says suspiciously, still massaging my foot with very much appreciated skill.

  “And you’ll do anything to make me comfortable.”

  He tilts his head. “Of course.”

  I wrap my hand around his bicep and hoist myself up and over until I’m straddling his legs. He grunts in surprise, his hands coming to frame my hips as I lean in, pressing my breasts against his hard chest.

  Cupping his jaw, I trace his bottom lip with the tip of my tongue in the way I know drives him wild. His low, guttural groan spurs me on. I roll my hips back and forth, offering teasing licks inside his mouth, challenging him to unleash his undoubtedly pent-up beast on me.

  He growls and slowly takes control, one of his hands flattening against my lower back as I lean in. His other hand slides up into my hair and angles my head, deepening the kiss until I lose sense of everything except him.

  Then, as if a bucket of cold water has been thrown over him, he stills and slowly pulls back until he’s sagging into the couch cushions, his touch changing from urgent and needy to gentle and reassuring.

  Just as I’m expecting him to move things to the bedroom and really get things started, he’s helping me out of his lap. I stare at him absolutely dumbfounded as he gets off the couch, his jeans looking so tight I’m scared they might be cutting off circulation to one of my favorite body parts of his. He walks out of the lounge and through to the kitchen, all without uttering a single word.