Page 122 of A Good Book

Still, maybe it was too many weeks without him, maybe it was the letters he wrote me, or maybe it was second trimester hormones, but my need for sex was almost painful.

I sat up and signed, “I need,” giving extra emphasis with my face to theneedpart.

Ben sat back on his heels and shook his head. “Don’t do that.” He adjusted himself. Ben was so sexy in his white T-shirt, black jeans, messy hair, and scruffy face.

Pre-pregnancy Gabby was a romantic, a dreamer. The idea of a chaste kiss and holding hands was everything. Second trimester Gabby needed to orgasm.

No chaste kisses. Only hard kisses with lots of tongue. And when I thought about Ben holding my hands, I imagined him pinning them next to my head as he hovered above me, hips thrusting into mine.

I crawled toward him, and he fell backwards, crab crawling away from me until his back hit the side of my bed.

He shook his head as I straddled his lap. “Gab?—”

I kissed him while guiding his hand up my shirt to my breast. He moaned.

“Gabby? Is Ben staying for breakfast? I’m making pancakes,” Mom called upstairs.

I quickly stood and straightened my bra. Ben narrowed his eyes.

I signed, “My mom is making breakfast. You hungry?”

After a second, as if his comprehension had a slight delay, he smirked and nodded.

I turned my head. “Yes, we’ll have pancakes,” I yelled.

Ben stood and closed my door partway so that we were standing behind it. “Quickly and quietly,” he said, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.

I nodded, doing the same to my shorts.

Were we really going to remove our pants and have sex behind my partially closed bedroom door with my parents downstairs making breakfast?

Yes, we were.

He impatiently kissed me before either of us got out of our pants. I started to slide my hand down the front of his briefs.

“Gabby? We’re out of eggs. Your dad is going to run and get them. He wants you to ride along. Ben can stay with me.”

They were punishing us on purpose.

I pulled back, breathless and shaking my head while zipping my shorts. He did the same before peeking through the space between the door and its hinges for someone coming.

I wasn’t sure how to sign everything, so I hopped over my sorted piles on the floor to my desk.

I have to go with my dad to get eggs and my mom said you’re staying here with her.

He frowned, taking the pen from me. Ben rarely wrote his words, perhaps he didn’t want to risk my parents hearing him.

Let’s get married. We’ll rent a little house or even a trailer. Then we can have sex all day and there is nothing your dad can do about it.

I snorted.

He wrote:

I’m serious.

I took back the pen.

You want to marry me just to have sex?

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