Page 44 of Flirty Thirty

“You’re covered, right?” I ask when he’s back to kissing a path down the length of my neck. I fight the urge to thrust my hips against his before knowing if he brought a raincoat for the hot summer storm.

“Probably,” he says, unconcerned. I push against the surge of pleasure striking at my core as his lips press to my hardened nipple.

“I’m… I don’t have anything,” I say breathlessly, gulping hard to keep my head. “No kids. No kids, Cooper. We need something.”

He chuckles into my cleavage before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on the unattended breast. “Relax, Maya. I’m not trying to trap you into a long term relationship with me.” He winks before going back to giving me scorching pleasure.

“I… you… it’s working, though,” I try to tease, but I can’t find the flirtatious voice in me anywhere. He’s already trapping me with his tongue, his hands, his body, and I blink against the stars popping in my eyes, desperate to find some sort of ground to stand on so I can convey how very serious I am about birth control, but then his mouth is on my lower belly, and it feels too good to worry about anything. What was I thinking, anyway?

“Do you mind?” he asks, and I mutter something unintelligible which must’ve been a yes because his mouth is on me within the next second, and I jerk and buck against him. My head is up on a cloud and my heart is in a drum line, and I touch his hair, attempt to control my expletives, but they come out despite my best efforts to keep the cursing at bay. His tongue is a magician, and I’m a rabbit at his disposal. He’s a cup of hot coffee in the morning and I am a drunken fool from the night before. My nails dig into the soft strands, and I hold on to the only anchor keeping me from floating off into the heavens.

“Up,” I say, the only word that I can find after plummeting back to earth. “Up here.”

He grins, holding a single finger to me before putting way too much distance between us. My foggy vision is somewhat cleared as I watch his perfect, toned glutes disappear into the bathroom. My fuzzy hearing makes out the sound of his hands fishing around in a drawer, a box tearing open, a thunk of something hitting the bottom of a trashcan. He’s back before I get a grip on myself, and a grateful smile plays on my lips when I notice the condom.

“No baby,” he assures me, a glint settling in his dark blue eyes before he settles between my legs. Too anxious to wait for him, I grasp his taut rear-end and thrust myself up. If he planned on going slow, that plan is shot out the window the moment we’re together.

He rocks into me, slamming harder and harder, faster and faster, and I’m gone yet again, starry-eyed and screaming out into a pillow I press over my face to muffle the sounds of the purest pleasure I’ve ever experienced. A cool wave of air rushes over me when Cooper rips the pillow away, tossing it into the unknown space around us. He presses his slick forehead to mine, groaning naughty words in my ear, pushing kisses to my lips.

Ten seconds, ten minutes, ten years later, he stiffens above me, and I reach up and push away his sweat-sprinkled hair, mind drifting down and floating into a moment of pure shock that this gorgeous man has just had sex with me.

He smiles around his panting, opening his eyes to mine. I blink, double-taking to make sure I’m not imagining the stars settled in his blue irises.

“Thank you,” he says, withdrawing his hips. An unexpected pout pulls at my bottom lip as we separate. He smirks and playfully tugs at it before leaning back on his knees. “That was fun.”

I know he probably says it so I don’t get the wrong idea, but as he disappears to go take care of the birth control that I basically freaked on him about, a tidal wave of sorrow fills my chest, pushing tears up to the back of my eyes. I don’t understand the response, because “fun” is the perfect adjective. That’s what I wanted—fun. Nothing more.

Yet, as I reach for the sheets to cover up, that description of what just happened doesn’t quite do it justice. It doesn’t do Cooper justice. It doesn’t dousjustice… and now I’m thinking that there really could be an “us.”

A groan rips through my throat and I roll my face into the sheets. So much for convincing him on the single life of flings and fun. I’m going to have to convince myself back into it first.

17

Gas and Cats

“Don’t tell Warren I ate the entire basket of cheese fries myself.”

Holland pushes the empty red burger tray to the center of the table, her belly popping the buttons on her shirt. Whether that’s from the food baby or the actual baby, I’m not sure.

I zip a finger over my lips and then swirl my straw around in my strawberry lemonade. With it being a slow day for showings and Cooper stuck in the dentist’s chair, I called up Holland for some much needed girl time. If anyone can convince me that the grass is definitely greener on the single side, she can. Pregnant Holland has a tendency to forgo the sugarcoating.

Her forehead bunches as she shifts, and her hand flies to her bulging stomach. I tilt my head and stop playing with my straw. “You okay?”

She nods. “Uncomfortable a lot lately. Been cramping on this left side.” Her eyes try to smile through a wince. “You think cramps are bad now…” She makes a horse rumbling sound with her lips, and I try to laugh away my concern. It doesn’t work too well.

“Maya, I’m okay. I have a doctor’s appointment day after tomorrow. Occasional cramping is normal.”

Point for Holland. I nearly reach out and thank her for being so blunt about the cons of pregnancy. I take the nugget of information and pile it behind a locked door in my head that I’ll unleash next time Cooper has his hands on me.

Her phone buzzes against the table, and she cradles her belly as she leans forward to grab it. She blows out another horsey sigh and types a text back.

“You have plans tonight?” she asks, her eyes only briefly leaving her screen before focusing back on the message she’s sending. “Warren picked up another overtime shift.”

I pause to think about the answer to that. I don’t have any set plans, no, but staying with Cooper seems to be a standing date. Maybe he’ll be okay with Holland hanging out. We are “married” after all. Not every night is dedicated to each other. See Exhibit A sitting across from me.

And while I’d rather spend another night alone with Cooper, it’s probably wise to have a buffer when my feet are tiptoeing the line I was sure I wouldn’t cross.

“Let me check with Cooper. You can come play in the mansion.” I grin over my phone, holding back my amusement that we’re both chatting with the men in our life when we wanted to spend some time just us girls.

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