Page 60 of Pregnant By the Playboy
The only issue comes at the end of the meal, when she tries to pay the bill and we spend ten minutes arguing about it.
Eventually, I let her pay so we don’t stay here all night.
“What else do you have planned?” she asks as we waddle out of the restaurant. “I’m not sure I can eat more, and it’s been ages since I felt this way.”
“Well, we don’t have to go, but there’s an ice cream place nearby...”
“You’re killing me.” She laughs. She’s laughed a lot tonight, and it makes me smile every time. “Alright, let’s go. We might have to share something. Not sure I could have my own.”
We end up splitting a raspberry-balsamic sorbet, and Marissa keeps swirling her tongue over her spoon and generally driving me mad.
And she knows exactly what she’s doing.
The drive back is mostly silent, but I’m very aware of her sitting next to me, wearing that clingy red dress. When we get to her building, I help her out of the car, then immediately drop my mouth to her lips and slide my leg between hers. When I stroke my tongue into her mouth, she presses herself against my leg and circles her hips.
My mind travels back to that weekend. I lifted her up and fucked her against my door. I remember how it felt to have her gripping me, and I groan.
I want to slide inside her, and it has to be her, nobody else.
“Why were you at Brian’s party?” I suddenly ask.
I’d never seen her at one of his parties before, and I know it sounds silly, but now it feels like fate that she was there.
“I’m friends with Carrie Lo.”
“She seems different from the kind of friends I imagine you having.”
“We met at a bachelorette party a while back—she was the groom’s sister—and we got along well. She started inviting me to things every now and then, and I liked hanging out with her. She prioritizes taking care of herself and doing things that make her feel good. She doesn’t think of herself last, the way women are so often expected to do. When I told her I was pregnant, a flattering maternity dress and a gift certificate to a spa showed up that week. Things for me, not for the baby.”
I wish I’d been the one to think of the spa thing.
I brush my fingers over her collarbone. “I’m glad you were there that night.”
“If I’m honest, I really wanted to let loose after my mom’s health scare.”
I stiffen. Marissa grew up without much family. Her mom is very important to her.
“She’s fine,” Marissa says hurriedly. “I’d just gotten the good news. I was relieved and feeling indulgent, and Carrie told me about a party. You know the rest.”
“No, I don’t believe I do. Tell me.”
“Dammit, Vince.”
Before she can fling any more swear words at me, I kiss her again. I slip my hand under the neckline of her dress and fondle her breast. Her nipple pebbles under my touch.
“Indulge yourself again tonight,” I murmur. “Let’s take this upstairs.”
I push myself against her and show her exactly how ready I am.
When she sighs—and not with pleasure—I immediately step back.
“I can’t,” she says.
“It wouldn’t hurt the baby. I’ve done research.”
Her eyes flicker with amusement. I can see it, even in the poor lighting. I’ve become accustomed to looking for every nuance in her expression. Actually I don’t have to look; I just notice. I’m attuned to every little change in her.
“Last time...” She looks down. “We told ourselves—and each other—that it didn’t mean anything. That it was just one weekend. But I won’t lie. It can’t be that simple now, and I’m not ready.”
