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Chapter Seven
Owen checked his phone while Caitlyn was upstairs. He had three text messages from his mom asking questions about Lindsey, whose pet name was apparently doll. Could he add her to his health insurance if they weren’t married? He had no idea. Was it okay to buy her some maternity clothes? Of course that was okay. And then Owen got to the one that made his heart almost stop. Lindsey insisted we buy all the baby stuff second-hand. Isn’t she a doll? I hope the baby’s a girl. I always wanted a little girl to spoil. Or twins. Twins would be so cute. And she ended her terrifying message with a bunch of baby-themed emojis. Forcing a knot of panic back down his throat, Owen typed appropriate responses to her first two queries and left the last one unanswered. Mom did realize that the baby might not be his, didn’t she? He hoped she didn’t get too attached.
Of course she would get too attached. This was his mother he’d gotten involved. The woman got attached to the little toads that lived under the back steps. What had he been thinking when he’d left a destitute pregnant groupie with the woman who’d given birth to him?
He covered his eyes with one hand, hoping to erase his mother’s message from his memory.
“Fuck.”
“If you insist,” Caitlyn said, sliding up against his back and rubbing her hands over his bare belly. “I thought you might want to eat first.”
Her naked breasts pressed into his back, and there was no way he could ignore that invitation.
Owen set his phone face down on the counter and covered her questing hands with his. “I’m not sure we’ll have time to cover much on your list if we take breaks for unnecessary activities like washing and eating and sleeping.”
She chuckled and kissed his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re so willing to accommodate my fantasies, but we can take our time. I’m not in any rush.”
But he had little to offer her besides great sex. The woman was so far out of his league, they were playing different sports. He wasn’t the kind of guy who ended up with the intelligent, sophisticated, driven, successful, and obviously rich hottie. Nope, he was the guy who ended up with the desperate, pregnant groupie. Everyone knew that. Even him.
He turned in Caitlyn’s arms and wrapped her in a tight embrace, lowering his head to claim her lips in a searing kiss. She tasted of minty freshness and smelled of clean soap with a hint of jasmine. “You’re too clean.” He nibbled her jaw. “I have an overwhelming need to dirty you up again.”
“Charles wouldn’t touch me unless I’d just recently washed. I thought . . .”
He lifted his head to look at her, meeting her dark brown eyes. “You thought what?”
“That cum dripping down my leg would gross you out.”
He chuckled. “Sex is messy, gorgeous.” He stroked several long black strands of hair from her face. “The messier the better.”
She looked over his shoulder and nibbled on her lip. “So I probably shouldn’t have douched.”
It was her body—who was he to tell her how best to care for it? “If it makes you more comfortable.”
She shook her head. “Charles—”
He covered her full lips with one finger. “I’m not Charles. I like my cum on you. In you. Dripping down your thigh. I’m all about sloppy seconds.” He grinned. “Or thirds.”
She pulled out of his grasp and went to her list on the counter. She uncapped a black marker and added two items to her agenda. He peered over her shoulder and read: sloppy seconds followed by sloppy thirds.
He chuckled. “I’m not sure those are fantasies.”
“They are to me,” she said. “Especially if you enjoy them.”
“I’m going to enjoy everything on that list.” And he would make certain that she enjoyed them as well.
Her stomach rumbled, and he captured her hand, leading her to the elegant, round glass table in the kitchen nook. He didn’t allow himself to smile when she spread a cloth napkin over the seat of the plum-colored velveteen chair before she sat her naked butt on it. Sex wasn’t the only need he could fulfill for her. He could feed her belly as well.
“Has a naked man ever hand fed you in your kitchen?” Owen went to the spread she’d set out before they’d been so wonderfully distracted and filled a plate with a variety of finger foods.
“No. Especially not one who looks like you.”
She laughed, her pretty eyes following his every move. She seemed to pay the most attention to his ass, so he spent plenty of time with his back to her, ensuring she got an eyeful. After spending his teen years as the icky fat kid no girl would offer a second glance, he rather enjoyed being a beautiful woman’s eye candy.
He returned to the table and set the plate on the table between her seat and the empty one next to her. When he reached for a cloth napkin to spread over the chair’s plump cushion, Caitlyn reached not for her food but for his ass.
“You’re absolutely perfect,” she murmured under her breath. “What are you doing here with me?”
There were dozens of reasons, not all hinging on physical attraction, but he said, “Serving your every whim.”
She moved her hand so he could sit. “And what do you get out of this?” she asked.
“To be with you.”
She licked her lips and glanced away. “This frivolous affair is exactly what I want,” she said, “what I need right now. But I don’t want to just use you. It doesn’t seem right.”
He’d prefer if she was just a user. If they were going to keep their interactions light, frivolous, and fun, she couldn’t be wonderful. If she treated him with consideration and showed him affection, he could easily give her his heart. He was well aware of his habit of falling fast and hard for nice women. And strong women. Intelligent women. Most women. If she wanted to fool around without attachment, then she had to be a bitch. He needed her to treat him like shit, or he wouldn’t be able to keep his heart out of the equation. And he knew where that would lead—another ex for her, another broken heart for him.
“You aren’t using me,” he said. “I’m using you.”
“For sex?”
He grinned and reached for a chunk of pineapple. “What else?”
“Just making sure,” she said. “I don’t think I’m ready to love you. Not so soon after Charles.”
“I understand,” he said, poking the pineapple into her mouth, mostly to keep her from talking about her ex-husband.
“It’s okay that I like you, though, isn’t it?” she asked around the pineapple.
His heart twisted, and he helped himself to a grape. Sweet juice burst onto his tongue when he bit into the small fruit. “It’s probably best to keep your feelings to yourself,” he said cautiously. “Unless you want this to turn into something more serious.”
He did. He couldn’t deny his need for a strong and lasting connection with her, but he knew from experience—too much experience—that one-sided love affairs were hell on the heart. How many women had he scared off by moving too fast? A dozen? And he’d gotten his heart broken every time.
“I don’t want this to be serious,” she said. “At least not yet.”
“Understood.”
But by offering him the hope of yet, she was opening a door. Just a little. And his foolish heart was already trying to squeeze itself through the crack. He squashed down the tenderness he longed to express—with adoring gazes and gentle caresses that had nothing to do with sex—and offered her a bite of cheese. He held her gaze as she accepted the cube of Swiss and chewed slowly. She surprised him by reaching for a piece of cheese and feeding it to him.
“We should open a bottle of wine,” she said as he followed the cheese with a grape. She reciprocated by offering him a savory slice of pepperoni.
“If that’s your desire.” He pulled his gaze from hers to locate a bottle of wine, but she palmed his cheek, returning his attention to her eyes.
“Later, maybe,” she murmured before leaning in to kiss him.
