Page 88 of Playing It Forward

“I don’t find it difficult to please you.”

My nipples tighten at his low, rumbly voice filled with promise. He presses a kiss to my neck before stepping back and returning to the grocery bags.

I need a minute for my heart rate to return to normal. I clear my throat. “You didn’t happen to buy any ice cream, did you?”

“What flavor do you want? I got chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. I stuck to simple, but if you tell me your favorite flavors, I’ll get them next time.”

Next time? There’s going to be a next time? Yes!

No. I shouldn’t be excited. Do I need another reminder about how bad emotional attachments are?

“Vanilla, please,” I say before I end up giving myself whiplash.

He digs in a bag and pulls out a pint of vanilla ice cream. He hands it to me before opening a cupboard and pulling out a bowl.

“Don’t need a bowl,” I tell him as I dip the pickle directly into the ice cream. I shove it in my mouth. This. This is what I was craving.

I moan as I chew. Nolan growls, and I freeze.

I glance up at him. I’m holding an open pint of ice cream while cradling a jar of pickles. My next pickle is poised above the ice cream like it’s an ice cream spoon. I probably look like a complete nut job.

“I’m not crazy. It’s the baby. Pregnancy cravings.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy. But usually when you make that particular moan it’s because I touched you in a way you really enjoy.”

He reaches down and adjusts his dick in his pants. My eyes widen. “Oh.”

“You have no idea how sexy you are to me.”

I snort. “I’m sure I’m the height of sexy right now.”

When I got home from work, I changed into an old t-shirt. It was my brother Scott’s, so it’s huge on me. I also cleaned my face of make-up and put my hair up. Sexy is not the way I’d describe my current appearance.

Nolan steps forward and I’m forced to retreat until my back hits the kitchen counter. “You have no idea how much I want to set you on the counter, strip you bare, and lick and touch every single inch of you before burying my cock deep into your hot, wet pussy. I don’t give a damn about the outfit.” He plucks at my t-shirt. “Except for this. I don’t approve of this.”

“What’s wrong with my Smuggler’s High School t-shirt?”

“It’s too big. It’s obviously not yours.” He growls. “Whose t-shirt is it?”

I debate not telling him. I don’t think any man has ever been jealous before when it comes to me. It makes me feel powerful. As if I’m not just his baby mama.

“Whose?” he orders.

My mouth opens and I tell him before I realize I’m speaking. “It was my brother’s. I spilled chocolate on it and he refused to wear it after that.”

I point to the chocolate stain near the breast.

“I’m glad I don’t have to kill anyone tonight, but you’ll wear my old t-shirts from now on. I’ll bring you over a bunch tomorrow. Some sweatshirts and hoodies, too.”

My mouth drops open. “You don’t need to bring me your wardrobe.”

“You’re not wearing anyone’s t-shirts but mine from now on.”

My stomach warms at those words. It sounds as if he’s claiming me. Is he? Do I want him to? The whiplash is back – more confusing than ever.

“You don’t need to come over again tomorrow. You have a busy life.”

He palms my cheek. “And you’re an important part of my life.”