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My heart rate increases until the sensation of being squeezed snaps me out of it, and the physical pressure on my body dissolves.
I hate this. This whole situation and the fact the woman I’m tied to for the rest of my life is back on the other side of the country.
Harper: Yes, by myself, silly. You think I have an escort waiting for me at the train station?
Ryan: Smart-ass
Harper: It’s not my first rodeo, cowboy. Be back soon. Have to get off the plane and grab my suitcase.
It’s not my first rodeo, cowboy.
My brain’s still stuck on that sentence and images of New Year’s flash through my mind. Harper on top of me with me deep inside her. Sharing the kind of ecstasy that comes once every blue moon. If you’re lucky.
My dick stirs in my sweats as more images pop up in my head. From our night and her visit, ending with our make-out session last night that ended too soon. I wanted to wait for her to make the first move, not wanting to cross any boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. I didn’t expect anything to come from our date either in that regard.
I just wanted to spend some more time with her, but I can’t say I regret that things did happen. The way she climbed on me and took what she wanted was so fucking hot and is stuck in my brain forever.
My dick is rock-hard, begging for some attention. I squeeze it just as the phone vibrates on my leg with a message. Guess someone’s gotta wait until later.
Harper: See, barely anyone here. I shall be fine.
An image loads on my screen, a selfie of Harper. Her smiling face takes up most of the screen with an almost empty train car behind her.
She looks young in the picture. So incredibly young. How did I seriously not notice that the first time we met? Sure, she was wearing heavier makeup, and her black dress might have been slightly distracting, but the fact she’s a lot younger than me is impossible to ignore now. Should that bother me more than it does?
Her blue eyes are bright but tired with small shadows underneath, and her black eye is still visible, though it’s mostly faded to yellow now. Her blond hair is tucked under a colorful wool hat that’s covering her head wound, her lips a rosy pink. She’s wrapped in a gigantic coat with a thick scarf around her neck.
She’s cute. And fucking beautiful.
Will our baby have blue eyes or brown? Will we have a little girl with blond hair and brown eyes? The perfect mix of us?
What am I talking about? Who the hell cares about that yet?
The better question is, how am I going to handle this?
Sure, I’ll provide for the baby. Help Harper however I can. But what’s the protocol for Harper and me?
We had sex, yes. Hot sex. Several times.
And I know her a little better after the time we just spent together.
I’ve been so caught up in my thoughts, I haven’t texted her back.
Ryan: If someone comes near you, punch them in the throat.
Harper: That’s some weird advice, but I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.
Ryan: I think it’s appropriate advice considering you carry precious cargo.
The dots at the bottom of the screen indicate she’s typing but then they stop. It happens a few more times. What’s she doing?
Harper: I do, don’t I?
I wish I could see her expression. Is she happy about her cargo? She seemed to have at least reached some level of acceptance like I have.
Ryan: You do. Take good care of it and yourself.
Harper: I was planning on it.
