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I don’t hesitate. “Oh fuck yes I want this, Grant! I want this. I fucking want this so damn much!” Okay, so I’ll be able to say anything during sex as long as he tells me what to say.
“Tell me,” he commands.
My hands fly to his face, and I put every ounce of my being into my response as I say, “I want this. I want this fucking forever, Grant. I want this. I want you.”
When I say that last part, he groans and the first pulse of his cock deep in my pussy sends me right back to peak and then beyond it. The dimensions of my body fade and then disappear entirely and at the same time as an intense pleasure overwhelms me, I seem to float on a warm cloud of satisfaction that permeates every fiber of my being and every square inch of the space around me. This isn’t from the sex, it’s from the rest of it, from saying I want this forever.
I float on that formless cloud for a long while, drifting through space to the sound of Grant’s slowly steadying breathing. When I come to, he is atop me and my arms and legs are wrapped tightly around him, his still-throbbing cock pulsing deep in my pussy.
I remember then that I’m not on any kind of birth control and Grant doesn’t wear a condom. I wonder if he got me pregnant.
Actually, I don’t wonder.
Don’t ask me how I know he did, how I’m certain Grant’s baby grows inside of me. I just do and that’s the most wonderful thing about this…about my life. Ever.
Chapter 6
Grant
Iought to feel bad.
I really ought to feel bad.
I mean, there’s no legitimate reason on Earth for me not to feel bad about this but whether or not my intellect, my conscience, and my experience demand guilt here, I just don’t feel bad. I should. I know I should. I don’t.
God, how many times am I going to keep repeating that in my head?
I’m not repeating the words because I feel bad and I’m trying to mask it. On the contrary, I keep repeating it because I feel like there’s something broken inside of me, some part of my brain that connects my emotions to my rationality. I sure as hell ought to feel bad and my mind keeps replaying the situation precisely because I can’t figure out how to overcome the contradiction between how I ought to feel and how I do.
Of course, right now Mack’s head is on my shoulder and her perfect body is pressed against me. I can feel the breeze of her breath over my chest and I’m not sure there’s a more satisfying sensation possible. Maybe in the morning I’ll have to deal with the real-world consequences but for now I can just remain in bed and let my mind gradually fade to black. Hell, I already lived the perfect dream. I don’t even need one when I eventually do pass out tonight.
In movies or in books, people always talk about perfect moments. I guess now I understand that. I mean, sure, the time spent with her before she ends up sleeping against me is wonderful. It’s hard to imagine a better way to spend my time. But right now, this moment, this… Hell, I’m going to sound like some kind of loon if I keep it up. It’s perfect. Best to leave it at that.
So, of course, my phone rings.
Thankfully, I can reach for it with my free hand. It doesn’t work though, because I feel her stirring before I get my hand on the phone. I look at the screen and feel an absolutely imperfect moment. It’s Hank. Damn it all to hell. I know he can’t possibly know who’s with me, but it still feels like he’s calling to ask me why the hell I’m naked in bed with his daughter.
I clear my throat and then swipe to answer. “Hank. Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“We got him.”
“What?”
“That P.O.S. French. How quick can you get to Fifth and Crock?”
“The rescue mission?”
‘Yeah.”
I realize Mack isn’t against me anymore. I groan and sit up. “Wait a minute,” I say, “I thought you were in San Francisco.”
“Been here about an hour.” I look at the time on my phone. God, it’s only three in the afternoon. Maybe I’ll make her breakfast, but it seems more likely I’ll be making dinner for her.
“Then how the hell am I going to meet you at the mission?”
“You’re not.”
“I don’t have time for this, Hank. Tell me what’s up.”
