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And then he’d followed me in here, wordlessly locking that door behind him and prowling into my space, saying all the right things, convincing me it was “just one time,” that we’d get it out of our systems and everything would be fine.
What a bunch of bullshit.
He’d been lying to me the entire time, and it had started right here in this very office, on that very desk to my left, when he’d spoken such soft, passionate words to me and fucked me until I could hardly stand afterward.
Anyone ever tell you that you have a perfect pussy?
God, I need you.
I’m regretting sending you away five years ago if it would’ve been like this then.
You’re mine now. Do you understand?
You look so good bouncing on my cock.
I’ll give you whatever you want.
And my personal favorite, and my greatest undoing…
You look so fucking good like this. Like a goddess, Mar. And I’m the man you’re letting worship you? Unreal.
And in the days and weeks after, when those filthy words hadn’t stopped coming but had been supplemented by compliments and tenderness? How could I do anything but fall for him? He was a wet dream and my dream man all rolled into one, and right from the jump, I’d been powerless against him. Naturally, I’d gone and given my heart to him anyway, and look where that had landed me.
Barefoot and pregnant.
“Fuck,” I breathed. “What the hell am I going to do?”
A knock came at my office door, and Brie peeked her head in, carrying a plate of something that I knew would be a delicious short-term solution to all my problems.
“You busy?” she asked.
“Nope,” I told her, patting the seat next to me. “Just sitting here thinking about the utter fucking mess I’ve made of my life.”
Brie frowned as she dropped onto the couch, sliding the plate of whatever decadent pastry she’d recently concocted onto the table in front of us. The dish was covered with tinfoil, but a buttery and sweet aroma wafted from beneath it. When I went to peek, she slapped my hand away.
“Talk first.”
“Are you bribing me into sharing my feelings with dessert?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, and I laughed. At least, unlike me with Owen earlier, she had the decency to be honest.
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“How are you feeling physically?” she asked, her eyes dipping to my stomach.
“Really good,” I said. “Still a little nauseous around midday, but nothing some Gatorade and a granola bar can’t fix.”
“You better not be eating store-bought granola bars, sissy! Those things are so bad for you.”
I gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry?”
Brie slapped her hand over her face. “From now on, I’ll make sure your office, car, and house are fully stocked with homemade ones.”
“You’re the best,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
“And how are you doing with everything else?”
I didn’t want to tell her, mostly because I knew even one word from my mouth about Cal and last week’s drama would open the floodgates that would be damn near impossible to close again.
