Dedicated Ink (6 page)

Something flashed in her eyes and she recoiled, leaning back the tiniest bit. “I guess I’m going to get huge, having twins. And I’m only 5’5”. I’ll be the size of a house before this is over.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” The look in her eyes cut him to the quick. She wasn’t pouting – her mouth was carefully set – but it was obvious that his dumbass comment had made her self-conscious. “You look different, not worse. In fact…” He shifted his weight, covering the extra space she’d put between them. “You look amazing.”

His gaze fell like a rock to below her collarbones, and he made no effort to stop it. The top she wore might have been modest on her a couple months ago – he vividly remembered how shapely but petite her breasts had been then, like the rest of her.

It dove deep now, or rather, her curves swelled up over the neckline. Every time he so much as glimpsed the double mounds straining her almost too-small clothing, he ached to feel the altered weight of them in his palms, to taste her sweet, pink nipples.

When he lifted his gaze to her face again, her cheeks were highlighted by twin patches of color. He met her eyes, and after a few long moments, she closed them.

He couldn’t take it, couldn’t resist. As she sat there with her eyes closed like she was expecting something, it wasn’t within his power to withhold. Leaning in just a little more, he pressed his mouth to hers.

Traces of orange zest lingered on her lips; the taste teased him as he pushed past their hot, forgiving surfaces, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

She laid a hand on his thigh and the four little pressure points created by her fingertips made his cock throb, just inches away.

As their tongues slid together and tangled, he recalled the perfect pressure of her hand wrapped around his shaft, the friction that had nearly pushed him to the edge when she’d gripped him tight and pushed her fist from the head to the root and back again. It’d been mid-summer then – it was October now, and he might as well have been withering and slowly dying like the leaves outside for want of more of her touch.

Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close, settling his other hand on her belly and passing over the small swell there before letting his palm rest against one breast, supporting its weight as his fingertips massaged in search of her nipple.

It was there, easily felt beneath her t-shirt and bra cup. It felt larger than he remembered, and the weight he cradled in his palm was more than he’d expected, even after noticing how much tighter her tops were around the bust now. Lightly, he pinched her nipple between his thumb and fingertips, remembering the glide of the bud against the tip of his tongue, then deeper inside his mouth. She’d shown every sign of loving that, then. But now…

She arched her back, pressing her breast harder against his palm. His fingers slipped, and he scrambled for a hold on the stiffened peak, his balls aching in protest of losing contact.

When he teased her nipple again, she exhaled, hard and sharp, breaking the seal of their kiss. As soon as their mouths were separated, she breathed his name.

The cool air was a shock against his hot lips, and the frantic sound of her voice snapped him halfway out of the madness that had him by the balls. Breathing a sigh of his own, he withdrew his hand from her breast and pulled his arm from around her body. Feeling bereft to the point of pain, he forced himself to keep his hands on his own thighs as he met her gaze.

A look of shock shone in her eyes, reflecting the same note he’d heard in her voice. Guilt shot through him like a bullet, leaving an aching path through the core of his being.

“Why did you stop?” she demanded.

“What?” It took a few seconds for her words to settle in. Then his dick was twitching against the fly of his jeans again, sending an excruciating wave of hope through him as the head ached beneath the pressure of the zipper.

“Why did you pull away – why are you acting like you don’t want anything to happen between us?” The corners of her mouth trembled, and he couldn’t tell if she was on the verge of crying, swearing or laughing. “Because I can see that you
do
want things to happen. Or at least, part of you does.” She lowered her gaze, slowly and unmistakably, to his lap.

He looked down to where his dick was so clearly straining denim. The shaft was a sharply-defined ridge, the head an aching bulge. “I want it like you wouldn’t fucking believe.” His voice faltered, scraping some deep place inside him – the same place her words had touched. Desire and guilt were enmeshed within him, irrevocably tangled by the way their relationship had started and what it had turned into. “But I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’ve been so sick, and—”

“I’m pregnant, not terminally ill. And I feel fine right now.”

“You don’t have to sleep with me now just because I got you pregnant.” He was a heartbeat away from stripping her jeans away, pulling the crotch of her panties aside and burying himself inside her, but he had to say it.

“We’re a couple, right?” Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, and the sight grated on him.

“Yeah.”

“Then why wouldn’t we sleep together? Especially considering…” She ran a hand over the little bump her belly had become. “In a few months, we won’t be able to for a while, whether we want to or not.”

“Didn’t want you to think…” His voice failed him as all the thoughts that had been keeping him and his near-permanent hard-on in check over the past two weeks crashed inside his head.

He’d longed for her since July but hadn’t dared to demand more of what they’d shared then, not when she was pregnant, and frequently sick on top of that. He couldn’t let her think that he was only there to fuck her over, literally and figuratively, by taking advantage of her now and losing interest when the babies arrived. How could she know he was serious about being in it for the long haul if he gave in to the physical urges that would’ve screamed for him to take her again no matter how he’d felt about being a father?

The sound of a zipper parting shattered his thoughts, and his gaze was drawn to between her thighs, where she’d tucked one hand. The teeth of the zipper split rapidly, giving way beneath the pressure of her growing waistline and revealing the lace-trimmed edge of her panties.

As quickly as she’d undone her jeans, she took him by the hand, pulling it into her lap. “Please…” she said, pulling his fingers to the area just below her baby bump and guiding them beneath the waistband of her underwear. “Don’t act like we’re strangers now. None of this will work if you do, and… I want you.”

He groaned, reflexively shoving his fingers deeper into her panties, seeking heat and – fuck, yes – wetness. All worries fell by the wayside – he couldn’t resist, didn’t want to resist.

His fingertips slipped against her slick flesh, skating through moisture and encountering her pussy’s soft folds. He dipped his fingers into her entrance, unable to stop himself from testing the tight passage he’d been fantasizing about for months. One time hadn’t been nearly enough, and as he pushed two fingers into her core, it was all he could do not to swear as he imagined the muscles that tightened around his knuckles squeezing his cock instead.

“Damn, you’re wet,” he moaned, motivated by his latest fantasy to withdraw his fingers from inside her. He hadn’t anticipated her desire, but he couldn’t deny that it was real when his fingers came away wet and shining.

His hands burnt with the urge to undress her, but she didn’t wait for him. After peeling off her jeans, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a light blue bra that matched her panties. Her nipples poked hard against the satin material and the edges of her areolas peeked above the tops of the cups like dusky pink half moons. She needed to buy a new bra that would cover her enlarged breasts, but damn, was he glad she hadn’t yet.

Hastily, he struggled with the fly of his jeans, freeing his dick before it could start to lose circulation from being pressed against the unforgiving zipper for so long. It was a bitter-sweet moment when it sprang free, thinly veiled by his boxer briefs – bitter because now he had to wonder how long she’d take to touch him, and sweet because the only ache he felt now was the ache of desire.

She gripped him right away, slipping her hand into his underwear and forming a fist around his shaft, stroking him like she had that first night and nearly making him come too soon, just like he’d been tempted to then. “You gotta slow down,” he said after what could only have been a minute.

She did, and placed her hand on his chest instead, under his shirt. His heart pounded beneath her palm, flooding his system with something like adrenaline, only sweeter – desire. Real desire, intensified by months of remembering, months of longing.

He pulled his shirt over his head and she smoothed her hands over his torso in broad strokes, her nails dragging here and there, making his skin pebble. Unable to resist any longer, he reached around her slender body and unhooked her bra clasp.

The flimsy satin slipped away, the straps sliding down her colorfully-inked arms like ribbons. Her breasts were round and full, swollen in a way his imagination hadn’t done justice. A darker pink than he remembered, her nipples stood erect, demanding his attention and making his mouth water.

Her hands were so small compared to his; he’d noticed that the first time he’d met her. They looked smaller than ever as she cupped her own breasts, lifting and squeezing a little, almost killing him with the sight. Her fingertips dented the curves of flesh and her nipples peeked from between them as she breathed a sigh, touching herself in a way that could only be described as a massage, and eventually drew in a sharp breath.

“Do they hurt?” he asked, clued in by the little dent that appeared in her lower lip.

“They ache.”

“Let me do that.” Carefully, he slid his hands beneath her breasts, displacing hers and letting the full weight of the twin swells fill his palms. They were heavier than he’d realized; her overworked bra had provided more support than he would’ve guessed. He relished the burden, cupping and rubbing, letting her hot flesh warm his hands.

She moaned and her nipples brushed his fingertips, irresistibly stiff. Lowering his head, he captured one between his lips, ran his tongue over the tip and sucked it lightly, cautious of her reaction.

She gasped, then pressed a hand to the back of his head, pulling him tighter against her chest.

His response was instinctual; he sucked harder, drawing her sweet flesh deep into his mouth and placing a hand against the small of her back, holding her close.

One of her hands wandered to his thigh, and she squeezed him there, her nails biting softly through the denim. Each ragged breath she drew made his dick a little harder, until it hurt not to be inside her.

Releasing her nipple, he paused to tease the other one with tongue and lips before devoting his attention to her panties, which he tugged down over her hips and legs.

Her pussy was swollen, pink, wet. She was bare there, as she had been the time before; only ink decorated her skin, trailing down her ribs and snaking around her hips in stylized flourishes that reminded him of vines. They directed the eye toward the flushed triangle of smooth, unmarked skin between her hip bones.

He rubbed his fingertips across the bud of her clit, eliciting a sigh from her, then touched her below, where he slowly pushed two fingers into her perfect heat and pressure, breathing a sigh of his own.

She widened her thighs, sending him sliding deeper, until her knees were precariously near the edge of the couch cushion. “Here,” he said, withdrawing his hand from between her thighs and gripping her gently by her hips, guiding her until she climbed over his lap, straddling him.

In that position, she was completely open to him, her legs resting on the outsides of his. He pulled down the waistband of his underwear, tugging his jeans lower too, so his cock was free to meet her slick flesh.

The head bumped her clit, then slid higher, gliding against her smooth skin. He grasped himself by the base of his shaft and guided it back to the swollen nub again, rocking his hips a little.

Her thighs trembled against his as she gripped his shoulders, anchoring herself to him with a grip so firm he’d probably have little bruises there the next day. Taking that as encouragement, he continued to massage her clit with the head of his dick, teased by the wetness that was dampening his erection, courtesy of her pussy.

When she rocked her hips too, grinding against his shaft, pleasure tightened the muscles in the small of his back, pooling at the base of his spine. The feel – and sight – of her rocking up and down, breathing faster as she rubbed against his dick, was too good. Her breasts bounced, and he focused on them, ceasing to move his hips and lowering his head to capture one of her nipples again.

She arched up and into him, losing her rhythm as she stilled, panting instead of moving as he sucked hard, knowing it was the only thing keeping her still, the only thing keeping him from coming then and there.

Uncomplaining, she breathed harder, then moaned when he cupped her breast from below, massaging and hoping the tender touch would make up for the scrape of his teeth, the light bite her wild sounds drove him to give her.

She moaned, swore and whispered his name between breaths, her nails buried in his shoulders. That was it – he had to be inside her. Releasing her flushed and swollen nipple from between his teeth, he leaned back and gripped his dick, guiding it between her thighs.

The moisture coating her folds made it easy to slide past them, and soon the head of his dick was tunneling inside her, parting tight flesh he’d only dreamed of for the past three months. He drove in all the way to the root, pausing when he was buried inside her, right where he’d wanted to be ever since that first night.

In that moment, he didn’t regret anything – not even their carelessness. How could he when it had led to this, when it had drawn them back together? Rocking into her, he said her name, hoping the two little syllables conveyed what he couldn’t spare the breath to say, which was that he’d never in his life felt anything better.

She moved her hips too, much like she had minutes ago, only this time she was taking him – every inch of him – deeper instead of merely grinding against the underside of his shaft. He fucked her and relished the way she fucked back, like she had that first night – he hadn’t stopped thinking about the rolling motion of her hips since then.

They established a rhythm and got lost in it for a while. Her body was so hot and the couch cushions so plush against his back that he began to sweat. Sensing release building low inside him again, he slipped a hand between her thighs and sought out her clit, pressing fingertips to its tiny swell.

He rubbed her there until her thighs trembled on either side of his and her breath came harder than ever. A sharp rush of breath and an internal wrenching of muscles marked the moment she began to come, and he thrust harder while maintaining the massage that had pushed her to the edge. The pull and squeeze of her tightening pussy was heaven; he couldn’t think of anything else, could only keep doing what he was doing, reaching for the same kind of release.

His dick was still being buffeted by a few last, soft contractions when he began to come, finally relinquishing the control he’d barely managed to hold on to over the past half hour.

Rocking hard and deliberately, he went a little more slowly than he had a minute ago, savoring each push and pull into her tight depths. This – the feeling of absolute pleasure, absolutely letting go – had haunted him through the summer and followed him into fall, too. Spilling everything he had deep inside her made him moan and threatened to take his breath away afterward when he leaned back against the couch cushions, his nerves humming with relief and satisfaction.

“I feel like I just ran a marathon,” she sighed, easing up and off of him, letting his dick slide free.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, guiding her head to rest against his shoulder. As she settled against him, clearly fatigued, he experienced no guilt; her obvious satisfaction kept that emotion at bay. She’d been right; it would’ve been stupid to hold back any longer. For the first time since July, he let himself exist in the present instead of the future or past.

* * * * *

Abby cast a last glance down at her black t-shirt as she hung her jacket on a hook and walked down Hot Ink’s aisle, forcing herself not to hurry into her half-booth. The tee she’d worn was one of the loosest she owned, and black helped to mask all kinds of bumps and bulges, didn’t it?

As she sank down into a chair, she wasn’t so sure. Sam had said the night before that she looked different, and she could definitely tell that her body had changed. Surely it was only a matter of time before other people started noticing, too – like the rest of Hot Ink’s staff, who saw her several times a week.

She still hadn’t told anyone besides Sam, Natalie and her parents about her pregnancy. Having crossed into the second trimester, now was clearly the time. Still, the idea of spreading the news beyond Sam and her closest family members was daunting. They’d be bound to see her differently, but how differently? She valued her place at Hot Ink; it was unbearable to think of the others wondering whether she was fit to keep it anymore.

Happy, at least, that she felt good enough to work, she made her way through two appointments. They were only a drop in the bucket when it came to the sessions she had scheduled, but it felt good to give her clients exactly what they’d wanted, to avoid having to disappoint them with a reschedule. By the time Zoe approached her booth and asked if she wanted to go down the street for a dinner break, she was ready to stretch her legs and get something to eat.

They settled in at a little deli, heading to a corner table with trays laden with sandwiches and pretzels. “I know it’s none of my business,” Zoe said, sitting poised with half a turkey and rye in hand, “but Abby, are you pregnant?”

Abby froze with a pretzel halfway to her mouth.

“Don’t be offended if you’re not!” Zoe said, putting her sandwich down. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Abby shook her head and sighed. “I am. Pregnant, that is. I’m three months along. I just didn’t think anyone at work knew yet.”

“The guys probably don’t have a clue.” Zoe smiled and rolled her eyes. “And I won’t say a word. I’ve just been wondering ever since that day you got sick. You haven’t been yourself since, and your stomach has always been so flat that I can already see a tiny little bump.”

“It won’t be tiny for long – I’m having twins.” Calling it tiny now was generous; even in her baggy t-shirt, she didn’t look like her pre-pregnancy self.