Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade Book 5) (11 page)

"Fuck, you get more beautiful every time I see you." He cups my breasts, watching his fingers toy with my nipples.

Pleasure shoots to my core. "Me or my tits?"

"Both." He leans down to kiss me—the man is nearly a foot taller than I am.

He slides his hand between my legs, rubbing me over my panties. I'm already wet, already needy. The touch sends electricity racing to my fingers and toes.

"Drew," I breathe. "Fuck me."

"This first." He pushes my panties to my knees.

His fingers brush my inner thighs. Even after all this time, I expect him to recoil when he touches my scars. But he doesn't. He traces a few with that soft touch of his.

Then his hand is on me.

I dig my hands into his chest as pleasure knots in my core. Why is he still wearing a shirt? I slide my hand under it, taking my time reacquainting myself with the hard muscles of his chest and stomach.

His dark eyes fix on mine. I hold his gaze as an orgasm builds inside me. Those expert hands of his.

Damn.

A few more strokes and all that tension knots tighter and tighter. I bite my lip so I won't scream as I go over the edge.

"Fuck, Drew," I groan. Pleasure spills through my pelvis as I come. It feels like it's been a million years. "I missed you so much."

"Missed you too." He pulls his t-shirt over his head and pushes his jeans and boxers off his hips.

He's naked.

I'm naked.

The shower is running.

Sometimes, life really is perfect.

He pulls the curtain back and helps me into the shower. Then he's there with me, the curtain in its proper place.

Warm water streams over my head and neck. My hair wets quickly. Then it's sticking to my cheeks, covering my eyes.

He laughs as he switches positions with me. He throws his head back to wet his hair.

We take turns soaping each other. We spend ages touching and kissing. It's like it's the first time. My hands still adore every inch of his skin. I trace each of his tattoos, each line of his muscles.

His fingers graze every inch of my skin. They settle on my chest. I love how much the man loves my boobs.

My eyelids press together. I groan against his chest. I press my palms against his stomach. One treads lower. It wraps around his cock.

Fuck, he's hard.

He's really fucking hard.

It never gets old. It still feels amazing that my best friend in the whole fucking world wants me as badly as I want him.

It's like a dream.

I stroke him until he's groaning then I look up into his eyes. "Fuck me."

His eyes are heavy with desire. He only barely manages to nod. His hands go to my hips.

He guides me into position—me facing the wall, him behind me. I place one palm against the wall for support.

Drew digs his fingers into my skin as his cock brushes against me.

I arch my back to grab more of him.

Slowly, he slides inside me. Each inch feels better than the last. More like I'm whole.

More like I'm home.

Fuck, I missed him so badly.

He holds onto my hips as he thrusts into me.

My eyes close. Conscious thought slips away. All the nights apart, all the afternoons I spent wishing he were there, all the dinners I wanted to brag about cooking—everything else fades away.

There's nothing in the world except our bodies in this shower.

He rocks into me with a steady motion. His thighs are shaking, his fingers digging into my skin.

He's close.

He was right. It's fast.

But I don't care. I want to feel his orgasm. I want him as wrecked with pleasure as I am.

A few more thrusts and he's there.

"Kara," he groans.

His breath hitches. His cock pulses as he comes inside me. He thrusts through the orgasm until he's spilled every drop.

When he's finished, he turns me around. His eyes find mine.

He slides his hand between my legs. "You need to come again."

If he insists.

I close my eyes and surrender to the pleasure filling my body.

––––––––

K
ara

Drew is downstairs, scooping veggie omelets onto ceramic plates. He motions to a cup of tea on the dining table.

"You sleep well?" he asks.

"Yeah." I take a long sip of my tea. Earl Grey. My favorite. "How are you awake?"

"Jet lag."

"Let's take a walk after breakfast. Daylight is supposed to help."

He laughs as he brings the plates, and his coffee, to the table. "Kendrick, you think I don't know the jetlag tricks? Been touring for the last four years."

"But you only had your first international tour a year ago."

He shakes his head. "Can't believe the lack of respect."

"Baby, you know I think you're a rock star." I allow myself the opportunity to check him out. He's wearing a t-shirt and boxers. It's too much clothing. I need that shirt gone so I can gawk at his tattoos. And his six-pack. And those v-lines. God, those v-lines. "But you can always play a song for me, to remind me."

"Can I?"

I nod. "Woo me with your beautiful voice."

"How about if I use my mouth for something else?"

My cheeks flush. "I can live with that."

"Can you?"

I nod. It's a casual nod, but it
is
a big deal. Before Drew, I never let guys touch me, much less stick their heads between my thighs.

I was ashamed of my cutting scars. But he treats them like a badge of courage. Like they're a sign I survived something hard, not like they're a sign I'm a damaged freak.

***

T
he bed shakes so hard I'm worried it's going to fall through the floor. It doesn’t. Not the first, second, or third time I come.

After we clean up, we head to Golden Gate Park for a long walk. There's a lot to catch up on—all the little details that make up days. Mostly, I talk and he listens, but I do get a few details about the tour. There was a great show in Tokyo and an awful one someplace in China. He broke three guitar strings during a solo.

I get lost in our conversation. He must be lost too, because we're well into the afternoon when we realize the time.

My phone is packed with
When will you be home for lunch?
messages from my mom.

"Shit, we better go." I show Drew the texts.

He presses his lips to mine. "You're always making trouble, Kendrick."

I nod and lead him back home. It's a long walk, but it's nice today. It's cool, but the flowers and trees are in bloom. There are pollens everywhere.

My allergies are going crazy. I'm sneezing, I'm tired, and I'm incredibly nauseous. Usually, the nausea is more mild. At the moment, I'm about ready to throw up.

It feels like it's something worse than allergies, but it's been consistent for a few weeks. What else could it be?

At home, Mom is in the kitchen. It smells like tomatoes, meat, and pasta.

Yum.

"Hey, Kara." Mom smiles. She nods hello to Drew. "Andrew, nice to finally see you."

Drew actually blushes. He hates being called Andrew.

God damn, he looks cute with his cheeks pink. My head fills with all sorts of delicious thoughts about other activities that make him flush.

"It's just Drew, Mrs. Kendrick," he says.

"It's just Judy." She motions to the table. "I'm about to bring out the salad."

"Thanks for cooking, Mrs., ahem Judy."

She smiles. "Kara helped prepare it last night."

Oh, it's the lasagna. I've already forgotten everything about yesterday that wasn't me and Drew in the shower.

"You cooked for me, Kendrick?" He squeezes my hand under the table as he turns to Mom. "She always 'lets' me cook for her."

Mom laughs. "Kara is excellent with grilled cheese, mac and cheese, anything with cheese."

Is loving cheese a crime? Grilled cheese is fantastic. Especially with tomato soup. Maybe I like carbs more than I should. The evidence of my love affair shows in my hips, my stomach, my thighs, my—well, my everything.

Truth be told, I like my curvy figure. Sure, it would be nice to have abs, but my boobs and butt fill out a tight dress like nobody's business. If only I could do something about being five feet tall.

We take our seats and serve ourselves. The lasagna looks amazing, and I'm hungry. I've been starving lately. Usually, I'm not big on meat, but the beef smells amazing. I want to eat a million pounds of it.

And the tampons...

And the nausea.

No.

There's no way...

There's no way I'm pregnant. I had my period recently. Didn't I?

I try to work backward, to do the math, but I can't remember any specific cycle. School makes all the days run together.

It can't be possible. I'm religious with my pill.

Only traveling makes it difficult to keep track of time zones.

I want to have a family with Drew. One day. I want a little girl. I know everyone says boys are easier. I know Drew would be less overprotective of a boy. But I still want a girl. I want to dress her in those tiny Converse and cozy sweaters. I want to put her in dance classes until she finds a style she likes, the way my mom did for me.

If she hates dance, she can try soccer or karate or gymnastics. She's going to be a strong girl, physically and mentally. I can see the three of us at the park or the beach or her first day of school. I know I'll annoy the shit out of her, fussing over her hair and clothes for pictures. But she'll appreciate it when she's older, especially when she's old enough I can teach her how to tame her thick hair. Drew's hair is short, but it's nearly as thick as mine.

I can see a great life for us, the three of us...

But it's five or ten years away.

Now... he's still touring half the year. I'm still in graduate school.

Mom's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Are you going to visit your parents, Drew?"

I clear my throat. Better to focus on Drew. This is a remote possibility. "Mom, I told you about Drew's parents... what happened with him dropping out of school."

Mom looks at me curiously. She doesn't remember.

I shoot Drew an apologetic look. He acts strong about his parents being out of his life, but I know it hurts him.

He takes a steady breath. "My mom stopped speaking to me after I dropped out of Stanford to follow the band." His eyes go to the table. "I'm sure she had good intentions. But—" He shakes his head, struggling to keep his voice even. "I accepted it a long time ago. I just wish she hadn't done the same thing to Willow."

"Your sister?" Mom asks.

Drew nods.

"She was a sweet girl. How is she doing?"

"She married their drummer," I say. "She's a photographer now."

"Mom didn't like that either." Drew clears his throat. "She and Willow never had a blow up fight, but they don't talk much."

"What about your father?" Mom asks.

I clear my throat. "Mom, Drew's been traveling. He's jet lagged. I'm not sure—"

"It's fine." He looks at Mom. "He lives in Europe. He's married to a woman a year older than I am. He calls on my birthday. Sometimes on holidays."

"Oh." Mom frowns. She shakes her head, shifting to a more pleasant topic. "Christmas is next week. We can get a tree tomorrow. Hang lights. I don't know if you celebrate, Andrew... Drew."

"I do," he says.

"Excuse me." I push out of my seat to use the bathroom. I have to pee again. Already.

That's one of the signs, isn't it?

After I wash my hands, it hits me. I have a period calendar on my phone. I don't exactly use it religiously, but it should be able to help me.

Damn. The last time I entered something was this summer. But there was something during the school year. I remember asking my friend to borrow a tampon.

When was that?

I haven't got a clue.

I can't even keep track of my periods. Can I really handle taking care of a child? I've only just figured out how to take care of myself.

I try to push it aside as I return to the table. Drew and Mom are having a nice conversation about a book series I've never read. Something about mystery and action.

I settle into my seat and pick at my lasagna. It's delicious—chewy, tangy, creamy—but I'm no longer feeling well.

My gaze goes to Drew. He's smiling, cracking a joke with Mom.

He'll be a good dad. Overprotective, but good. I can see him cradling a baby, reading comics with a toddler, teaching a kid to play a tiny guitar.

But not in nine months.

Not for years.

Many, many years.

I stare at my food, forcing myself to take small bites.

Drew taps me on the shoulder.

I look up at him with hazy eyes.

"Kara, your mom was asking about our wedding," he says.

"What about it?" I ask.

"When we're gonna pick out a specific location." His eyes fix on mine. "Don't tell me you forgot the date."

"No. June twelfth. We're doing the beach. What's the rush figuring out the other details?" I take a bite of lasagna and swallow hard. There's an obvious reason to rush, but I don't want that for our wedding.

"You'll forget all about it when school picks up." Drew squeezes my hand. "You okay? You look queasy."

I feel queasy. This is overwhelming, and I'm not good with overwhelming.

I push out from the table. "I'm not feeling well. I think it's allergies." I take a step backward. "I... uh... I'm going to lie down. Why don't you guys go out, take in the city?" I lean in to kiss Drew on the forehead. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine after a nap."

I climb the stairs to my room, collapse on my bed, and pull the covers over my head. I repeat the words to myself.
I'll be fine, I'll be fine, I'll be fine
.

But every time, they feel like lies.

***

There's a knock on the door. The handle turns, and Drew steps inside.

"Hey." Drew's voice echoes through the small room. "You okay?"

I nod. This pregnancy thing is a remote possibility. I think.

"You sure? I can run out to CVS and grab something."

"That's okay." I push myself up, blink my eyes a few times, and yawn. "What time is it?"