One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3) - Amy Daws Page 0,87
so full of cardboard boxes that I’m still going to be breaking them down when this kid goes to college.”
Lynsey makes a guttural noise in her throat. “Maybe if you’d let me have Dean over to help me move some of this stuff and put things together like I said in the beginning, it wouldn’t have piled up so much.”
“I told you I don’t need Dean’s fucking help,” I grind out, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. I don’t want him coming in and showing her how much better he can do this. That he could replace me. “And you’d better not tell him about this crib debacle, or I swear to God—”
Her brown eyes flash with rage. “Are you ever going to stop being jealous of Dean?”
“Are you ever going to stop acting like he could replace me at a moment’s notice?” I snap back.
“I don’t say that,” she exclaims, her face paling. “I’ve never acted like that.”
“You did in the beginning.” I can tell by her face that she knows I’m telling the truth.
She huffs out a noise while turning to leave the room when suddenly, her foot slides on a pile of bubble wrap. Her hands fly out as she falters. I lunge forward, just in time to wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into my body. I heave several large breaths as a sharp pain in my chest erupts when I think of what could have happened had I not been here. How bad that fall could have been for her and the baby.
I can’t lose her.
I can’t.
I won’t.
Lynsey exhales heavily and looks up at me with wide, apologetic eyes. Her gaze dips to my lips and darkens with something I’ve seen before, and the next thing I know, we’re naked and fucking on the hardwood floor amidst a sea of cardboard boxes and bubble wrap because, well…
We have lost our fucking minds.
And I don’t know how to stop it.
We’ve been playing house for months, and I’ve become completely obsessed with the woman riding me and calling out my name at the top of her lungs. A strand of her brown hair is stuck in her mouth as her nails bite into my chest. Her moans are loud and sexy as fuck as she gyrates her pelvis over top of me, chasing her orgasm like it’s on the run. I grip her sides and pump up into her, matching her intensity and marveling over how I’ve become so used to her belly now, and so consumed and beguiled by everything else about her.
How did this happen? How did I go from low-key stalking her in a hospital cafeteria to arguing over baby room furnishings and fucking her like it’s my last day on earth? Things are nothing like what I expected when I first asked her to move in with me. Somehow, I blew past professional detachment to rushing home from work to watch Grey’s Anatomy reruns with her on the couch.
It’s fucking terrifying.
Yet I don’t want it to end. The house could be burning down around me, and I’d choose to stay right here, desperate to taste her orgasm on my lips, tongue, cock, fingers. Every fucking part of my body. Or hell, even just holding her as she sleeps on my chest. I want it all all the time.
“Josh!” she screams, panting and tensing on top of me. “I’m going to come.”
“Look at me when you do, baby,” I command, and her eyes pop open as her teeth sink into her lower lip.
She stills, releasing that sexy pout of hers as she groans out her release with complete abandon, and I do the same inside her.
I sit up and hug her, her sizeable bump making that embrace more and more challenging with each passing week. I keep expecting her to not want sex anymore and for the changes in her body to trump her need for release, but it’s not happening. In fact, she’s hornier and more responsive than ever.
And annoyingly, the bigger she gets, the more anxious I become. Our appointments are going well, and she’s the picture of pregnancy health, but I’m not sleeping well on the nights I spend thinking about how badly things could turn out. Not only medically but also emotionally. When she realizes my limits, she won’t stay. She’s too good to stay.
“We still have to finish this crib,” she says, pushing herself off me and standing, her legs spread wide.