Friday
I can’t wait to get Paul home. I want to get all this paint off and then shove him on the bed and ride him. My * has been thumping ever since he painted me, and it’s not getting any better. I’m glad I was wearing a black bathing suit, or people would have been able to see how wet I was.
We walk by Pete, who is checking ID’s at the door. “Damn, did I miss it?” Pete asks.
Sam walks up beside him and holds up his phone. “Don’t worry. I got pictures.” He shakes the phone at Pete, and Pete grabs for it, but Paul gets to it first. He grimaces and talks quietly to himself while he does something to the phone. Paul gives it back and grins at him.
“What did you do?” Sam asks. He flips through his photos. “You big f*cker,” he cries. “You deleted my pictures!”
Paul keeps smiling and takes my hand. “You ready to go home?” he asks. His blue eyes are shining, and he winks at me. “I have a problem I need you to help me with,” he adds quietly so only I can hear.
My heart thuds. I nod, and his eyes smolder.
He tugs my hand and doesn’t say a word on the walk back home. I look up at him a few times, but he just keeps walking with his jaw clenched. Every now and then I see a tiny tic in it. “You’re not mad at me are you?” I ask.
He looks down at me, startled. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“You’re not talking to me and you’re clenching your jaw.”
He stares at me for a second. “I have a reason for not talking to you,” he tells me quietly.
I stop walking. “Well, what is it?”
He looks down at me. “Every single thought in my head right now is about how much I want to f*ck you. All I can think about is getting this paint off and then kissing my way down your body so I can taste that hood piercing of yours.”
My * thumps harder than ever. “Paul,” I whisper.
“And then I want to take my time and play with those big old nipples.” His thumb drags beneath my breast, right there in the middle of the crowded street, and my stomach jumps straight down to my toes.
“And then?” I ask.
“And I’m going to come in my pants right now if you make me keep talking about it.” He pulls me against him and hugs me while he chuckles, then I feel him press a kiss to my forehead. “I want to throw you over my shoulder, but you’re pregnant.” He sets me back from him. “Wait!” he cries. “Can you even have an orgasm yet?” His eyes search mine.
I laugh. “I don’t know,” I say. I bite my fingernail and grin at him. “Depends on how good you are at getting me there.”
He laughs and pulls me by the hand down the street. “I’ll get you there.”
I laugh and let him drag me. When we get to the apartment building, he holds the door open for me and slaps me on the ass after I go through it. I look back at him and start to race up the stairs. I think he’s going to overtake me, and he nearly does, but only in time to open the next door for me. Then we go into the apartment and stop when someone walks through the kitchen.
“Em?” he says. He looks over and sees Logan sitting on the couch with the baby in a carrier at his feet. “Is everything okay?”
Emily looks from me to Paul and back again. “We just thought we’d come for a visit,” she says.
I bite back my groan.
“A visit,” Paul repeats.
I hit him in the shoulder. “They came for a visit. Aren’t you glad?”
“F*ck, no, I’m not—” he starts, but I hit him in the stomach, and he clutches for it with a loud grunt.
“We’re so glad you’re here,” I say, trying to sound excited. What I’m feeling is quite the opposite. I feel let down. I feel miserable. I feel like I will never, ever get to come again in my life.
“Shouldn’t you be at home letting that baby sleep or something?” Paul asks. He stalks over to the couch, flops down across from Logan, and stuffs a pillow into his lap.
“That baby wakes up every two hours and can sleep just about anywhere,” Logan tells him. He glances toward the pillow Paul shoved in his lap and raises his brow. He smirks. “Did we interrupt something?”
“No,” I say.
Paul says, “Yes,” at the same time.
Logan smirks and reaches for a can of nuts on the table. He puts his feet up and grins. “So, how was the contest?” he asks. He can barely chew around that smile.
“I won!” I cry, holding my arms up.
Logan and Emily both clap, but their little one startles in the car seat and lets out a cry.
“Uh oh,” Logan says. “She’s awake.”
“Which means she’ll want to eat,” Emily says.
Logan picks her up and holds her until her face turns red and she’s screaming. “She’s definitely hungry,” Logan says, holding their daughter out to Emily.
She reaches for her and turns to me. “Do you want to go in your room so I can feed her and we can talk? I still can’t get used to the whole boob-out-in-public thing.”
I look at Paul, who throws up his hands and then swipes a frustrated palm down his face. Logan chuckles.
“Actually,” I say. “I need to soak this paint off. Can you talk to me from the bathtub?”
She nods, looking relieved that she won’t have to feed her daughter in the living room. She gives me a minute to undress and climb in, and then she knocks. “Are you decent?” she asks.
“I’m in bubbles,” I call back. I halfway pull the bath curtain so that only my head is exposed. “Bubbles that are quickly looking like black licorice.”
She pokes her head in. “That’s kind of gross,” she says.
I rub a sponge over my body and let the water out, then refill the tub. This is going to be a multi-step process. It was a lot of paint.
Emily closes the lid of the toilet and sits down. Then she bares her breast, and the little one latches on to it with a smacking noise and a sigh.
“God, your boobs are huge!” I say. They are. Like f*cking huge. Like melon sized but with a baby attached.
She laughs. “I know, right?” she says. “They’re too big. Logan likes them, though.” She smiles. “He keeps wanting to play with them.” She grimaces. “But they hurt. I think I have enough milk to feed a small nation.”
I agree; she could probably start her own dairy farm, but I’m afraid to say so.
“So, how is pregnancy treating you?” she asks. Kit sucks greedily at her breast, and my insides go all melty at how comfortable and secure they look together.
“I still wake up sick, but it’s not too bad,” I admit. “I can deal with it.”
“Do you wish you hadn’t done it, now that things are going the way they are with Paul?”
“No.” Not for a minute. Garrett and Cody deserve a kid, and I am happy I get to help with that. “It kind of makes things different, but not bad.”
Emily laughs. “I was horny as hell when I was pregnant.”
“You and Logan went at it like rabbits from the beginning,” I remind her.
“No,” she protests. “He wouldn’t even have sex with me until I told him my real name. And that was weeks later.”
“You know what I meant.” I roll my eyes.
The paint is coming off, so I change the water again. I hope Paul doesn’t need a shower, too, because there’s not going to be an ounce of hot water left.
“Speaking of Paul…” She grins. “Spill it.”
“There’s nothing to spill. We haven’t done anything yet.”
“Oh.” She looks disappointed, and that makes me laugh.
“He painted my boobs for me today. He might be a boob man.” I lower my chin and look at hers. “So, keep your humongous knockers out of his face.”
“I could be the last woman on the planet and he wouldn’t look at my humongous knockers,” she tells me. “I know that much about him. It’s a brother thing.” She shrugs. “So, did we interrupt you guys when you came home? He looked like he wants to have you for dinner.”
“It can wait. I had to get the paint off anyway. So, you’re not delaying our fornication. Just our foreplay.” I laugh.
Her face colors, but she laughs, too. “Well, good luck with that.” She pops Kit off her left side and switches to the other. The baby pecks around until she latches on, and Emily sits back and takes a breath. “Logan is wearing me out,” she admits quietly.
“What do you mean?” I stand up and start to actually soap myself now that most of the paint is gone.
“He’s working really hard to make it easy for me, but I wish he’d just leave and go to work and let me try to do some of it. He holds her. He gets up for every feeding and sits with us. He changes all the diapers.”
I stick my head out of the curtain. “Not necessarily a bad thing.”
“It’s like he thinks I can’t do it. I’m capable. I’m strong. I’m not going to break.” A tear tracks down her face. “Dammit.” She swipes it away. “I can’t stop crying lately.”
“Pass me a towel,” I say. I wrap it around myself and step out. “I think you have a really good thing going on,” I tell her. “But you’re tired and your hormones are going crazy and your tits are huge.” I look at her boobs and shake my head, and she laughs. At least I can do that much for her; I can make her laugh. “It’s going to get easier.”
“I miss our intimacy,” she admits. “It’s like he’s afraid to wrap around me because he doesn’t want to wake me up when I do finally get to sleep.”
“Did you tell him?”
“I don’t want to complain. He’s trying so hard.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say. I pat her shoulder and put a robe on. “Come with me while I get dressed, and then I’ll give him a few pointers.”
“No,” she protests. But she gets up and follows me. “Let’s talk about sex for a minute.” She points to me. “Yours. Not mine.”
I grin. “Okay.” She follows me into the bedroom, and I shut the door behind us.