Dedicated Ink Page 5

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to.” He’d finished working night shift just a couple hours ago, and she knew he hadn’t had any sleep.

  She, on the other hand, had woken up so sick to her stomach that she’d called Hot Ink and asked Mina to cancel all of her appointments for the day, then retreated back to bed.

  “Picked this stuff up after work,” he explained. “Figured I’d bring it to you this evening, but I didn’t want to wait when I found out you were home sick.”

  She chewed the inside of one lip. Sam only knew she was home because she’d texted him half an hour ago when a receptionist from her OB-GYN’s office had rescheduled her next appointment. She’d figured he’d read the text when he woke up, but instead, her text had woken him and he’d called her.

  “I appreciate you coming by,” she said, struck again by surprise as he emptied the shopping bag, revealing a bag of oranges, a box of crackers, a package of fruit-flavored hard candies, a bottle of ginger ale and a little plastic box, framed by cardboard packaging.

  She reached for the last item. “What’s this?”

  “Those are Sea-Bands. You wear them on your wrists, like bracelets. They’re supposed to reduce nausea.” He plucked the package from her hands. “Hospitals use them. Want to try them?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She’d reached a point where she’d try just about anything. If a pair of stretchy bracelets might help, why not?

  She didn’t regret agreeing at all as he opened the package, scanned the instruction sheet, and then took one of her hands in his.

  Brushing his fingertips over her knuckles, he gently unfurled her fingers. “You’ve got to hold three fingers together, like this, to measure.” He demonstrated, and she extended her first three fingers, watching as he laid them against the inside of her other wrist.

  “This is the pressure point we’re looking for.” He placed the tip of one of his own fingers against her inner wrist, in the center, right under her lowest finger.

  When he slid the first band over her hand, he let the little plastic nub settle into place, applying pressure where he’d indicated. Even after his touch was gone, heat remained, and a tingling sensation crept over her entire body, concentrated in her fingertips, lips and breasts.

  “You’re supposed to wear them both at once.” He repeated the process, and by the time he was done, her nerves were practically humming with anticipation. Even sick and shabby in her pajamas, her body retained the memory of their one night together; the feel of his skin against hers rekindled an instant magic that had her thinking of much more than the contents of the bag he’d brought.

  When he withdrew his touch, his eyes lingered overlong on her wrists, then traveled higher to the cleavage that swelled above her cami’s neckline.

  The heat he’d filled her with manifested in a blush that burnt across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. The cami wasn’t anything designed to seduce, just a cotton basic she’d picked up during a sale at the mall. Still, her breasts had swollen to the point that the top only half-covered them, and her nipples were hard beneath the thin fabric, definitely visible.

  Her body had changed since the last time he’d seen her naked, and not just her belly. What would he think? She’d been wondering over the past two weeks, since they’d started seeing each other again. During that time, they hadn’t slept together. Not even once, and it wasn’t like he’d made a move and she’d turned him down. It just … hadn’t happened.

  Two weeks wasn’t exactly an eternity, but they’d agreed to raise their babies together, as a couple, and they’d been going out. They’d had dinner several times, and seen a movie once. Sometimes he gave her looks like the one that had her practically squirming in her seat now and they made her ache for an irrefutably sexual touch, a kiss … something that would lead to an encounter as passionate and unstoppable as their first.

  How could they be a real couple if they weren’t sleeping together? Considering the fact that in a few months they’d be parents together, it seemed absurd to hold back. She ached, physically and emotionally, to connect now, while they could, before things got even crazier than they already were.

  “Would you like any of these other things?” he asked, finally raising his gaze until it locked with hers. “They’re all supposed to help with morning sickness – I got the list from a book.”

  “A book?”

  He nodded. “Picked it up a couple days ago.”

  For a moment, she was silent as she imagined him in a book store, maybe still in uniform, buying a pregnancy book of his own volition so he could better help her deal with her symptoms. It was crazy how willing he seemed to be a part of her pregnancy when another very physical aspect of their relationship was stagnating.

  She ate an orange he sliced for her, letting the sweet-tart juice linger on her tongue. It really did help settle her stomach down.

  He left the rest of the things he’d brought with her, along with a promise to stop by later that evening with dinner for them both.

  The prospect left her skin warm and tingling, even after he was gone.

  * * * * *

  Sam’s body was still stuck on nightshift mode; nine PM felt like mid-morning despite the fact that he and Abby had just had orange chicken over rice for dinner. No way would he get any rest that night. Abby was beside him on the couch, which was small, like everything else in her apartment. Her thigh was touching his, and that was enough to send his deprived senses into overdrive, making him ache inside his jeans.

  She seemed to be feeling better than she had that morning and had changed into jeans and a tight top, even put on a touch of make-up. She looked fantastic, and it was killing him slowly.

  “We don’t have to watch this if you’re not into it. I could watch something else.” She lifted the remote, abandoning a crime drama for the guide channel.

  He hadn’t meant to seem so obviously bored, but the truth was, he didn’t give a damn what was on TV. He was more interested in letting his gaze wander to the V-neck of her long-sleeved t-shirt than he was in paying attention to whatever was on the screen. “Pick whatever you want to watch. I don’t have a preference.”

  While she was studying the rolling list of programming, he studied the rise and fall of curves showcased by her shirt. The cotton was stretched tight over her breasts and her tiny but round belly, the hem a bare inch away from riding up and exposing the skin above her low-rise jeans. “Have you gone shopping for maternity clothes yet?”

  She looked away from the TV, her gaze snapping immediately to meet his, then wandering below, over the front of her body, before she resumed eye contact. “Is it that obvious already?”

  “It is to me. You look different than you did when I first met you, or than you did two weeks ago, for that matter.” Her belly was small but already rounded; looking at it made her pregnancy seem more real, made him want to pull her against his chest so they’d be as close as it seemed like they should be when he really thought about what was happening inside her body.

  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 t
aste 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.”

  CHAPTER 5

  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.