Provocative (Tempting Book 3) (2 page)

A
dele’s hand
was still covering my mouth when my jumbled brain finally processed what she’d said. The cursing hid it at first, acting like a solid barrier to my own mental processing abilities. I slid a hand up her forearm so I could pull on her wrist. Even though the movement was slow, my heart was absolutely fucking
racing
. I dropped her hand and took a breath.

A child.

A
baby
.

The answering smile that covered my face was so big and so immediate that I couldn’t do anything but laugh.

“Are you sure?” I whispered, cupping the sides of her face with my hands, trying not to grip too tightly from the excitement rattling my bones.

Adele blinked a few times, gauging my face and then finally gave me a tiny nod in answer. “I took a test right before you got home. So if I sounded like a psycho on the phone, that’s why. I was waiting to find out what it said.”

“And it said that you’re pregnant?” The fact that I’d already asked once barely registered. The slow spread of shocked happiness hit my hands first, then moved up my arms and settled in my chest. Adele nodded again, just a tiny tip of her chin, and I whooped. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I lifted her up against my chest, crushing her to me as tightly as I could manage.

Taking in a deep, calming breath against her silky fine blonde hair, I pressed a kiss there.

“Oh, baby, I can’t believe it.” My voice came out sounding rough and full of emotion, still nothing compared to the riot happening inside of my heart and my head.

In the midst of how mind-numbingly busy it was to teach at Harvard, I hadn’t had much beyond Adele keeping me sane. Her smiles and snark and sexiness grounding me in the middle of one of the biggest changes of my life. And now … oh God … now we’d get to add a baby into it.
Our
baby. I laughed again, and that’s when I noticed her shaking. Her entire body was shaking in my arms. Very slowly, I lowered her down, pulling my head back so that I could see her face. Her incredibly pale face.

“Adele?”

Her eyes flicked up to me. They’d been focused on the base of my throat, and when she finally met my eyes, I swallowed. Her pupils were small, like she’d just stared into the sun, and underneath the skin covering the column of her throat, I could see the rapid fluttering of her pulse. The initial swell of happiness receded, one wave at a time. Adele was terrified.

Not once had we talked about kids. But it never occurred to me that she might not want any. I clenched my teeth together while I smoothed a hand down her hair. My brain hurdled over so many thoughts that I could barely keep up. While I let them settle, I pulled her into my arms again and pressed my cheek against the crown of her head. Adele buried her nose into my throat and pulled in a shuddering breath.

“I’m only twenty-two, Nathan,” she said quietly. “I spend more time pondering the negative effects of Diet Coke than I do about wanting to be a mother someday.”

I smiled, but it felt sad. Not wanting her to sense it, I hugged her closer to me, even though my heart was squeezing painfully behind my ribs. Tethering your own excitement so that it didn’t cause pain to the person you loved was new to me. But I did love her. I loved her so much that sometimes it felt like it would swallow me whole. It was enormous and so deep into my bones, that the thought of her being that scared and that unsure about something like our baby almost cracked me in half. So I swallowed everything down.

“Listen to me,” I said into her hair, pushing my hand up her spine until I cupped the back of her neck with my fingers, “I know you’re young, and this isn’t how we planned on doing things. But I will be with you
every
single step of the way.”

Adele pulled back, and the watery brightness of her green eyes almost made me feel physically ill. Despite what I’d said, and how deeply I meant it, she still looked completely unsure. And it wasn’t exactly like I could blame her. I’d been so busy since starting at Harvard, busier and more intellectually challenged than I’d ever been in my life. Time at home—time with Adele—was the thing that had suffered the most. And I’d seen it in her eyes every single time I came home late: disappointment and anger.

“Adele,” I crouched down so that my eyes were at the same level as hers. “I love you. And I promise that I will take care of you, take care of everything you need. We can
do
this.”

She swallowed, watching me so intently that I almost fidgeted under her scrutiny. Then her eyes cleared, just a touch, and I exhaled in relief. Her hands moved from around my back to hold either side of my face. I closed my eyes at the feel of her skin against mine. This. This was what centered us. Always.

“You promise?”

I opened my eyes and nodded. “I do.”

“Okay.” She puffed out a breath. “I love you too.”

When I grinned at her, she finally cracked the tiniest of smiles. “Can I kiss you now, or are you going to throw up in my mouth?”

Adele punched me in the stomach. “Too soon. Entirely too soon, Nathan.”

What I wanted to do in response was run my hand underneath her shirt and lay it over her stomach. Wanted to see if I could feel it. Feel that little, tiny, perfect thing that was entirely me and entirely Adele. Instead, I leaned down to kiss her and she wound her arms around my neck in the same breath. It was a dance that we knew without fail. Even though every time I slipped inside of her, every time I felt her pussy clench and pull at me so deeply inside of her body, it always felt brand new.

She moaned into my mouth when I dipped my hand into the back of her pants to grab her perfectly round, firm ass. The sharp tips of her nails pricked against my scalp when she moved her hands into my hair and I rocked my hips against her in response.

“How do you always do this to me?” she groaned, reaching down to palm my cock through my pants.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” I ground out, fisting a hand into her hair. “Always do what?”

Adele went up on tiptoe and kissed me again, snaking her tongue against mine in a shameless undulation. “Make me hot so fucking fast.”

We staggered backwards and I propped her up on the counter, only pulling my mouth away from hers to rip at the button of her jeans. But I didn’t go any further, simply opening her legs wider by stepping in between them.

“Please,” she whispered when I pulled away to bite down onto the side of her neck.

“Please, what?” I whispered back and smiled when she glared at me.

“Pretty please will you put your cock inside of me?” Then she blinked at me, biting the side of her lip. It was one of her favorite roles in our bedroom, the innocent sexual ingénue. But only the innocent part was incongruent with her personality. My fearless, dirty girl.

“Not yet.”

“Dick.” But the word held no heat, especially since she was quickly unhooking my belt and lowering the zipper of my pants as fast as she could. “Can I least touch it?”

But I stepped back and shook my head. “Not yet. This, this right here is all about you.”

She gave me a soft smile, reaching out to trace her thumb along my bottom lip. “I love you so much, Nathan.”

“Yeah?” I tapped the side of her thigh, motioning for her lift up so I could work her pants off. “You’re just saying that because I’m about to touch you in your very favorite spot.”

Adele didn’t roll her eyes like I expected her to, just watched me while I pulled her jeans off of her and then tossed them onto the floor. The underwear she was wearing was comprised of tiny scraps of lace held together by thin lines of satin around her hips. When I pressed two fingers along the damp fabric in front of her slit, she dropped her head back briefly, letting out a small moan. But she lifted it almost immediately, grabbing my wrist in between her legs.

“No,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. Especially when I started making tiny, hard circles against her clit through the fabric. “I’m saying it because I do. So fucking much, Nathan. I love you.”

Holding her eyes, I hooked my fingers past her underwear and sank them both into her hot, slick pussy, right as our mouths met for a slow, wet kiss. She whimpered into my mouth, against my tongue, and the sound ripped right down into my heart.

“I love you too,” I said in between kisses. “Now would you pretty please come all over my hand?”

I twisted my fingers, adding a third and grinding my palm against her clit. She seized on a loud cry, her cunt clenching around my fingers in a long, pulsing rhythm. I withdrew my hand and then lifted it up to my nose so I could take a deep breath.

She shook her head, her face beautifully flushed. “Perv.”

“Only with you.” I kissed her again, pouring into it all the relief that I felt at seeing her look at me without terror in her eyes. At seeing her smile. She tried to wiggle off of the counter, her hands gripping at my still very hard cock again, but I shook my head. “Just … just let me hold you for a few minutes. Then you can have your way with me.”

Her head tilted and her eyes narrowed slightly. But she nodded, letting me wrap her in my arms. I tightened them around her, taking deep breaths and asking the universe, or whoever might be listening, to keep our baby healthy, and to let Adele eventually feel exactly the way that I did.

I
t wasn’t
the first time I’d been late to class. No, many Leo keggers had kept me out into the wee hours of the morning, leaving me running to class with whiskey stains on my shirt and dirt from some God-forsaken Kenmore Square party place under my nails.

But being late to class because I was bent over, practically kissing the top of someone’s Styrofoam breakfast at the bottom of a trash can … well, that was something else.

I’d wiped the vomit from my lips with the back of my hand and slowly stood, breathing in through my mouth and out my nostrils to avoid smelling the lox I’d made the mistake of eating that morning. Who the fuck eats salmon on bagels for breakfast?

Oh, yeah. Nathan. Nathan did.

I remembered how he’d looked at me as I’d swiped a bite of his breakfast. “Are you allowed to have fish?” he asked, one delicious eyebrow raised.

I shrugged as I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder, talking around the bite of cream cheese and salmon. “I dunno. This tastes weird.”

He thumbed across his phone screen, squinting his eyes as he surveyed the information before him. “Raw or partially-cooked fish is a big no-no, Adele,” he said, peering at me over the tops of his glasses. He sounded so hot and scholarly when he said it, and I would’ve mounted him right at the breakfast bar were it not for the fact that my stomach was turning in reaction to the taste of salmon at seven o-fucking-clock in the morning.

“Guess sushi is out,” I pouted, pushing his bagel from me and grabbing his coffee instead.

Again, he looked at me peculiarly as I sipped his coffee and I knew the words that would fall from his lips immediately.

“Okay,
sir,
” I said, my voice hard. “No caffeine, right? Is this a baby or a jail sentence?”

He laughed, coming around the counter to pull me in a hug. He had been doing that a lot more since I dropped the baby bombshell on him, and after the last couple months mostly apart with our schedules, I was still getting used to the feel of Nathan enveloping me in one of his hugs.

I savored that warm feeling two hours later when I found myself eyeing the Chinese writing on the Styrofoam container currently covered in my vomit. And then, the mere thought of Chinese food turned my stomach into enemy number one—and I spewed once again.

Wiping the back of my hand over my mouth for a second time, I ignored the strange look from the girl applying an inch of lip gloss to her bottom lip.

Until she spoke.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I ran my hands under the running water and then shook them, not caring too badly that I splashed her with some of the droplets. “Fucking salmon,” I said, running my hands under the dryer.

“You look terrible,” she said, as if she needed to announce the obvious.

“Yeah, well, your lips look like they’re melting off your face,” I shot back before leaving the bathroom.

I pulled out my phone, noted that I was already ten minutes late for class thanks to the fucking salmon and typed out a text to Nathan.
I just puked up your salmon and possibly an organ.

His reply came seconds later.
Don’t eat salmon, then. Shouldn’t you be in class?

It took great restraint to keep from rolling my eyes.

Yeah, this Nathan was new. Shiny—paying attention to my class schedule and what I should put in my mouth. Idly, I wondered what he’d say if I told him my OB/GYN said no more deep-throating. I didn’t imagine he’d take that with a smile on his face like he did when it came to depriving me of caffeine.

I shoved into class with more aplomb than I should have any right to—considering I was, after all, late as fuck.

Thankfully, the professor was bumbling around like he lost his glasses, shuffling across the floor and sniffing loudly as the students around the room chattered like this was social hour and not Introduction to Literary Theory.

I dropped my books onto my desk and slid in my chair, feeling an instant turn of my stomach.

Jesus. It was one fucking bite of salmon! Why was my stomach waging a war on me?

The guy who usually sat next to me scooted his chair closer. “Hey,” he said, leaning toward me with one elbow propped up. “Did you do your essay?”

The one upside to Nathan being missing in action was that I was always on top of my class work. I did that shit in his bed late at night, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tiny ink stains on his duvet before I had a chance to wash it.

“Yep.” I knew this guy wanted my essay—to compare against whatever mediocre bullshit he’d pulled out of his ass.

“I was up all night doing mine. It probably sucks.”

I wasn’t biting. “Yeah, it probably does,” I agreed, not bothering to make eye contact. Most of the guys in my classes wanted one of two things: sex or homework help. Unfortunately for me, this dude wanted both.

“Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

I tapped my pen on the top of my notebook. “Studying.”

“Wanna study together?” The sleeve of his windbreaker brushed against my arm and for some reason, the sound made me grit my teeth, as if the sound was just as offensive to my stomach as the fucking salmon was.

“Oh, I’d like to, but I’m pretty solitary.”

“Wanna hang out after then?”

I opened my mouth to say no, but his mouth turned downward. “Let me guess—you’re going to say no, again. What? Have to paint your nails or some shit?”

“No, I have to fuck my very sexy boyfriend, as a matter of fact.” It popped out of my mouth before I could reign it in—not that I would’ve, necessarily. But I might have said it with a little more grace. Like, “have sex with” instead of “fuck.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize…” he stammered.

I started to reply when the vomit catapulted up my throat. Panicking, I didn’t know what to do and grabbed my notebook, curving it into a half cylinder so that I could vomit in it.

“Fucking gross,” the guy said as he leaned away from me.

Still holding the notebook that had become a trough for my vomit, I made my way out of class. After dumping the notebook and washing my hands and face again in the bathroom, I sent Nathan another text.
What the actual fuck? I puked again!

While I waited for his reply, I stared at my reflection. I had gone months since my last touch up, clearly evidenced by my darkening roots. But the hair itself hung from my face like it’d given up. Not that I blamed it—I don’t think I’d used a single hot hair tool on it in months.

Under my eyes were identical brown splotches—lack of sleep, probably. My eyes themselves were bloodshot, and my face was paler than the sterile walls of the bathroom. I looked like absolute shit.

Nathan’s reply came just as I was about to leave the bathroom.
Maybe it’s not the salmon—could it be morning sickness?

To say I was inexperienced with the trials of pregnancy was a gross understatement, but I figured morning sickness was likely the culprit. But, even though I didn’t know just how many weeks I was, I always assumed morning sickness happened later on—like when you actually had a bump that was more baby-baby instead of pizza-baby. Like when the pregnancy was more real.

How the hell was I going to survive the rest of the school year if this morning sickness didn’t let up?

My phone buzzed.
Why don’t you go home? Take a breather. It’s been a busy few days.
Ah, Nathan. My supportive Nathan, encouraging me to skip class and head home for the day, already.

Who was I to say no? I practically fucking skipped home.

As I walked down the pristine concrete sidewalk, my eyes met his car in the driveway, the paint job glittering under the early morning sun.

Early morning, I thought. Nathan was never home that early in the day.

I pushed open the front door, surprised to see him at the counter where I’d last seen him hours earlier.

“Hey,” he said, coming to me and pulling me into his arms. “How’s your stomach?”

“Well, I think it’s still inside of me—for the moment. You’re home early?” It came out as a question, but I wasn’t really sure what I was asking.

He led me to a seat at the bar and rubbed a hand down my back. “When you said you didn’t feel well, I wanted to be here for you when you got home.”

“Aww,” I said, leaning into his touch. “You want to hold my hair back when my stomach attempts its escape again?”

“I told you, I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.” He brushed a hand over my hair as warmth seeped into my skin and warmed my bones.

He was shiny Nathan, but he was mine nonetheless. And as he pulled me in for a hug, all I could think was how everything just might be okay.