Those Three Little Words
: Chapter 23

I hate myself.

I really, truly hate myself.

Well, if we’re hating people, I’m going to throw some hate toward Pacey as well because he’s the goddamn reason my lips aren’t currently on Penny’s. Why she ran out of this apartment, and why she isn’t returning my texts.

He’s the goddamn reason I took a step back and told her I can’t, even though I want to so fucking bad. Jesus Christ, just tasting her delicious mouth all over again took me back to the night I haven’t stopped dreaming about. The night I wish I could play over and over and over again.

Her mouth on mine felt like a goddamn whirlwind of emotions and flashbacks, and I’m still reeling.

Pacey specifically told me not to go near her.

Not to touch her.

To keep things platonic.

And like the dumbass that I am, I’m honoring that request. All because I broke his trust the first time, I’m trying not to do it a second time.

But fuck . . .

The door to the apartment opens, and I crank my head to the front door, where I see her walk through. She shuts the door behind her, locks up, and then takes off her shoes and puts them in the entryway closet.

Here we go . . .

I stand from the couch and stick my hands in my pockets, really unsure of what to do at this moment.

“Hey,” I say.

She looks my way. “Hi.” She smiles and then moves toward the kitchen.

She’s smiling?

Not only is she smiling but there’s also a cheeriness in her voice that raises the hair on the back of my neck. Warning. Warning. Proceed with caution.

If you’re thinking, you should be scared, Eli, you’re right. Given her past hormonal changes, this could be a real doozy.

And I don’t know how to react to that other than in fear. My belly button’s all puckered up, shrinking as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing herself water. With every cabinet that’s shut, my belly button winces, turning into nothing but a divot of dust.

“Uh, do you . . . do you want to talk?” I ask.

She looks up at me. “I’m good, Eli. Seriously.” She smiles again, and I nearly wince from the flash of her teeth. “Everything is okay between us. Okay?”

“Uh . . . oh-kay,” I say, uncertainty beating through me at an uncomfortable, rapid rate.

“Great. So, do you want to watch some Ozark?” She walks over to the couch, reaches for the remote, and turns on the TV as she takes a seat and curls her legs under her.

I stand there, awkwardly, still very much confused.

And slightly frightened.

Is something going to happen to me if I take a seat next to her? Did she not just go in the kitchen for water? Did she slip a knife under her shirt, and I didn’t see it?

What happens if I don’t take a seat? Will she lash out? Start crying? Act normal?

I really wish there was a how-to guide on how to handle this current situation. A situation where I got my best friend’s sister pregnant, moved in with her platonically, and then kissed her again when I shouldn’t have but then pulled away and made her cry.

Where is the goddamn how-to book for that?

“Why are you being weird? Sit down.” She pats the couch.

I’m being weird? Me?

Uh, last I knew, she was crying and upset, and now, she’s acting as if nothing had happened. Where did she even go? A place that erases memory? Is Men in Black real?

Carefully, I take a seat, making sure to keep a good distance between us, just in case. And then she starts the show. She watches intently while I keep one eye on the TV and one eye on her.

Maybe this is a pregnancy thing, like a hormone switch. But she seems so cool and calm. It’s just . . . alarming.

I’m tempted to text Posey and ask him for advice, but I also don’t want her to think I’m texting about her since I never text while we watch Ozark. So instead, I just sit there and watch, hoping that she’s right, that everything is going to be okay, while still keeping one eye on her . . . you know, in case there is a knife under her shirt.

“HAVE YOU SEEN MY LOTION?” Penny says as she comes out of the bathroom after getting ready for bed.

I think God hates me. I really do. I did something wrong in this lifetime, and I’m being punished for it because standing right in front of me, in a skintight, white tank top—no bra—is Penny, and I can fucking see everything.

EVERYTHING!

The curve of her breasts.

Her areolas. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Her . . . nipples.

Not to mention, she’s wearing underwear that cuts high on her hip instead of shorts. Not quite sure where her pajama sets went, but this . . . uh, this is not what I’m used to. And under any other circumstance, I’d be welcoming the outfit, pulling her down on my lap and sucking on her taut little nipples through the thin fabric.

But I’m in a state of purgatory, where I can’t do anything like that. I just have to sit in my desires and never act on them.

“Oh, there it is, on my nightstand.” She chuckles. “The other day, I found it in the fridge. That’s pregnancy brain for you.”

Also, let it be known I’m still frightened with her easygoing attitude right now. Sure, there was no knife under her shirt, but that doesn’t mean she’s not planning an attack.

She pops open the lid and squirts some lotion in her hands. From where I stand, I can smell it, and God, it smells so good, like a delicious flower. She usually puts it on her hands before we go to bed, but tonight, she’s rubbing it over her shoulders. Does she know I fucking live for the smell of that lotion? That I so look forward to the smell of it at night that I actually bought myself a travel-size bottle. And I’m so pathetic that I rub it on my hands at night before I go to bed when I’m away.

I hope to fuck she doesn’t know that.

“I think I need to go buy new bras tomorrow.”

Gulp.

She lifts her shirt up, showing off her stomach, and rubs lotion on it.

“I think they’ve gotten bigger. What do you think?” She tugs on the fabric of the shirt, pulling down to reveal her breasts, but allowing the straps of her tank top to cover her nipples and only her nipples.

Holy . . . shit.

My dick grows hard. Difficult not to when she’s practically standing in front of me, naked, asking me to look at her tits.

And I do.

I fucking stare.

I beg and plead for the straps of her tank top to grow smaller, to slip up, to show me just a little of her nipples.

But then she releases the fabric, letting it bounce back into place, and she climbs on the bed, where she kneels. The outfit, her hair, her goddamn pose, she looks like a sexy pin-up model.

“Come here.” In some sort of a trance, I walk up to her just as she says, “Feel. I really think they’re bigger.”

Before I can respond, she lifts my hand and places it on her breast.

Jesus Christ.

My thumb slowly closes around her round, pert tit out of habit, gently squeezing her. Fuck yes, they’ve gotten bigger.

“Are they bigger?”

They’re fucking soft. They’re round. They’re everything I fucking remember but slightly bigger.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Uh, yeah, they seem bigger.”

I go to remove my hand, but she stops me and places her hand over mine. “Squeeze them. They’re big, right?”

I couldn’t stop myself if Pacey was standing right here, watching. It’s instinctual. My body is made to react to this woman, to do what she tells me and feel her when presented with the opportunity.

Together, we squeeze. Her chin slightly lifts, causing her chest to fill my hand better, and I find myself losing self-control as I give her another squeeze and then another . . . and then I slide my hand over her nipple.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to tear her shirt off right now.

Or to pull down the neckline and suck her into my mouth.

To push her back on this bed and make love to her tits until she came.

“Yeah, they’re bigger,” I confirm, almost asking her if she wants me to test them in my mouth for her.

“That’s what I thought.” She pulls away, and the smallest groan pops out of my mouth in protest. She eyes me. “You okay?”

“Yup,” I squeak out and quickly slide under the covers to hide my crotch from view.

“Bigger boobs and increased libido, that’s what it says in the books. I was telling Blakely the other day, that I’m wearing out my vibrator with the number of times I use it.”

Ummm . . . what?

*Blinks*

*Blinks again*

She’s, uh . . . clears throat, she’s wearing out her vibrator?

“And the weirdest thing about it is that I come so fast now because of the increased blood flow in my vulva that you would think I don’t need a new vibrator so quickly, but, God, I’d really love one with a clit stimulator. Have you ever seen those?” She hops into bed and twirls her hair onto the top of her head, exposing the feminine slope of her neck.

“I have,” I choke out.

Her eyes light up. “Have you ever used one on a woman?” She leans forward, her breasts push together, her cleavage on full display.

Like a moth to a flame, my eyes fall to her cleavage, where the neck of her tank top dances dangerously low. All I’d have to do is lightly tug on the neckline, and I’d find her sexy nipples in my fingers.

“Have you?” she asks again, pulling my attention back to her eyes.

“Huh?”

She smiles. “Have you ever used a clit stimulator on a girl before?”

“N-no,” I answer. But fuck would I like to use one on her.

“Oh darn. I was hoping you could have given me some pointers.” She reaches over to her nightstand, turns off the light, pitching us into the dark, and then rests her head on her pillow, facing me.

I guess it’s time for bed. Don’t mind me with the half-hard cock over here.

I lie down as well and turn toward her but keep my distance for more than obvious reasons.

“Hey, Penny?”

“Hmm?” she asks as her feet find my shins.

I gulp. “Are you, uh, are you sure we’re okay?”

Her eyes open, and she smiles at me before placing her hand on my cheek. Her thumb caresses it before slowly lowering down my neck and across my chest, just above my nipples. So much for trying to get my cock to calm down.

“We’re good. I promise. It was a lapse in judgment, and I respect your choice to keep things platonic between us. I actually appreciate it.”

“You do?” I ask, confused. If roles were reversed, I’d have a tough time being as understanding as she is at this moment.

“Yes.” Her hand moves over my abs right before she pulls it away, but I can still feel the imprint of her dragging fingers. “I do. But, can I please ask you something?”

“Anything,” I say, shifting.

“Can we still cuddle at night? I know I said that one time and, I understand things are strictly platonic between us, but it just felt nice to be held. That’s one thing I’m missing through this pregnancy. Some human contact.”

Jesus.

It will take the strength of a thousand men to get me through nights of holding her without actually touching her, but I also know what it means to desire human touch. Growing up in the attic of the barn, I’d wished for hugs goodnight and never got them, so I can understand her need.

“Of course, but—”

Before I can even get my sentence out, she’s turning and backing up into me. The minute her ass hits my crotch, she makes a surprised sound.

“But give me a second,” I say on a shallow breath.

“Oh my . . . hello, Eli.”

Fuck, how embarrassing.

“Uh, sorry just . . . you know, calming down from the breast exam.”

She chuckles, and instead of moving away, she just plants her ass against my lap and then pulls my arm over her stomach and lays my palm right over her belly.

And despite what’s happening down south, there’s a connection in the way I’m holding her, a feeling that beats through me that makes me feel possessive.

This woman, this baby, I’m not just living with them, going through the stages of the pregnancy. They feel like mine. Like they belong with me, in my life.

Whispering softly, I say, “You have the smallest of bumps.”

Her hand falls on top of mine. “I know. I took a picture today. I could see a big difference. My window of being able to wear my regular clothes is closing, but oddly, I don’t think I’ve ever felt sexier.”

You look fucking sexy.

If I had it my way, we wouldn’t be cuddling with clothes on. We’d be fucking with clothes off.

“If you weren’t here, I’d probably be sleeping naked, feeling the silk of the sheets against my skin. Makes me want to take boudoir pictures or something.”

Hell . . .

“Maybe I will, for me. I want to remember the way I feel now so when I’m thirty-nine weeks pregnant and uncomfortable, I can look back and say I am beautiful.”

“You don’t need pictures to prove that,” I say, keeping my hand on her stomach. “You’re always beautiful, Penny.”

She halfway rolls to her back so she can look at me. She cups my face, and it feels like her lips are only a few inches away when she says, “Thank you, Eli.” And then she presses the lightest of kisses to my cheek before turning around.

My pulse hammers in my throat as my stomach twists with desire. Those lips are going to be the death of me . . . if not her gorgeous tits. Or the way she makes me feel like a whole man, a man who isn’t just desirable but also wanted. Needed. Part of a family unit. Hers.

“MMM, WHAT’S THAT SMELL?” Penny asks as she walks down the hallway in nothing but a goddamn robe that’s barely secured at her waist. “Are you making French toast?”

This morning, I walked in on her in the bathroom, shaving her legs in the tub. Her robe was hanging loosely on her sexy frame as she had one leg up against the tub wall, shaving. I saw a great deal of skin, and it made me go fucking crazy with need . . . once again.

“I am,” I say, keeping my eyes on the griddle in front of me. Eyes down, man. Eyes down.

She moves behind me in the kitchen, dragging her fingers over my bare back. “I hope you’re making some for me.”

“Of course,” I say while she hops up on the counter and crosses one leg over the other, not bothering to fix her robe as it gapes open right at her hipbone. Everything—important—is covered, but my mind is playing fucking tricks on me as it scans the immense amount of skin that’s visible.

“Good, because I love French toast.” She pulls on her shoulder and groans. “Ugh, I’m so sore. I think I slept on my neck wrong last night.” She rolls her head side to side, causing the light wisps of her hair to dance along her collarbone. “It’s going to be a long day.”

I flip my last piece of French toast on a plate and turn off the griddle.

“Do you need me to help?” I ask, for some stupid, stupid . . . stupid reason.

“Really?” she asks. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Nah, I have some time before I have to be on the ice for my morning skate.”

She hops off the counter and places her hand on my chest as her eyes beam up at me with appreciation. “I’d be forever grateful.”

“Sure.” I gulp as her hand fits into mine, and she guides me back to the bedroom. “Uh, where are we going?”

She chuckles, and the sound hits me right in the goddamn dick. “Don’t worry, I just figured lying on the bed would be more comfortable. That way, you can straddle me and have better access.”

Jesus.

Fucking.

Christ.

Remember when I said I was stupid? I meant it.

“You can use my lotion that’s on the nightstand,” she says.

Oh great, the lotion that makes me horny just from the smell of it. Awesome. Thumbs up.

“Probably best if I remove my robe.”

Before I can protest, she whips it off, her back to me, and she wraps one arm across her breasts, covering them.

But that’s the only thing she covers.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’m wearing a thong. Not like you haven’t seen my ass before.” She laughs as she lies down on the bed on her stomach.

Yup, I’ve seen it before, but I haven’t had sex in a few months. MONTHS. This feels like a modern-day torture device, just staring back at me, begging for my hands. Fuck, I want her. And her thong, if that’s what you want to call the three thin straps of red clinging to her soft skin.

Fucking red.

There’s something about that color, pressed so tightly to her skin that ignites an ember inside me. That and the blatant display of her ass.

I want to spank it.

I want to sink my teeth into it.

I want to see if she’d take my fingers . . . my cock.

I want to spread her legs wide and glide my hand along her seam to see if she’s wet, if she’s as needy as I am.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, lifting up and turning just enough that I can see the slightest curve of her side boob.

“No.” I let out a low cough. “Nothing’s wrong.” Reaching over to the nightstand, I grab the stupid, sweet-smelling lotion and squirt a solid amount on my hands. I’m going to be smelling this all goddamn day, even when I’m getting dressed for the game. I can feel it already.

Then I climb on the bed and straddle her body. “Am I pressing down on you too hard? I don’t want to hurt the baby.”

“No, you feel good, Eli.”

My nostrils flare, and I take a deep breath. Just rub her shoulder. That’s all you have to do, rub her freaking shoulder.

I reach down and move my hand along her tight muscles.

“Oh, yes, right there,” she moans as her hands curl into the blanket beneath her. “That feels so good, Eli.”

Holy mother of God.

When I agreed to do this, I didn’t think she’d sound like she was mid-orgasm. If I’d predicted that, there’s no way I’d have offered to massage her.

But too late now.

“Is the, uh . . . pressure okay?”

“So good,” she says on a heavy breath. “Oh Eli, your hands, they feel amazing.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to keep a handle on things. Think of gross things, things that won’t make your dick hard like . . .

Posey eating a bologna sandwich.

And . . . Taters showing me that hairball from the locker room showers the other day.

And . . . the gash in Pacey’s knee that one time we played hockey on his hometown lake.

Blood. There was so much blood.

Lots and lots of blood.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Right there. Ohhh, Eli. I owe you so much after this.”

BLOOD!

He needed six stitches.

They did it without Novocain.

“You’re giving me chills.” Her butt lifts up against my cock.

TOENAILS.

He didn’t cut his toenails. I remember telling him he should have cut them in case of something like going to the hospital for stitches ever happened.

Because blood . . . all of the blood.

“Eli?”

“Yes?” I croak.

“I . . . I’m a little embarrassed, but . . .” She turns and covers her breasts as she makes it all the way to her back, and I’m straddling her, staring down at her gorgeous, blushed face. “I’m incredibly turned on right now. This is crazy, but hey, my doctor told me to give in to the urge, so, could you hand me my vibrator that’s in the nightstand and give me a little privacy?”

My mouth goes absolutely dry.

My ears sound off a ringing tone that I’m not sure where it’s coming from.

And my arousal spikes to an all-new level.

“I know, awkward, but if I don’t take care of this before work, I’m going to have a really rough day. I’ll be quick, and then we can enjoy some French toast.”

“S-sure,” I say, stumbling over my words as I reach into her nightstand and find a pink vibrator. I stare at it for a few seconds, completely and utterly jealous, and hand it to her.

“Thank you,” she says as she switches it on.

The buzzing sound drowns out every other sound in the apartment, and I watch, fixated, as she brings it close to the small triangle of her thong.

She chuckles. “Uh, are you going to stick around for a show?”

“What? Oh, shit . . . sorry, no. I think I’ll go wash the lotion off my hands.” I quickly disappear into the bathroom and shut the door as the buzzing sound echoes through the apartment. The only thing separating us is this door as I hear her masturbate.

She’s pleasuring herself, and I have nothing to do with it.

“Ohhh, yes,” I hear her say.

My dick pulses against my briefs, and before I can even think twice about it, I press one hand against the door and release my cock with the other.

It aches against my palm, so sick of my hand, wanting me desperately to plow through this door and bury itself so deep inside Penny that we might not ever return.

“Mmm, God,” she moans, and the bed slightly creaks beneath her.

Is she moving her pelvis? Are her nipples hard?

Is her chest arching off the mattress?

If only I could see, if only I could be the one making her wet . . . making her come.

But I can’t, and that’s so fucking infuriating.

I smooth my already lotioned hand along the tip of my cock where precum has settled, and I rub it along my painful length that has grown with the mental images of Penny naked flashing through my mind.

“Oh, I’m going to come,” she says. It isn’t loud, almost a whisper, but just loud enough for me to hear, for me to indulge.

I pump my hand faster, tugging, pulling, jacking so hard and so fast that I don’t have a moment to breathe as I feel my orgasm bloom at the base of my spine.

Jesus, it’s right there.

My balls tighten, my stomach bottoms out, and my dick grows even harder as I frantically pump.

“Oh my God,” she cries out, and I know, I know she’s fucking coming all over that vibrator. But I envision it differently.

It takes me back to my bedroom, where my dick is so deep inside her sweet pussy that I can barely think straight. She’s pulsing around me, milking my cock until there’s nothing left inside me.

Her smell.

Her taste on my lips.

Her intoxicating moans.

The grip her pussy has on my cock.

Fuck . . .

My hand stills, and my cock swells right before I come, my orgasm tearing through me with such force that I have to drop my head to the door for support.

“Fuck,” I whisper, catching my breath. I slowly pump a few more times and then drop my hand from my cock and place my forearm on the door in front of me.

That did nothing for me.

Sure, it was a release, but it didn’t help this burning desire racing up and down my spine.

It doesn’t relieve the need I have for her.

It only took a tiny edge off.

Not sure it will be enough.

Hell, I know it’s not enough.

Because if it were my choice, I’d burst through this door and make her sit on my goddamn face until I made her come three fucking times with my tongue.

That would be how I’d spend my morning. Instead, I’m cleaning up the bathroom and washing my hands, then knocking on the door, asking her if I can come out.

When she says yes, I open the door to her putting her robe back on and tying it loosely at the side. When her eyes meet mine, I notice her flushed cheeks and pleased smile. Walking up to me, she once again places her hand on my chest and sighs happily. “Thank you so much, Eli. I know this is weird for us, but I’m so glad I can be comfortable enough to do that in the other room. I feel better. It might be like this for a while, given the sexual drive I have recently. So I appreciate you being cool about it.”

It might be like this for a while?

How long is a while?

Because I’m not sure I can take another day like this.

She’s walking around this apartment like a goddamn goddess, her sexual magnetism a ten out of ten, and tempting me with every smile, every time our eyes meet, and every sashay of her hips.

If this is going to last longer than today, then I’m royally fucked.

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