LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(29)

“Jesus fuck,” I groaned. “Move your hand.”

I replaced his smaller one with mine and clasped both our cocks together in my grip as best as I could. When it wasn’t good enough for me to get good thrusting speed, I brought my second hand around. Scotty braced himself above me, fucking into my fists and making obscene noises in the process while I jacked us and humped up into him.

God, it was dirty and awkward as hell but hot as fuck. Wet sucking noises came from the lube; Scotty whimpered please, please over and over again; and I even heard my own deep grunts bouncing around the room.

It took no time at all before I was ready to paint Scotty’s chest with my release. I gritted my teeth and held out as long as I could, twisting my grip around the most sensitive part of his cock in hopes it would drive him over the edge before I lost the rhythm to my own orgasm.

It worked.

Scotty shouted, thrusting one last time through my fists. Tendons stood out on his neck, and his skin flushed deeper red. There was no more holding back for me.

My grunts were replaced by a roar until I was out of breath completely and Scotty had thrown himself off me and onto the bed beside me, trying to catch his own. When I could move again, I grabbed for one of the discarded towels and repeated the cleanup routine before settling back next to him.

“I’ve decided I’m keeping you,” he said between deep pulls of oxygen. “Hypothetical question. What size handcuffs you wear? Did they tell you that day in the squad car?”

I coughed out a laugh. “Hypothetical, huh?”

I reached for his hand that lay between us and pulled it up to press a kiss to it before holding it against my chest. “I think probably size manly man,” I mused. “Unless they do superhero sizing, in which case… hmm.”

Scotty’s blue eyes danced when he turned to meet my gaze. “Never ask a man ego-based questions after he’s had an orgasm.”

I flashed him my best grin. “Good point.”

I manhandled him around until his back was snuggled against my front. Within seconds, he was already asleep. I couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to the back of his head. He smelled faintly of horse and hay, a scent that could only belong to him. A scent that was quickly becoming intoxicating to me.

I thought about his earlier comment that he’d decided he was keeping me. I knew it was offhand—just an expression. But still, something in my chest had fluttered at the thought. A sudden jolt of pleasure at the idea of us.

Obviously I couldn’t imagine him fitting easily into my life back home. The press would tear him apart, and I wasn’t willing to put him through that. But I could easily see him fitting into my life here. I wondered how much convincing it would take to get him to stay for a while.

And I didn’t just want him to stay for my sake. He’d had an awful couple of weeks and needed time to rest and get his bearings. Since it was my fault his life had taken a turn for the worse, it seemed only reasonable I could give him the space and time to figure out how to turn things around. Plus, I couldn’t imagine forcing him to leave his beloved Nugget.

And really, what was the hurry?

My thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of my phone on the bedside table. I grabbed it quickly before it could rattle again, waking Scotty. It was a text from Polly.

Polly: U free to talk?

I glanced at Scotty. He was so warm and cuddly, one of his legs hooked around my own like it was the most natural thing in the world. I didn’t want to leave our comfortable little nest and was about to tell Polly that when she added:

Polly: Please?

With a sigh I typed back.

Roman: Gimme a sec.

As carefully as I could, I disentangled myself from Scotty, pausing to inhale the scent of him one last time before slipping from bed and pulling on my pants. I tiptoed to the door and closed it quietly behind me before making my way down to the kitchen.

I punched in the autodial for Polly’s number while I rummaged around in Oscar’s liquor cabinet, looking for a nightcap.

“How’s mamma-to-be?” I asked as soon as she answered.

“Fuck you, Roman,” she spat before hanging up.

I stared at the phone, eyes wide. “Wrong question I guess,” I mumbled under my breath before redialing her number.

She answered on the first ring. “I’m bloated, my breasts are ginormous, I can’t keep a goddamn thing down, and yet that doesn’t seem to matter because I’m putting on weight like a bear hibernating for winter. So don’t fucking try me, Roman.”

“Sounds like pregnancy agrees with you,” I teased, smiling.

“You say that to my face next time and we’ll see how that works out for you,” she grumbled.

“Oh, I know better than that, trust me. But seriously, though, how are you?”

She let out a long sigh. “Tired,” she said. “Really, really, tired.” I could hear the exhaustion in her voice, and I had a feeling it wasn’t just from the pregnancy.

I poured myself a glass of scotch and carried it into the living room. It was full night, but the sky was awash with stars, the moon reflecting off the snow. “What’s going on?” I asked her.

“I realized I kind of want to put the father’s name on the birth certificate,” she said. “I know that’s a totally duh thing, but I just hadn’t thought about it before today.”