The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(77)

“More prospectuses. Or is it prospectii? I picked this stuff up the other day during a business research expedition.” He paws through the stack, flicking one toward me. “This is for a women’s waxing and laser treatment business. Hollis said that it’s like being a gyno without having to go through med school. Pussy for days.”

My lips twitch. “He knows that just because he’s waxing a girl’s private parts doesn’t mean he gets to touch them again, right?”

“No, I’m pretty sure he thinks it gives him a free pass to fuck them.”

“Lovely.”

I leaf through a couple of glossy pictures of long hairless legs set next to bold type that declares this particular laser is the next best thing. Hmmm. If Tucker buys a laser hair-removal salon, maybe he’d offer me the services for free. Already, my growing belly is starting to make simple tasks difficult. I have to sit down to shave because I’m afraid of tipping over doing my one-legged, flamingo grooming dance in the shower.

Tucker flips over another brochure. “This one is to sell shovels. Door to door.”

I grimace. “That sounds terrible. There’s money in that?”

“According to the franchise documents, yep, but I have my doubts.”

“What else do you have?”

“Sex toys, laundromat, fitness clubs, a bazillion food options. Fast casual is all the rage.”

“You sound enthused by a whole big zero of them.”

“I know.” He scoops the pamphlets into a pile and tosses them into a recycling bin. “Maybe a franchise isn’t for me.”

I nibble on my bottom lip, hesitating for a moment. “What would you be doing if it weren’t for this?” I circle my hand around my belly.

“Stringing myself up by my tie,” he says. “Mom wanted me to buy the local realtor’s business—”

I bite my lip even harder.

“—but I’d rather be waxing some guy’s ass crack than selling houses in Patterson, so you can get that anxious look off your face.”

His gaze strays to my belly again. Since the ultrasound, he can’t stop staring at it. I’m not much better. I always have my hand over the curve or under it, and now it feels even more special because I know my baby girl is right beneath my palm.

I climb onto the counter stool and gesture for him to come closer. “Wanna touch?”

“Always.” He swings around the counter to squat down in front of me, his hands framing the bump on either side. “Hey gorgeous. Daddy’s here.” He peers up at me, auburn hair tousled, light-brown eyes full of affection. “Has she been kicking at all?”

“Some.” I pull his hand to the side where the baby often tries to kick her way out of my uterus. “Try here.”

We wait, holding our breath. Tuck’s hand presses firmly against me, and the warmth of his palm sinks into my skin, spreading until all my nerve endings begin to tingle.

Inappropriate! He’s communing with his child, not trying to fondle you.

Except…it feels so good. Tucker and I haven’t slept together in months. And lately, fucking him is about all I can think about.

Sure, it’s what got me into this condition in the first place, but at night, when the baby is keeping me awake, I remember how he felt between my legs. His hair-roughened thighs scratching against my skin as he plunged inside. I remember the thickness of his cock and the delicious way he’d stretch me when he entered. I remember his teeth on my breast, scraping downward until he caught a nipple in his mouth. I remember it all and it makes my breath short and my skin so sensitive.

The fingers on my stomach tighten. “Sabrina,” he says gruffly. “What’re you thinking about, darlin’?”

My unfocused gaze zeros in on his face. As I lick my lips, I remember the heavy weight of his shaft on my tongue. “You.”

His breath hitches. “Me as your friend or me as something else?”

“Something else,” I whisper.

He slowly drags his hands down my stomach to the tops of my thighs. My legs part involuntarily, and his thumbs graze the waistband of my yoga pants.

“Be specific,” he whispers back.

I’m suddenly transported to the first night we spent together, when he lounged like a sultan in his truck telling me—no, ordering me—to come take what I want.

“I’m thinking about your cock in my mouth.”

His fingers dig into my thighs. “Really? Because I’m thinking how much I want to shove your pants down and lick your pussy until all that worry is driven out of your head.”

Said pussy clenches at his words. “I’m…damn it, I’m fat now.”

“No. You’re perfect.” Then he surges to his feet, lifting me up against him.

“Wait.” I squirm in his grasp. “I’m too heavy.”

“You’re full of bullshit,” he retorts and strides to the living room. Without releasing me, he lays me down on the black leather sofa.

I squeak in protest. “This is your new roommate’s couch!”

“What my new roommate doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Now strip. I’m hungry, woman.”

All the blood in my body pulses under his heated gaze. We stare at each other for a moment, and then we’re both hurrying out of our clothes. His shirt comes off and is tossed across the room. My shirt and pants follow. His jeans and boxer briefs are next. When I remove my bra, he curses.