The thought makes my pants tighter as my dick starts to get hard, and I adjust the rearview mirror like that's going to help me stop picturing her sprawled across my couch, my shirt riding up just enough to?—
Fuck.
I grip the steering wheel harder, willing my mind and body to get it together. This is exactly why this arrangement is aterrible idea. But it's only for a little while, I remind myself. A practical solution to her housing crisis. A way to be involved in the pregnancy.
Nothing more.
I ignore how irritated the thought she’ll be leaving soon makes me.
The house is quiet when I get home, the kitchen light still on, but there’s no sign of Wren. I figured she’d pounce the second I stepped through the door like the feral raccoon she was acting like before I left. I set the bags on the counter and pull out the ice cream, letting it soften while I crush some chips in a bowl.
"Pink?" I call softly, heading toward the living room. "I’ve got your gross ice cream ready."
I find her curled up on the couch, passed out. One arm is tucked under her head, the other wrapped around her middle. My t-shirt has ridden up just enough to show off the very top of her thigh and answer my earlier question. She’s got on a pair of underwear that look like tiny shorts andfuck me.They cling to everything.
Her face is relaxed in sleep, free from the guarded expression she usually wears.
My throat goes dry. I stand there like an idiot, just staring, while the blood in my body rushes south. I should wake her up. Or look away. Or do anything but stand here getting hard while looking at my pregnant wife passed out on my couch.
Pregnant. Wife.
Those two words tangle together in my brain, unlocking something primitive and possessive I didn't know lived inside me.
I force myself to tear my eyes off her, rubbing the back of my neck. The ice cream's melting, I remind myself. That's a problem I can actually solve.
Back in the kitchen, I put her weird concoction together anyway—caramel ice cream in a bowl, crushed potato chips sprinkled on top—then cover it and stick it in the freezer. She can have it tomorrow. I clean up the mess from the bags, wiping down the counter where a drop of melted ice cream landed.
When I return to the living room, she hasn't moved. She's still curled up like a cat, pink hair spilling over the throw pillow.
I should wake her up. Tell her that her ice cream’s ready. But I can't bring myself to disturb her when she looks so damn peaceful. So instead, I carefully slide one arm under her knees, the other around her shoulders, and lift her.
She barely weighs anything, which catches me off guard. Her body fits against mine perfectly, her head falling naturally into the curve of my shoulder. She makes a small noise in her sleep and burrows closer, her breath warm against my neck.
And yep. There goes my dick again.
Goddamnit.
It’s starting to become a habit to ignore it, and instead I focus on the warm weight of her in my arms as I carry her down the hall. I nudge her bedroom door open with my foot, careful not to bang her head against the frame.
Her bed looks barely touched except for the tangled sheets she left when she got up. I lay her down as gently as I can, then stand there like an idiot, not sure if I should cover her up or just leave. Against those white sheets, she looks smaller somehow. Softer. Nothing like the sharp-tongued pain in my ass who's been driving me crazy for years.
And I want to crawl right in there with her and wrap my body around hers.
Her eyes flutter open before I can decide to do it. "Kasen?" My name in that sleepy voice does all sorts of things to me that I’m gonna have to work out with my right hand when I get back to my room.
"You passed out on the couch," I tell her, keeping my voice low. "I was just getting you to bed."
"Ice cream?" she asks, sounding like a hopeful kid.
"In the freezer."
She nods, already drifting off again. "'Kay. Thanks."
"Sleep, Pink." I pull the blanket up over her, my fingers brushing her shoulder. I let them linger there a second too long, wanting to kiss her. Wanting to run them over her skin and remind myself how soft it was since I didn’t get to memorize her the first time.
First timelike it’s going to happen again.
More like only time.
