Renn knew how to work that slight curve of his dick and I was ready to come after a few minutes, but he kept edging me to make it last. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I surged forward to claim my release, coming even harder than before. A moment later, Renn cried out and shuddered above me.
He said nothing after that, just got up and went to the bathroom to take off the condom. He came back with another warm washcloth and pressed it between my thighs, taking care even though there was no soreness, then tossed the cloth to the floor before gathering me in his arms. Laying a possessive hand over my waist, he claimed his place as the big spoon and trailed his fingers along my tattoo, murmuring a last, “I love you.”
Round three happened just before dawn. Penetration wasn’t an option as we didn’t have a condom, so Renn merely held his position behind me, working his erection in and out of my thighs as I squeezed them together, using my own copious wetness as lube. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight to him, just beneath my breasts, pressing his chest against my back as he reached one hand lower to touch me. It didn’t take long. The erotic visual I had looking down to see the head of Renn’s cock popping in and out between my legs as he worked himself to finish probably did more to get me there than his fingers did. I came with a cry, after which Renn pumped himself faster, reaching orgasm with a throaty moan even while remembering to hold his hand down to catch most of his cum, presumably in consideration of my bedsheets.
A few hours later, we got up to face the world. Three bouts of sex had both of us waking satisfied, and I watched with fascination as Renn moved about my room, naked, collecting his clothing and pulling his hair up into its bun-pony. The heavy weight of his soft cock and balls brushing against his inner thigh was a massive turn-on, as was the sight of his ass on display when he reached down to grab his jeans.
We both jumped at the telltale sounds of incoming texts. First one. Then another. And another.
I sighed. “I suppose we’re lucky we got the one night. Any bets on what it is?”
“My money is on Robbie needing a lawyer.”
I laughed. “Maybe he ran away to join a punk band.”
“Or a cult.”
Renn dug his phone out of his jeans and frowned at it. “There’s nothing. Must be yours.”
“Probably work trying to convince me to come in early.” I stretched sleepily, keeping a greedy eye on his body as he dressed.
My phone had gotten knocked off the nightstand. Another text coming through sent me in the direction of underneath the bed, where I finally located it. Renn crawled behind me, brushing aside my rat’s nest of sex-tossed hair to kiss me on the neck.
I unlocked my phone and stilled in his arms.
“Oh, no!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I was powerless to stop the tears as I scrolled through my texts.
“Sadie, what is it? You’re scaring me.”
“Sorry.” I took a deep breath. “There are a few missed calls and texts from Zach. He and Teddy…they…um…”
“What? Are they okay?” Renn squeezed me back into him.
“No. Not okay.” Another deep breath. “They lost the baby.”
CHAPTER
Nineteen
November 2015
It had beenalmost a week since Zach told me about the baby, and I had reached the limit of my endurance for accepting his “I’m okay” texts.
Since I’d been back in LA, we’d never gone this long without talking. Deep down, Iknewhe needed me. The worst thing about cutting back my shifts at Hal’s was not having a ready excuse to speak to him. He’d messaged to assure me he and Teddy were fine, that this was a contingency they’d prepared for. But when I spoke with Cyd, the new bartender, she said Zach had spent the bulk of his time in the back office this week. It wasn’t like him to avoid people, to avoidme. I had to see in person how he was coping.
Having confirmed he wasn’t working, I’d texted him to say I was on my way over. Then I’d turned my phone off, so I would be sure to miss any attempt he made to put me off.
When Zach opened the door, he simply gave me a wry look and stood back, gesturing toward the living room.
Teddy’s house was a three-bedroom bungalow in the Hollywood Hills. Not ostentatious by any means—probably a starter home in middle America—but easily a seven-figure property in Los Angeles. The first time I’d been here, before Zach had moved in, it looked like it’d been decorated out of a catalog, appearing less like a home and more like a mid-century modern museum.
Zach’s influence had been immediate. Whoever had done Teddy’s interiors would have been horrified as Zach’s thrift store finds and duct-taped book spines started filling the shelves, along with hisDoctor WhoFunko Pop collection. “Pretty But Kind of a Bitch” now resided on a lavish custom-built sofa, which Zach and I sat down on.
“We’re gonna be okay, Sades.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I mean, it totally sucks, but we got lucky getting pregnant on the first try. This was always a possibility.”
