“But what if…” She doesn’t finish her sentence as I lean back and look at her.
“I’ll take care of you, Molly. Always.” I thrust deep one more time and pin her hips to the couch. “Fuck, I can’t stop.”
I start to pull out, but her hands reach for my ass, and she pulls me to her, holding me inside her body while I cum.
“Noah!” Her shout echoes through the house as she cums with me, her pussy clenching my length and milking out every drop.
Looking down at her as my cock throbs, all I can think is that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Between her thighs, buried balls deep and getting her pregnant.
The flash of Molly I had in the kitchen earlier becomes clearer. Now it’s me beside her, cupping her swollen belly. Me with her and our daughter making cookies. This is my future, and I never want to be anywhere but at her side.
I still don’t know how I’m going to make that happen, but I know that this is one way to tie her to me forever. With that in mind, I keep myself buried inside of her. It’s now my mission to cum in her as much as possible so that there’s no way she can get away.
Chapter Thirteen
MOLLY
“I was born for this.” Tilly is hopping around the same way boxers do before a fight starts. “I spent all morning making sure I was ready,” she says, rubbing her hands together.
“How does one do that?” I’ve been slammed and running around nonstop, but the finish line is in the distance.
This year I’m not a competitor in the baking competition but one of the judges. I’m also here to help if needed. Honestly, I'm practically hosting the thing at this point. I have tables out with hot chocolate and mini cupcakes and cookies for people. A few other shops have set up popup tents to hand out things themselves too. People come in from the city to enter the contest or spend their day in Cheerful and go to the Bake Off.
I’m not helping anyone cook, but if there’s a question, I’ll answer it. It’s a pretty laid-back competition, at least in my eyes. There are some very competitive people that have entered, and although I want to say it's all in good fun, many would not agree.
"I haven't eaten all morning. I'm saving up room for all my tagging and judgery." This year I asked Tilly to be one of the judges. She’s not wrong; she was born for this.
"I watched you eat a bacon egg sandwich two hours ago."
"That doesn't count. You gave that to me. I couldn't be rude and not eat it." I hold back a laugh. If anyone can be rude, it's Tilly. In fact, I wish her rudeness would rub off on me. I'm far too polite for my own good.
"Then what would count?"
"I'd have to make it. I haven't made or gotten any food myself." That might be true, but she can't cook, and she didn't have to ask me for the breakfast sandwich. When her eyes lit up at the sight of mine this morning, I pulled the extra one out that I knew she'd want.
"If you say so," I tell her, not questioning Tilly's logic.
Her eyes drop to the open box in my hands filled with more cupcakes to replace the ones that have already been eaten. They were almost all gone the last time I checked.
"Tilly, try my cupcake." I pull one out and hand it to her.
"If you insist." She takes it from me and pulls the paper off the bottom before popping the whole thing into her mouth. No one can out-eat Tilly, and I don't have a clue where it all goes. She’s always full of energy, so it works for her.
I set the box down so I can replace the missing cupcake before I take it back over to the event. It’s a rare warm day, so the event is being held in the center of town instead of in City Hall, where we have an area just for events.
"Grab that box for me," I say to Tilly and nod to the box filled with cookies. "You girls can close up if you want and head on over," I tell Mia and Lucy. "Don't forget to put the note on the door."
The town knows why I'm closed, but the tourists won't if they try to come to the bakery. Both girls give me a thumbs-up.
"So," Tilly says the second we're on the sidewalk outside. We're not alone, but people aren't paying attention to everything we're saying either. "How are things with the boyfriend?"
"He's not my boyfriend," I say too sharply and cringe. Just give yourself away, Molly.
"Then what is he?"
"I don't know." I shrug, pretending it doesn’t matter. I haven't touched that topic with Noah. I'm too much of a scaredy cat.
For the past five days, Noah and I have fallen into a routine. He takes me to and from work but only because it’s convenient. After all, he’s in my bed each night. He cooks me dinner, and we watch a movie. Well, we’ve tried watching movies. So far, we haven’t managed to watch more than a minute or two before we start mauling each other.
