Page 15 of Forced Knocked-Up Mate

“I’ll call Kyle,” Rider says in the background. “Get a few elders in on this.”

“Okay,” I reply. “See you soon.”

We hang up, and I look over at Peter, who is glaring at me with unmasked hostility. Even though it hurts, he has every right to be upset with me.

“Am I supposed to show up there in a bathrobe?” he asks wryly.

“I’ve got some old clothes that should fit you,” I say. “Old flannels and men’s cargos I used to wear hiking. Can’t help you with shoes, though, I’m afraid.”

“Fine,” he says flatly. As I leave the room, he glares at me again, and I turn my gaze away.

Not just from shame. Those eyes are haunting me. It’s weird, but to me, now he doesn’t even really look like Rider.

A blind woman could see that Rider is handsome. The difference for me is that Peter is utterly captivating. The shade of green in his eyes is slightly darker than Rider’s, and deeper. His cheeks and jaw are more strongly defined, and the shape of his hips has a more sensual quality.

I groan softly as I rummage through my closet. Just thinking about him makes my nipples harden and causes a deep, throbbing ache inside me. The few minutes outside where we flirted instead of argued tease me.

Maybe we could try this. Maybe the spell didn’t go wrong at all.

When I return to the kitchen, I see Peter at the stove, piling bacon and eggs onto plates with toast. I get the weird feeling again, as if this sight isn’t just familiar but a regular occurrence.

The sensation is so strong that I expect him to be wearing a warm smile when he turns around, but the hard line of his mouth and the cold glare of his eyes shocks me back to my senses.

“Here,” he says, unceremoniously dumping the plate on the counter and sliding it towards me. “It was going to burn.”

“Thanks,” I answer, sitting down on one of the stools as I grab some cutlery.

Peter digs into the food, eating like a machine. He cuts up big slices, shoves them into his mouth, and has the next bite ready before he’s done chewing. He demolishes the food in about two minutes flat.

“You must have been hungry,” I remark as he puts the plate in the sink.

“What? Yeah, I was hungry. But I just always eat quick. Always on the move, you know?”

I don’t know, but I nod.

“Are those my clothes?” he asks.

“Yes,” I push them across the counter towards him. “Bathroom’s just down there to the left.”

He nods, snatching the clothes and disappearing down the hall. I try to settle my thoughts while I finish my food, but on top of everything else I have to worry about, I’m now imagining Peter getting naked just down the hall.

You just saw him naked, you pathetic little witch!

Yeah, and I didn’t get enough of it. Obviously.

With an exasperated sigh, I shove my plate into the sink, then hurry to my room to get dressed. When I come out, Peter is standing by the counter, ready to go.

“So, the clothes fit?” I ask gingerly.

“Yeah, they’re good.”

I intend a quick glance just to confirm his words, but my eyes linger on his long legs, muscular thighs, and cute butt strapped into the snug cargo pants. The thin black t-shirt is fartoo small, showing off every single dip and curve of his chest and flat abs.

“I’m not the cutting edge of fashion,” Peter says sarcastically as he throws on a flannel shirt over the tight shirt. The faded blue pattern somehow enhances the green of his eyes, and I can’t stop looking at him.

“Lucy?”

“Yeah?”

---