Page 29 of Forced Knocked-Up Mate

A low growl rumbles in my throat, and I feel Lucy tense up under me. Her legs slip away, the death grip on my shoulders loosens, and she pushes me away.

“Stop,” she chokes out.

I take a step back, fighting for control. My heart is pounding in my throat, and my skin is on fire as I take deep, ragged breaths.

I wait for her to explain, but she just shakes her head, raises her hands to shove me out of the way, and runs down the hall without a word.

Chapter 9 - Lucy

Trying to wake up the next morning feels like crawling out of deep, thick mud. Even though part of me is registering the light in the sky and the birdsong, my body seems heavy and slow.

I’m completely drained and exhausted, even though I haven’t done much over the last few days.

Not much—except force enough stress through my body, it mimics running six marathons!

The moment I sit up, last night comes back to me in full living color, with an absolute trainwreck of sensations to go with it.

I kissed him. Oh my God, I actually kissed him!

My cheeks burn as I remember the moment, and it’s not just a hint of embarrassment. The fire floods to other parts of my body and I press my thighs together, groaning softly as I try to fight the sensations.

There’s no denying it—this guy is hotter than the inside of a volcano. And the conflict between our personalities can’t stop me from getting aroused.

The sensations are so strong that I can’t ignore them. Instead of getting up and trying to distract myself, I take a moment to indulge.

It’s a relief to let the thoughts come. I’ve been using so much mental energy to keep them at bay, it’s been almost painful. As I think about the night before my nipples harden, goosebumps fly across my back and down my thighs while a burning ache throbs between my legs.

His lips were hot and slick as I felt his tongue eagerly searching for mine. I ran my hands up his strong, musculararms, and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close to him. The shock of our bodies touching sent ripples of desire flooding through me, shattering my resistance.

I want to fuck right there against the door. Take me, you savage creature. Just fuck me until all my doubts crumble into dust.

In my mind, I take the fantasy further. I feel his hands squeezing my upper arms as he slams me against the door, then brings his hungry mouth against mine. I squirm against him, wrapping my knees around his hips as he lifts me up. I grab at his hard shoulders, climbing him and thrusting against him as he kisses me and shoves my dress up my thighs…

Suddenly, less pleasant memories flit through my brain. His cold attitude, the way he replies to everything I say with a snappy retort, how completely difficult he is at all times. It dampens my desire. Not much, but enough that I can get out of bed and push my fantasies aside.

I head straight for the kitchen to put on some coffee, feeling cranky that I’m running late. It’s still extremely early. The sun has only just come up, but I should be prepping the bakery before dawn.

And nobody worked yesterday. Even if Sunday is a short shift, we should have been prepping bread and cakes for the Monday rush.

While the coffee brews, I rummage around in the cupboards, looking for a granola bar. I don’t have the stomach for a proper breakfast, or the time to cook it. The trouble is, Peter completely rearranged my cupboards, and now I can’t find a damn thing.

When I finally find one and slam the cupboard door shut, Peter is standing on the other side of it. I’m so surprised, I jump a foot in the air and let out a little shriek.

“Jesus,” I gasp. “What the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me like that?”

“What the fuck areyoudoing?” he shoots back. “You’re banging around in here like you’re playing the drums, and the sun isn’t even up.”

“I have to go and open the bakery. I’ve had more than enough time off.”

“Wait…” Peter says, his face going blank. “Does that mean I have to go?”

I sigh in exasperation, rolling my eyes. “Yes, I suppose that means you have to come. I’m not crazy about the idea, either, just so you know.”

“So, don’t,” he says flippantly. “Get someone else to cover for you.”

“I can’t keep doing that. Fiona has her own business to run, and Sarah and Rachel are only part-timers. Besides, I’m the only one who can really bake.”

He scowls, the dramatic expression only enhancing his sharp features.

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