Page 65 of When Morning Comes (Arrow Creek 2)

“Ahh, do that again.”

He does. And again. And on the fourth time, I squeeze tight around him in a rolling orgasm that goes on and on and on.

“Can’t hold back when you do that. Fuck!” He comes with a loud groan that triggers more pulsing around him.

Nathan eases to the side and pushes me into the back of the couch so we face each other. He traces a tender finger down my cheek and tucks my head beneath his chin with a sigh.

“I keep waiting for the novelty to wear off. It can’t keep being that good, can it? And then we do it again, and it just keeps getting better,” I mutter sleepily.

Nathan hums his agreement.

“Are you sl-sleeping?” I stifle my own yawn.

He doesn’t respond.

“Nathan?”

“Shh.” His arms convulse around me. “I’m just enjoying holding you like this.”

I enjoy it too. Of course I don’t tell him that. We have enough trouble navigating this friendship as it is, and I’m the one who drew the line. What does it say about me if I keep toeing across it?

Friends.

With occasional benefits.

That’s the way it has to be in order for this to work for everyone.

19

Nathan

Sometime later, I wake with a start, dick still hanging out of my pants, and a naked Kiersten unconscious in my arms. We both must have passed out after crossing the imaginary line once again. If we practiced honesty, we’d admit how terrible we are now at being friends. The signs are there. After the very first night, retreating into the box is an impossibility.

A man doesn’t get with a woman like her and just forget what it felt like to visit heaven for a night.

For weeks, I’ve controlled my urge to steal touches and kiss her at inappropriate times. But tonight? When she looked at me with panic etched on her face at the thought of me with someone else? Desperation stole over me to erase her pain.

Repeat. Cycle. Indefinitely.

Holding her in my arms now while she sleeps feels as natural as breathing. The thought that a few short weeks from now we’ll have a little one and begin the cycle of co-parenting brings a sharp pang to my gut.

If I had my way, I wouldn’t let them go—either of them.

I don’t want rotating schedules and weekly handoffs. Phone calls to fill one another in on information rather than experiencing it together as a family.

How do I convince the most stubborn, hardheaded female in the world that we’re going about this all wrong without insulting her wishes? Do I have the guts to come right out and tell her I’ve fallen in love with her? That I’ve lain awake many nights dreaming of tasting her dew-kissed lips and holding her just like this?

I don’t think I do. Having her and not telling her I love her is easier to entertain than the thought of telling her the truth and losing her forever.

If you love something, set it free? Absolute fucking bullshit. Who comes up with these crappy lines?

She stirs, releasing a breathy snort of air that makes me grin. The short choppy strands of hair splay across her face.

“What time is it?” she mumbles with her eyes still shut and a glisten of drool at the corner of her mouth. I refer to my watch.

“It’s about ten.”

She mutters something incoherently, making my dick stir and the desire to kiss her overwhelming. I sift my fingers through her messy hair as a distraction from rosebud lips.

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