I’m about to tell him to go away, when I find his eyes. They’re so dark, they could be black. Casper is all dark allure and beautiful tattoos. The sight of him is enough to make me drool.
“How sick are you?” he smirks at me, not breaking eye contact even as he climbs over the iron railing.
“Sick enough that you should leave.” He’s so tall that I’m talking to his chest rather than his face.
“Probably.” Unzipping his jacket, he reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a bag of orange Starbursts. He doesn’t sing-song about the gesture. It’s almost as though he’s gone out and bought the bag like that rather than having to take apart rolls of the chews to pick my favourites out.
Offering it to me, he studies my face. “You don’t look so sick.”
“Thanks.” I give him my best bitchy smile, not taking the sweets from him. “How nice of you to say.”
“What’s going on, Trouble?”
“Nothing, big man.”
Casper walks to my bed, where he sits looking at me. I hate it when he does that. I hate that he can see through me. There’s no need for him to tell me he knows I’m lying because I already know. It’s obvious in the sullen way he’s sitting there, scrutinising me. Looking as though he belongs here, in my space…with me.
“You realise that we’ve seen each other every night for the past week, right? And it’s not like we do much talking.”
Shrugging with a cocky grin, he unwraps one of the chews and holds it out to me. The smell of the sugar and the citrus flavour makes my mouth water, but I refuse to take more from him. It has to stop, and for that to happen he has to go.
“I’m tired.”
“But not sick.”
Jesus, I’m surprised that his X-ray vision hasn’t shown him the bundle of anxiety in my belly. Looking at him, I fall through a rabbit hole of wonderings of whether our child will be as tall as him or as milky as me. I don’t hate the thoughts or the images they conjure, and it throws me through a loop.
“Have you had another fight with your dad?” he asks, leaning forward to grab me by the top of my shorts.
The feel of his hands touching my skin is enough to make me weak at the knees. When I’m standing in front of him, he pushes the sweet into my mouth, and with my heart thumping at our proximity, I try to savour it. It’s hard to, though, because his intricately tattooed hands are the only thing I’m capable of luxuriating in as they flatten to the base of my stomach and inch around to the curve of my arse.
The tip of his tongue runs over his bottom lip as my tight vest rides up my body, exposing my pierced navel. And before I’ve had a chance to swallow down what’s left of the sweet, he laves around my belly button, inching closer to my piercing until I’m holding on to his hair. It’s the only thing stopping me from collapsing into a puddle between his feet.
“Casper…” I try to push away from him as the magnitude of the situation sets in.
This is what got us here in the first place. This could be the last time he touches me like this, or at all. And I know that letting this happen without telling him about the situation is a betrayal of the trust he’s given me.
“Yeah?” His eyes flash up to mine, his bottom lip tracing up my sternum, the scratch of his stubble drying out all my words.
If this is it, I can let myself have this. This one last moment with him.
When I don’t reply, his hands push my shorts down over my arse, until they’re puddled at my feet. My breaths jam together as his rough fingers rake up my legs, round the backs of my thighs and between my legs. They push through my wet pussy until he’s nudging my clit and I’m incapable of holding myself upright.
Tears prick my eyes as I lose myself to the feel of his touches. He hoists me to straddle his thighs, and his mouth latches onto my nipple over my vest. With my groan, the tears I’ve been holding on to track down my face.
I push his jacket off, desperately trying to get all I can of him. The heat of our bodies melding together. The calloused skin of his hands scratching over mine.
I lift off his lap, pulling my nipple free with a delicious sting that travels all the way down to my pulsing pussy. Casper pulls his dark joggers down, freeing his hard cock at the same time I unzip his hoodie, the white T-shirt a direct contrast with the dark tattoo on his neck.
Fuck, I want to lick it so bad. My mouth is watering for the tang of his salty skin and the sour notes of his aftershave on my tongue.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, cupping either side of my face, holding my mouth hostage over his.
“Nothing.”
“You’re crying.” His eyes narrow on mine, assessing me and my reply.
Casper is so fucking beautiful, striking with the sharp angles of his face and the churlish set of his features. When he looks at me like this—unwavering and deep—it almost makes me believe he cares more than he lets on.