*Jordan

Cole brings me my coffee as I step out of the shower. Instead of giving it to me, he watches me, a raw tenderness in his expression that has nothing to do with him being weak. It gives me strength. It reminds me that there is one man I can trust. I drop the towel to let him see me, in all my imperfections, old scars, the scattered stretch marks on the sides of my belly. Everything. Even the red patch on my sternum which will be a blue bruise tomorrow.

I let him have all of me. And he covers me in kisses.

The next morning, my alarm goes off entirely too early. I'm dead and wish I could have another two hours of sleep at least. I smack the alarm to turn it off and roll quietly from the bed.

It's empty, and cold. Damn. How did he get up before six-thirty after the things he did to me last night?

I shiver, little flutters coming to life in my chest as I remember how slow and gentle he was, so careful not to hurt me or take things fast.

Not that I mind it rough and fast sometimes, but he treated me as if I was the most precious thing on this planet. Blood stirring and face getting warm with the memories, I head for the closet to get my clothes. The second I step into the hall, the warm aroma of fresh coffee hits and I pause.

I might be in love with this man. It's a real possibility.

I walk quickly down the hall, only brushing the closed door at the top of the stairs with my fingertips as I pass. The kitchen and dining room are empty, so I fill my cup and go outside to look for him.

He's tinkering away with the Ford. All I can see is his very fine ass hugged tight by his ragged jeans sticking out.

I tiptoe over to give him a good swat, and he yelps. There's some cursing and clanging from deep in the hood and then he emerges, growling for a kiss.

"Mmm," I hum, lips pressed to his. "I could start every morning like this. Coffee ready when I wake up, a hot man with his ass in the air, working on my stuff..."

"I should be writing this down, shouldn't I?" he says. He kisses my nose and I remember his hands must be greasy.

"Did you smear me? I have to go to work soon." I dance in a circle, trying to inspect my derrière. He laughs and shakes his head, wiping his hands off on a towel.

"You're clean. I was careful. You're beautiful, in fact." He rubs his nose to mine, and suddenly I'm almost sitting on the edge of my car, his wide body blocking the view of anything else. "Come to think of it, you're too clean. I like to see you get a little dirty this morning."

"Cole, I have to go to work!"

He puts a knee between my legs and I'm instantly wet. This man does things to me that should not be allowed. Even my breasts are tightening and my nipples tingling. He nibbles my neck, creating a dangerous situation where I might spill my coffee or get my pants grungy with car grease. But my pussy clenches at the thought of him moving inside me.

"I love it when you are dirty for me, Jordan," he whispers and runs kisses from my earlobe to my lips. I'm ready to toss my coffee to the ground when he steps back, a sheepish grin on his face. "But I know you have work today."

"You jerk!" I point an accusing finger at him. "You were teasing me this whole time."

"Teasing you? I never tease about bending a lady over the side of a classic car early in the morning. You want proof?" He steps dangerously close again, desire darkening his eyes.

Damn, I'm tempted. My mouth waters for him, I'm so tempted. "Maybe I do."

"Then turn around, and put your hands on the car," he orders. I do as he says, and he takes my coffee to set on the workshop counter. Then, he reaches in front of me and unbuttons my pants. He pulls them quickly down to the ground, panties too, and all the way off. "Spread your legs for me."

Planting my feet wide on the ground, I arch my back, pressing forward to the car as he takes ahold of my hips. His cock, already rock hard, rubs my clit as he grinds against me.

"Fuck, you're wet."

I bite my lip, unable to respond. He freezes and mutters a string of curse words.

"I don't have a condom out here with me," he says.

"Then don't use one."

"What?" His voice is low and edged.

"Don't use one. We've talked about it—we've both been checked since our last partners. You want me dirty? Then get me dirty," I say. I want him to cum inside me. I want it so badly, I ache.

"You could get pregnant."

"Is that a problem for you?"

"Fuck no." Now his voice is heating up.

I lift my ass higher, dropping my chest to show him I want him. "Then get me dirty."

He adjusts his grip on my hips and positions himself at my entrance. My pussy actually quivers to have him inside me. I want him pure and wholly, nothing between us. He slides his cock in me to the base and groans in pleasure, stretching and filling me. I love it.

"God, you feel wonderful. You are tight and wet, and so hot." He starts to rock me on his cock, taking control. I hold onto the edge of the car, practically whimpering as he starts to pound me faster, and stars burst in my eyes. I've forgotten to breathe. I gasp for air and shout his name. He moves faster. The world is a blur and I tingle from head to toe, and pressure builds in my core. I'm going to orgasm.

"Don't stop, don't stop," I say, and then the world dissolves. There is only Cole crashing into me, driving his cock home in my pussy. He fucks me harder and, letting out a low, animal noise, presses deeply in my sex. His cock pulses, setting off a soft wave of rippling pleasure in my body, and his breathing is ragged for several long heartbeats.

He pulls out, dripping. We've made a mess, and most of it's on me. I smile, leaning my butt on the car, my dress shirt is long enough to protect my skin. I cross my arms. "You really are a bad boy. I say don't use a condom and you don't wait for a second invitation."

There's a new contentment—a smug, self-satisfaction—in his expression as he yanks up his pants. "You know, I'll want to do that to you again and again. Where are you in your cycle?"

I shrug. "No clue," I'm lying, and it's obvious he can see it.

"Well, you know what to look forward to after work today. Wine, a foot massage. And more sex without with a condom."

I smirk at him as I grab my pants and sashay my bare ass out of the car port. My house is so secluded I could host a nudist colony, and today, I'm thankful. He follows my every step with greedy eyes and I pause at my porch. "Promises, promises..."

"You don't think I'll deliver?" he calls.

"I guess we'll find out tonight."

***

I grin to myself the whole morning at work. Of course, the kids all ask why I'm smiling so much, and it breaks my heart a little more each time. Do I always look so serious and sad that they suddenly notice me grinning like a maniac? Or are they just sweethearts who pick up on every emotional cue from the people around them?

They are definitely sensitive. I shouldn't be surprised that they notice I'm usually calm and serious, but today, I'm happy. No one is more perceptive than my babies at the center.

Babies.

My heart breaks more at the thought. Would Cole give me a baby? I'm warm and cold at the idea of a new, precious life growing in me. Of carrying that life until she is ready to meet the world. Of hearing her cries and having her tiny, beautiful fingers curling around mine.

The idea of a baby with Cole is mixed up with the memory of Emma, though. At lunch, I have to hide in my car and cry. Yes, I want a baby with Cole. But I want Emma in my arms, too.

Maybe I'm too much of an emotional wreck to raise children. I must be insane. There's a break from kids as usual after lunch while all of us—physical therapists, speech therapists, psychologists, and specialized workers like me for early childhood development go over individual cases and collective goals. I usually enjoy the meetings, it's one of my few opportunities to really discuss things with other adults, besides a little chatting in the group play times with the children. But today, I can't keep my head focused on what others are saying.

All I want to think about is Cole and how he makes me feel. Or the possibility of having a baby.

As the day continues, though, and my toddlers come in for group play, I can't help but think I shouldn't abandon them. We practice some basic sign language, and go through our routine of free play, arts and crafts, cleaning up and sitting in a circle for songs, and my heart swells with love. I can't leave them.

But if I want to be with Cole, I have to go with him to California.

Which means, the baby I hope to have will never see the house I grew up in with my sisters and while my mother was still alive. Then again, do I want another baby in that house, where so many horrible things have happened?

Unwanted images rush through my head, sharp and ugly—of my father twitching on the living room floor as Amber and Reese yell at me to get out and find the phone, Trey coming home angry and ready to punish me for imaginary crimes, me tearing up the house looking for Emma when I already knew he had taken her. I had to look. I had to search for clues or a letter, an explanation, or maybe even a note saying where they went. Or maybe she was just hiding because she was scared. It wouldn't be the first time. Then, I see my father dead, his face slack and ashen, Amber calling the ambulance and Reese staring wooden eyed like a statue. I see Trey's fists.

I remember holding Emma to my heart and kissing the peach fuzz of her warm head. Humming to the sound of a summer rainstorm to put her to sleep.

Good things happened in that house, too. It is strong, built to last. It is solid and sure. It could be a safe haven. That house is my home and I want to dance with Emma in my arms there again one day. Soon.

To do that, though, I can't leave with Cole. I'll have to let him leave alone. Which means I would be alone.

*** Thanks for reading and hit the star!!! ***