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She makes him cottage pie for every birthday; showing him she loves him the only way she knows how. She peels carrots and potatoes until her fingers ache and her back is stiff from standing at the counter. She listens to the sizzle of beef in the pan and makes the crust from scratch, pouring over every detail until it comes out of the oven ready to be eaten.
She makes him an English breakfast every time he goes out drinking with her father, crashing on their sofa with his dress shoes still on. She pulls them off one by one when she finds him in the morning, careful not to wake him until the bacon sizzling in the pan wakes him up with his nose.
She brings him scones in a basket when he’s feeling under the weather—stuffing them with dates and orange and lemon. She steels herself before knocking on the door, knowing he’ll answer with hazy, sick eyes and a bare chest.
She makes him sticky toffee pudding only when he asks, knowing that it’s a favorite of his but only when she makes it. She wants to savor it; doesn’t want to waste the way his eyes close and he hums in pleasure each time he takes the first bite.
“You’re a marvel, Tag. This tastes divine.” He says this each time she sets the food down in front of him, his eyes always pleased when they meet hers. She could drown in those eyes if only he’d let her. But he doesn’t love her; not like she loves him. So she cooks instead of speaks—shows him her heart with the comforts of food.
She makes him five cottage pies, twenty-three English breakfasts, twelve baskets of scones, and only six sticky toffee puddings. She gets her own apartment around pie number three—if you can call a converted attic in an elderly woman’s home an apartment—and hopes that cooking for him in a new kitchen will change the way she feels for him.
Instead it makes her feel lonely, without even Cait or her dad to keep her company.
It isn’t until Taggie stops cooking for Rupert that she realizes what she needs to fill the lonely gap in her life.
—
He doesn’t notice right away, at least that’s what she thinks. Taggie hears from her dad that Rupert’s down with the flu but she doesn’t prepare her usual basket of scones. Instead she goes on a date and wears her hair in an updo that she thinks makes her look chic and stylish—pairs it with a dress that says would you like to fuck me? Unfortunately after a half hour of conversation she realizes the dress will be a waste, given that the man across from her can’t seem to spend more than two minutes without talking about his collection of baseball cards. Though an interest in sports isn’t an immediate disqualifier, she’s looking for someone a bit more… grown up.
A bit more ready for what she’s seeking.
So she dates instead of cooks; lets the love she has for Rupert burn like a low-lit candle in the back of her mind while she seeks out a man who can give her what she’s looking for. Lets birthdays and drunken nights pass in the background without her there—tells herself it doesn’t matter to him anyway.
Until she picks up the phone three days after his birthday and knows before he speaks that it’s him.
“Tag?” Rupert’s voice is hushed through the receiver against her ear when she doesn’t say anything. “Tag, are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” She fiddles with the cord of the phone, wrapping it around and around her finger before unraveling it and starting over. It’s quiet for a long moment and she waits for him to ask—where she’s been, why she’s left him, why there’s a gaping hole in his life where she used to be.
Instead he just asks, “do you want to come over? I fancy myself in the mood for a sticky toffee pudding.”
She wants to say no; fears that in seeing him she will walk back all the progress she’s made away from him. But ultimately she knows that when it comes to pudding, she can never deny him.
“Okay.” She swallows around the lump in her throat. “Yeah. I’ll be over in a half hour.”
—
She sets the supplies down on his counter and tries to ignore his eyes on her as she works. The kitchen is so much larger than the one she’s grown used to, but she works around it like a pro nonetheless. She hums to herself and tries to ignore the way her neck prickles as he watches her intently, the ice in his scotch glass tinkling with every sip he takes.
It’s only as she bends to place the puddings in the oven that he finally speaks, his third glass half empty in his hand.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
She snaps up, spine stiff and straight as she blinks at the wall. It takes her a moment to realize the oven is still open, and she quickly closes it, trying to feign casualness as she turns to face him.
“Why do you think that?” She asks, voice closer to shrill than calm, and winces at her tone.
“Because you have.” He shrugs a shoulder, casual elegance in every move he makes. So comfortable and confident in his body in a way that Taggie has always admired—has always worshipped about him.
“That’s not true,” she retorts quickly, too quickly by the arch of his brow. She feels her face flush and licks her lips nervously before she continues, “I’ve just been busy.”
“With what?” He asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. Like he doesn’t want to believe she’s been avoiding him, but hasn’t been able to draw any other conclusions.
“My catering business,” she hedges. When he purses his lips, she quickly adds, “and I’ve been dating. Casually. For now.”
At this he looks surprised, before his face goes perfectly neutral—the flash of shock in his eyes gone before she can analyze it.
“Dating.” Rupert says the word like it’s sour on his tongue. “I didn’t know you were back on the market after Seb. You seemed to take that breakup hard.”
Now it’s Taggie’s turn to look surprised. She hadn’t been with Seb in nearly four years; she’d moved on from it a long time ago.
“We only dated for a year.” She shakes her head lightly, still confused. “I’d have to be obsessive to still be pining over him after all this time.”
She does not allow herself to think of the way she’s pined over the man in front of her for even longer; the hypocrisy of it all burning in the back of her mind.
“What made you decide to start dating now, then?”
Taggie busies herself with scrubbing the counter with a hand towel, rubbing at spots that aren’t there as she desperately avoids his gaze. She hopes he’ll drop it, but when she finds the courage to peek up at him from under her lashes, he’s still looking at her expectantly.
“I have my reasons.” It’s all she says; all she will say. Because she can’t tell him, it’s too embarrassing. Too real and vulnerable and raw to admit out loud to the man in front of her. So instead she checks the puddings and he— blessedly— doesn’t press her further.
But the sharp, cunning look in his eye doesn’t vanish as they wait for the food to be ready. Not even once they’ve sunk their spoons into the treat does he stop eyeing her with that determined look in his eye. A former champion through and through; he can’t stand to lose.
She just doesn’t know what Rupert wants to win.
—
“Stay for a drink,” he tells her once the dishes have been washed and she stands awkwardly in the kitchen, unsure if she should make her leave. He nods his head towards one of the many sitting rooms in the house and she follows him, toeing off her shoes where the carpet starts and padding over to the couch in socked feet.
She watches as he prepares two glasses, the slosh of liquor echoing in the quiet of the space between them. She wonders if the house always feels like this when the dogs are asleep; somehow big and empty and lonely all at once. She asks him as much and he nearly misses a step on his way over to her, but he recovers before he can truly trip.
“Yes,” he answers truthfully as he sits down on the opposite side of the loveseat. “Most of the time I feel… rather lonely here. It got better for a while, but it’s been hard again as of late.”
“Why?” She asks earnestly as she reaches for his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. He looks down and watches the motion before his eyes flicker up to hers.
“For a while, I had you.”
Taggie pulls back, lips parting. Covers the shock with a gulp of the brandy that leaves her throat burning. Then she takes another.
“Slow down, angel.” Rupert’s voice is soft and soothing, his hand finding her knee and rubbing at the denim of her jeans with his thumb. “Good liquor should be savored. Take your time with it.”
She doesn’t know what feels warmer, the liquor in her belly or his hand against her leg.
—
It’s only when the world is slightly fuzzy around the edges and she feels warm and soft and pliant that he asks again.
“What are your reasons for dating, Taggie?” That look is back in his eyes and Taggie suddenly feels quite like the canary the cat caught. “You can trust me, darling. I won’t tell anyone.”
She doesn’t know why she tells him—loose lips sink ships, and all that. But there’s something about the way he’s looking at her; like he needs to know why. Something about the liquor in her system and the way his eyes watch her lick her lips that makes her bold.
Taggie whispers the words in the space between them, her knees pulled up against her chest and her feet resting against his thigh. The casual intimacy makes her chest ache and her stomach clench.
“I want a baby.”
Rupert pulls back like she’d slapped him.
—
It’s only when he gets up to pour himself another glass—taking her empty one with him but leaving it empty when he returns to the couch—that he finally speaks.
“Angel… you’re so young. Why on earth do you want a baby?” She feels her chin quiver at his question, emotion overwhelming her. It’s the booze, she thinks to herself but it doesn’t stop tears from welling in her eyes. His face goes slack and soft as he reaches out and cups her chin. “No…. Come on, no. Tag, don’t cry.”
“I’m so alone.” Her voice breaks on the last word and his face crumples in response. He looks broken; he looks how she feels. It makes her shy and vulnerable—the moment too raw and too real. She covers her face with her hands and inhales a shaky breath. “I have no one to take care of anymore. Daddy’s got his work and Cait’s got her job and I—I have nothing.”
“Darling, that’s not true.” His voice is urgent, his hands gripping her knees. “You have to know that’s not true.”
“But it is,” she cries. “I’m all alone and I just… I miss having someone to care for.”
He’s quiet for a long moment while she cries quietly into her hands, tears forming wet tracks down her wrists. It’s only when she finally hiccups to a stop and drops her hands that she sees the pure anguish on Rupert’s face.
She wants to tell him that it’s okay, that she feels better now that she’s cried. That she should probably go home—that she’s probably had too much to drink.
Instead she looks at him until her eyes droop and close. Until the only sound is the heavy sound of his breaths and the soft catch of her own in her chest as she drifts to sleep.
—
“So… What? You’re out looking for a husband?”
He asks this the next morning as they sit sipping coffee in his kitchen. Taggie groans, her face instantly heating with embarrassment. She’d hoped that he’d be kind enough to not mention it to her at all. That the shame of the night before could live out its days as a dark, unspoken secret between the two of them.
But clearly that was too much to hope for.
“No, I am not looking for a husband,” she answers shrilly as she lifts the coffee mug to her lips and takes a sip. “I’m out looking for the father of my child. It’s different.”
His eyes burn into the side of her face but she refuses to look at him.
—
He doesn’t bring it up again until they stand outside by her car. Her hand reaches for the handle, ready to head home and shower the sickly feeling of her hangover away. But the tug of his hand around her wrist stops her, turning her back to face him.
“So are you just sleeping with them all, then?”
“What?!” She cries, ripping her hand from his grasp. He frowns at her, looking like a disappointed father.
“These men you’re dating. This may come as a shock to you, angel, but I know how children are made and it isn’t from playing chess.”
“Obviously,” she deadpans. “But that doesn’t mean I’m out sleeping with every man who wines and dines me. Christ, Rupert.”
“Then how are you planning to make this work?”
His question makes her defensive; makes her cross her arms over her chest and huff like the child he always makes her feel like.
“Well, Rupert. You see when a mommy and a daddy decide to have a baby—”
He crowds her, then. Backing her up against the car and slotting himself into every ounce of space in front of her.
“Don’t play around with me when I’m looking out for you, Agatha.” Rupert’s words are practically ground out through clenched teeth. “You are what I care about, and I want to make sure you’ve truly thought about this thing you’re doing.”
“I have,” Taggie mumbles, eyes down on the buttons of his shirt, feeling properly scolded. “I’m not a child, Rupert. I’m nearly twenty-six and I’m lonely. I know what I want, and I… I know how to get it.”
With that she turns and opens the door to her car, slipping into the driver’s seat before he can tell her all the reasons she shouldn’t be doing this. Reasons she’d told herself before she’d finally accepted what she wanted.
She watches as Rupert stares after her car, getting smaller and smaller in the rearview until he winks out of sight but never out of mind.
—
She’s barely kicked off her shoes back at home when the phone rings. She picks it up with a quiet, questioning hello?
“I’ll do it.”
“Rupert?” Taggie asks in confusion. “What do you—?”
“I said I’ll do it.” He lets out a long, weary sigh on the other side of the line. “The baby thing. I’ll do it.”
“What?” She feels as though she’s had a blow to the head—dizzy and confused and what is happening all at once.
“I can’t bear the thought of you out there hunting for a man to give you a fucking baby, Tag. It’s eating at me. So I’ll do it. If I can’t talk you out of it, I’ll fucking do it.”
Taggie feels certain she’s not quite understanding him, that somehow he’s confused and in return she’s even more confused. Because surely there’s no way—
“Tag? Did you hear me?”
“Yes,” Taggie licks her lips and pulls a shaky breath between her teeth as she listens to the empty air on the other side of the line. “Yes, I heard you.”
“Good. We’ll talk specifics tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
He hangs up before she can respond.
—
She spends the next thirty-four hours in a panic. Even in sleep she finds her dreams full of anxiety and wakes in a tangle of sweat soaked sheets. It isn’t until she’s got on the same date-night dress she’s been wearing since her disastrous one off with baseball card man that she realizes this is happening. That she’s actually going to discuss having a child with Rupert Campbell-Black in her fuck-me dress.
It all feels too surreal; too close to the fantasies she’s carried with her since nineteen. She tries not to dwell on just how many fantasies she’s caved into in the darkness of her bedroom over the years and instead focuses on slipping on her heels.
When she walks down stairs at the sound of the doorbell, she walks past him with a muttered come on, let’s get going instead of getting lost in his eyes, too afraid of what she might find there.
He follows her, his gaze burning into her back and making her feel electric, but when he buckles in beside her he’s quiet all the way to the restaurant.
—
She doesn’t order wine with dinner, though she desperately could use the edges of her softened by sweet reds or dry whites. Instead she sticks to something simple—a water and a Ceasar salad to hopefully keep her jumpy stomach from forcing her dinner back up.
Rupert just watches her chew with a contemplative look. Watches and watches until she thinks that he’s going to have an aneurysm.
“Are you—?” Taggie begins, but he cuts off her words with his own.
“So I take it your plan hasn’t been artificial insemination, then.”
“Pardon?” She asks in confusion, not quite following. Rupert lets his gaze drop, trailing along every curve of her dress that he can see above the table and effectively setting her body on fire.
“No one wears that dress to a dinner to discuss… borrowing a man’s sperm.” He takes a swig of his scotch and his eyes are intense on her face once more. “That’s the dress one wears when they’re looking to do things the old fashioned way.”
Borrow….
… Artificial…
Oh god.
Ohgodohgodohgod.
She’d grossly misunderstood what they were doing here tonight.
“I’m so sorry,” Taggie whispers, trying to prevent the tears that prick at the backs of her eyes and clog her throat. “I’m so stupid—”
“Tag—”
“I need to go, this was a mistake, I’m so—” She moves to stand but his voice is quick and firm, stopping her in her tracks.
“Taggie, sit.” He shakes his head and takes another long pull from his drink before he looks at her. “I told you already—I’ll do it. Whatever that means, I’m in. Alright?”
She nods, giving her heart a moment to stop racing against the cage of her ribs before she reaches for her fork and resumes eating.
—
“So how do you want this to go?” Taggie finally finds the courage to ask him as she peeks up at him from under her lashes, dessert half finished on her plate. She’s quick to drop her eyes when he looks up at her, too bashful for the intensity in the stare he levels at her.
“I want you to be confident enough in what you want to look at me when you ask for it,” Rupert says, drawing her gaze back to him effectively. He only continues once their gazes lock and hold. “And I want you to be comfortable. How this goes is entirely up to you.”
She licks her lips nervously— if only he knew I’d take everything and more from him.
“I guess I’d never… That is–uh. I don’t know that I want things so… clinical?” She winces as she searches for the right words. “I’d hoped I’d meet someone who things felt natural with. That I could be honest about what I wanted from them and they’d be fine with sticking around for however long it took for us to, um, be…”
“Successful?” The word sounds more like a purr rumbled deep within his chest. Taggie feels her face flame at the sound, at all the things it makes her picture—things she’d never thought she’d get with him.
“Yes.” It’s practically a whimper, a barely there sound as she fights not to drop her eyes. He nods slowly, with purpose—intent evident in his every move.
“Okay, Taggie. Then that’s what we’ll do.”
“Yeah?” Her voice is full of a hope, a yearning so deep it would feel embarrassing if it weren’t him—if she didn’t love him as much as she does.
“Yeah. If you want a baby, we’ll make sure you get your baby, angel.”
—
“So when did you want to, um… meet again? To… um…”
“Don’t be shy, darling.” Rupert’s voice is all play, no teeth in the tease of his words. “Ask me what you want to know.”
“Are we… That is, to say… should I expect you sometime soon to start… uh, trying?”
“Oh, Tag,” he sighs the words, fingers finding her knee and pressing up, up, up until they find the needy, hot, wet of her. “Did you think we were going to let this dress go to waste?”
Her heart feels like a hummingbird in her chest; her throat dry but her cunt wet as he rubs his fingers up and down the crotch of her panties.
“Uh, I, um—”
“It’s okay, angel. I’ve got you.”
Then he slides her knickers to the side and slips a finger inside and she loses the details of the world around her.
—
It isn’t until she walks on wobbly doe legs up the steps of her apartment with Rupert hot on her heels that she realizes what’s about to happen— what they’re about to do.
She turns as she stands in front of her apartment and looks up at him shyly.
“Are you sure—?”
“Open the door, Tag.” Rupert cuts her off, crowding into her space and looking down at her in a way she’d only dreamed of. “Let me inside.”
She reaches for the knob behind her and they both stumble through the doorway.
—
Seeing her apartment through his eyes makes her self-conscious. The light above the stove casts the small space in an intimate glow, but also highlights just how little she has. It’s not a grand manor with field after field of lush land to go with it, but it’s hers. She’s about to tell him as much when he finds her hand in the darkness and squeezes.
“Ready to take me to bed, darling?”
Oh god.
The reality of it all hits her like a train. That she’s about to do this; that they’re about to do this.
“You know you don’t have to do this,” she tells him, offering him a last out. “I can always find someone else—”
He cuts her off with his mouth on hers, hot and searing and tongue searching as it licks at the seam of her lips. Her knees nearly give out but his arms are a steady embrace around her, keeping her rooted in this moment.
“Christ, Tag.” The words are guttural, breathed against her lips as he takes her with his mouth. “You taste divine.”
For a moment she’s brought back to every sticky toffee pudding, every cottage pie and scone, every treat she’d ever brought him. The love she’d poured into him with food and the praise he’d given her in response. Always the same; always a constant in her life in the way that so few were.
“ Rupert,” she sighs against his mouth, hands fisted in his shirt and in his hair, desperately pulling him closer and closer until there’s no space between them. Until she can feel the hardness of him against her belly. “Please.”
“It’s alright, angel. I’m here.” He presses her back onto the bed that creaks beneath her weight. His eyes are dark and fathomless in the dim light of the room, but she can see the hunger in every line of him. “I’m going to give you everything.”
Then his hands are sliding up her thighs once more to tug at her knickers, and she thinks she’s going to break apart into a hundred million pieces.
—
He fits her back together with the first swipe of his tongue against her clit; the pieces of her forming something brand new as she arches up into his mouth.
“I don’t ever need another sticky toffee pudding. Not as long as I can eat this sweet little cunt for dessert instead.”
Filthy, filthy mouth on a filthy, filthy man. She covers her face with her hands, feeling somehow ruined by him as he licks at her core like a man possessed. He’s good, he’s too good at this.
By the time he sinks a finger in her, she’s shaking and moaning and nearly sobbing with how badly she needs to come. Thinks that she mumbles something to the like of pleasepleaseplease let me come because his answering chuckle makes her whine.
“You want to come for me, angel? Hm?”
“ God, yes. Please.”
He adds another finger, crooks them up and presses just right and suddenly she’s bowing off the bed, his name on her lips and her cunt grasping at his fingers.
“That’s it, darling,” Rupert soothes as she comes back down, muttered ramblings of nothing on her lips as she flutters around his fingers. “One more and I’ll let you have me.”
Taggie just rolls her hips up into his hand and feels triumphant when he lowers his mouth to her cunt once more.
—
The world is fuzzy and distant in the aftermath of her second orgasm; cotton candy soft around the edges. It isn’t until she feels the length of him glide through the lips of her cunt that she feels the edges firm back up slowly; each thrust of his cock against her clit bringing her slowly back to reality.
“‘S sensitive,” she whimpers as he picks up speed against her.
“But look how good we look together, angel.” His fingers find the back of her neck and grip it firm, demanding that she relent. “Go on, look.”
She cracks her eyes open and is rewarded with a rumbled good girl from him that makes her cunt flutter around nothing. His cock looks red and swollen and wet with the slick of her—somehow pretty as he fucks her folds. She breathes out a sigh, lips parting on a shaky moan as he hits her clit just right.
“Oh,” Taggie moans. “That’s so good.”
She looks up at him then, needing to anchor herself to something that isn’t the intensity of his cock against her. So she anchors herself in his eyes; watches as he groans when their gazes stick together.
“Just like that, angel. Keep those pretty eyes on me.” Rupert bends down, pressing his forehead to hers. His eyes stay locked on hers as he ruts against her. “Christ, you’re better than I imagined.”
“Yeah?” She asks, reaching down between them to press her hand against his cock, giving him friction from both sides. “You thought about this?”
“You don’t even know. Christ, Tag you really have no idea, do you?” His hand around her neck flexes as his hips stutter against her and he curses. “I need to be inside you, angel. Need to make it good for you.”
She wants to tell him that he is and he has, but all she can focus on is the way the head of his cock notches against her entrance and presses inch by inch inside of her until she lets out a shaky little oh.
“—dreamed of this, Tag. Fucked my hand until my cock was chafed raw thinking about this—”
The stretch of him is mind numbing; makes the weight of his words hazy in the fog of her mind. All she knows is the drag of his cock inside of her as he sets a quick, desperate pace. Hears me too, me too, me too before realizing it’s coming from her own lips.
He’s a man possessed above her— inside her. He takes her like he needs her just as badly as she needs him; maybe even moreso. He bends and presses his face to the skin of her neck and she wraps around him, legs locking behind his back and arms wrapping around his neck as he groans against the hollow of her throat.
He mutters into her neck, words low and rough like gravel as he fucks her. Some words are lost to her but she can make out some as he drives her body higher and higher.
“—perfect tight little cunt—”
“—fuck you so good angel—”
“—gonna give you a baby, angel.”
At this, she feels herself tighten around him with a cry, her orgasm ripping through her so suddenly that she feels the world go dark around the edges. All she knows is the pulse of him inside her as he follows her over with a groan and the grip of her cunt as it flutters around him.
—
When he finally pulls out of her some time later, she can feel his come trickling out of her. He groans, a look of raw need on his face as he watches for a moment before his fingers trail up the mess he’s made of her—stuffing his come back inside of her and holding her gaze as he does, almost like he expects her to protest. Instead she bears down on his fingers and he groans again.
“Do that again and I’ll be back inside you before we’ve recovered.” She thinks to do it again, but he pulls his fingers back out of her with a slick sound as he looks down at her hungrily. “Keep that inside for me, alright angel? Be a good girl for me and keep my come right where it belongs.”
She doesn’t know how she’ll ever get enough of this man.
—
If she was worried that she was forcing him into something he didn’t want in the beginning, that fear is quickly replaced by concern that she’s going to break his cock with the amount of times they’ve put it to use in the past two weeks.
Just being thorough, angel, he tells her as he stalks towards her the moment she’s over the threshold of his doorway. He’d rung her and asked her to come around, and though she wasn’t sure what it was for, she’d worn the only set of panties that matched her bra nonetheless. Was rewarded with a groan and a curse and a muttered I love this set, want to buy it for you in every color. Would you let me do that for you, angel?
She chants out yesyesyes as he buries himself inside of her against the front door and fucks her full of him.
—
When her period comes, there’s a small part of her that’s grateful. Not because she doesn’t want a baby, but because she gets to keep him for one month longer. Still when she tells him over sticky toffee pudding three days later, he wraps her in his arms and tells her that they’ll keep trying. And knowing that he’ll see this through with her, somehow, is enough.
—
When she begs for his come down her throat for the first time, he looks confused. Like he isn’t sure if this is a test.
“It’s okay,” she tells him as she pulls off his cock and stares up at him with spit covered lips. “I just want to make you feel good.”
His answering groan makes her feel like a winner for the first time.
—
Taggie spends more time at his house than she does her own.
To be fair, he’s adamant that tracking her cycle isn’t the best way to ensure she gets pregnant—that sex every day is the only way to be truly thorough. He’s a man possessed; an Olympian desperate to win. She sees the athlete in him every time he fills her with his come and groans out his praises of her. How good she is; how well she takes him. How she was made to take his cock.
She cooks more meals than she ever has; special occasions turning into every night feasts. Her love blooms in her chest for him so her hands get to work, desperate to let it out the only way she knows how. Bangers and mash and fish and chips and trifles for dessert—meal after meal and night after night spent in the bubble they form together.
“I wish we could stay like this,” Taggie whispers when she’s sure he’s asleep beside her one night. Closes her eyes and lets herself dream of a world where she can have this forever.
—
“I’ve been thinking,” he tells her as she rides him leisurely, one hand pressed to his chest as she rolls her hips into his. It’s their third tryst of the day and they’re both a bit sensitive, so she takes her time with him, letting herself earn it slowly.
“About?” Taggie asks breathlessly.
“You should move here.”
She loses her rhythm for a moment, surprise overtaking her. She quickly resumes, not wanting to seem as beside herself as she is.
“Move here as in…. With you?”
He rolls her over, keeping himself inside her as he hovers over her and his eyes droop as he notches in further.
“Just think, you’ll need help with the baby, and I’ll want to be the one to help. Really it’s the best option.”
It’s not a good idea; she knows she’ll get confused. That she’ll think this is something more than it is. But as she opens her mouth to tell him that it’s most definitely not going to happen, he presses his thumb against her clit and rubs.
“Ooh–okay.”
He rewards her with a devilish grin and a twist of his hips, making her see stars.
—
Food and fucking; that’s the language they speak in three months into their arrangement. The food she makes for him each night melts on the tongue in buttery, savory deliciousness which he follows up by eating the silky, soft sweetness of her on the table.
She has her own room, but she rarely sleeps in it. He keeps her so busy in his bed that by the time they finish, she’s a limp ragdoll beneath him, desperate for sleep.
Tonight she’s on her hands and knees, dinner settled in her belly and his cock deep in her cunt as he takes her from behind. She moans with each thrust, her hips rocking against his as he fucks himself inside her.
“That’s it, angel. Give it to me.” His hands trace her rear and she lets out another moan. “Don’t worry, darling. We’re gonna make sure it takes tonight.”
Her only response is a keen as he pulls her up against his chest and fucks her like he worships her.
—
“Why did you offer to do this with me?” She asks as he slips himself from inside her. She presses her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, watching as his eyes darken once more at the sight of her. He likes moments like these; the reminders of what they’re trying to do. She knows as much from the filthy things he says when he’s coming inside her.
Gonna fuck you full of my baby, angel. Gonna give you all of me.
He shakes himself and she wonders if his mind went to the same place hers did.
“Tag, if you haven’t figured it out by now, then I don’t know when you will.”
Then he’s up to get a cloth to clean her up, and she’s left confused in the bed that’s become more of a home to her than any house ever has.
—
She tries to take it from him next time she rides him; knows he likes her best when she’s above him.
“Why did you offer to do this with me, Rupert?” Taggie asks as she rolls her hips into his. His eyes are heavy lidded and his gaze is on her breasts as they bounce to the rhythm she’s set above him. He reaches forward and rolls her sensitive nipples between his fingers, making her head tip back.
“Don’t you know?” Is his only response as he thrusts up against her. She looks back down at him and leans forward, gripping the headboard behind him as she rocks against him in a rhythm that has them moaning in tandem.
“Tell me,” she practically begs. “I need to hear it.”
“Because I fucking love you, Tag.” He presses his forehead to hers. “Always have.”
She thinks of every sticky toffee pudding he’s ever asked for and wonders if it was him asking her to love him back—if he knows that she does. Tells him anyway just to be sure.
“I love you too.”
Then shows him by riding him until they both find release.
—
Sometimes when they split a midnight snack with his come trickling down her thigh, she thinks about how she’d never expected a life this good.
—
She’s six days late.
That’s enough time to know, right?
She’s not sure. Waits until she’s eight days late before she takes the test, just so she doesn’t jinx it.
Only when she goes to show him the positive test, she doesn’t feel worried. Doesn’t stress about what comes next—knows it’ll happen with them together. Makes him a big dessert to share the good news and watches his eyes light up when he asks so?
Her answering nod and the dessert in front of her are all the answer he needs.
Still, when Rupert presses her back against the wall and claims her mouth with his, she’s taken aback enough to ask what are you doing?
“Darling, this is where the fun part begins,” he says, then hisses as his fingers slip into her jeans and find her wet. “Everyone knows pregnant sex is better.”
She grins up at him and pulls his mouth down to hers.
“Well I guess you’ll have to show me, then. Hm?” Taggie responds, nipping lightly at his lip in a way she’s learned he loves.
“With pleasure, angel.”
—