A/N-Special thanks to all who read, review, etc. Also ty to Bekki for beta reading this.
Of course Robin said yes. It was a simple question, and he a simple kind of man. A hot librarian wants him to fuck her without a condom, empty himself inside of her, and then walk away from all the consequences. It couldn't have been a better present had it been wrapped in Paper Source paper and tied up with a goddamn bow. Also, there was that damn kiss by her car...he could still feel how wet she was against his fingertips, could feel how eagerly she rocked against him, how easily she surrendered to his mouth…
Oh yes. Fucking his little librarian is going to be a fucking delight.
So...it's all pretty simple, right?
The problem is that there's a small part of him that doesn't feel so simple about it. And it's that same unfamiliar part that lives in his chest and twists at the strangest thoughts. Like the thought of Regina being broken-hearted by other men. The thought of her wanting a baby this fiercely. The memory of the way she looked at Violet kicking happily in his arms.
After two days, he gives up. This weird pull in his chest won't go away and it doesn't make sense. It's not ordered, logical, or even wanted—it's just there. Unasked for and confusing. Not lining up with any of the things he knows to be true about himself.
Well, except for one thing.
Robin likes her and he does want to fuck her, and Jesus, it's messed up, but the idea of going inside her bare, of actually trying to plant a baby in her, to breed her...well, it gets him hard in a way he's never felt before. Urgently hard. Throbbing hard. His-balls-feel-fucking-heavy-and-full hard. He's masturbating like a teenage boy morning and night, and still he can't take the edge off this itch for her, the edge off this need to get her pregnant. To mate with her, like he's a fucking caveman.
So there it is. She wants him to get her pregnant, the idea of getting her pregnant turns him the fuck on, so he's all systems go for this insane, ridiculous plan. He's just going to ignore the distracting pull in his chest when he thinks about her and focus only on the logical.
Which means he's in the right frame of mind when he gets a text from her three days after their first date.
My ovulation test says my luteinizing hormone is surging today, and I have salivary ferning. Tonight, at the Nite's Inn, 8 p.m., please.
It's polite and straightforward and all business, which appeals to the Spock-like part of him, although the horny part of him is pretty insistent that they take a few dirty detours tonight as well. If he wants this librarian out of his system by the time he knocks her up, then he's going to need to take full and long advantage of their nights together. She agreed to include non-fertile times as part of their arrangement, and he's already planning on exploiting that condition as much as possible. Besides, he read online that the man should ejaculate often to improve sperm motility or something like that. So him fucking her throughout the month is good for conceiving the baby too.
However, something about her text bothers him. Well, actually two somethings.
Something Number One—salivary ferning? What the bloody hell is that?
He tells dispatch he's going on a lunch break, but instead of going into the break room, he goes out to his Audi TT—the perfect marriage of muscle and clean, precise German engineering—and climb inside. There on the passenger seat are a bunch of books from the library about babies and pregnancy. (He checked them out from the Central Resource Library, to avoid the risk of seeing Belle and having to explain why her playboy brother is researching babies.)
And as he starts flipping through them looking for any information on ferning, he pulls out his phone and make a call about Something Number Two, the Nite's Inn. It sounds familiar somehow, but he can't remember why.
His phone rings and it's his old partner, Killian on the line.
"Hey mate." Killian said.
"What's been going on in your life?" Robin asked.
"Same old same old. So we good for drinks tonight?" Killian asks.
"No," Robin says, giving up on this baby book too when the glossary yields no entry under the word ferning or salivary. "Do you know the Nite's Inn?"
"You mean, do I know it from all the prostitution? Or do I know it from all the murder?"
"Oh. Oh man."
"Why?" Killian asks. "You got a lead from there you need to follow?"
"Not a lead exactly," Robin says slowly, glancing out of his windshield. "I've, uh. I've got a date I'm meeting there."
Robin has to hold the phone all the way out to the side when Killian laughs.
And laughs.
And laughs.
"Oh my God," he wheezes. "Oh my God. A date. At the Nite's Inn."
"She picked it," Robin says defensively.
"I bet she did. And did you meet her through an ad on Craigslist? Or on a street corner? Did you finally fuck your way through an entire county's worth of non-hookers?"
"No, no, no. This woman's a librarian." And he's about to add, and I've agreed to get her pregnant, so we're meeting on neutral ground, but then he decides that Killian wouldn't think that was any less weird, so instead he just says, "And it's a totally normal date. Super normal. We are two normal people who are going to meet and have normal non-procreative sex."
Killian starts laughing again, wheezing and coughing. "That's what all the johns say," he squeezes in between laugh-coughs. "I hope you enjoy your normal, non-procreative sex, Locksley."
"You suck."
More laughter. "Oh man, wait until I tell everyone about this. Locksley has a date at the Nite's Inn. At the place where you pay by the hour. At the No-Tell Motel. At the Nite's—"
Robin hangs up.
"Salivary ferning," Robin read to himself, running his finger along the words. "When a woman is close to ovulation, changes in her body chemistry give the saliva a fern-like appearance as it dries, as opposed to a speckled appearance."
Huh. The more you know.
Robin closes the book and texts Regina back.
Okay, Fern Woman. I'll meet you at 8. Then he adds, Are you super sure about the Nite's Inn?
She responds right away. I'll see you then, and I'm very sure. I'm doing this on a public servant's budget! And it's close to a Steak'n Shake, so you know it's in a good neighborhood.
...Regina. Love. They found a body in that Steak'n Shake's dumpster last year.
One body and all of a sudden it's a 'bad' place. You are so judgey! I, for one, won't be scared away by that one tiny thing. I like to see the best in places.
His radio goes off in his ear—a senior is causing a disturbance at a nursing home and they need all available units to respond. With a rueful smile to himself at his idealistic little librarian, he sends her a final message and then climbs out of his car.
See you tonight, love. Don't get thrown into a dumpster before I get there.
Even though he was mostly joking about the Murder Steak'n Shake, he gets to the Nite's Inn half an hour early so that he can be extra sure she's not in the parking lot alone. It's not that Overland Park is a bad place—for the most part, it's an extremely safe suburb—but he dug around some more at work today and found out that the Nite's Inn is extremely popular with truckers and construction workers, due to its proximity to the highway, low rates, and plethora of prostitutes.
Robin tells himself that it's his normal cop instinct that wants to keep Regina safe from rough, violent men in the parking lot—he wants to keep all civilians safe, because it's what he's taken an oath to do. It's the right thing to do. He certainly would do this for any person he was meeting at an hourly motel to impregnate.
Still, he can't entirely explain away the spike of excitement he feels when he sees her climb out of her bright blue Prius C. It's lust, yes, but it's also lust for more than her body—for her laugh, for her attention, for her little gasps of breath when he touches her or surprises her. Robin leans against the back of his Audi as she approaches, not making a secret of the way his eyes trace her body, not bothering to hide the thickening ridge in his jeans at the sight of her.
The night is warm for March, and a pleasant breeze ruffles her blouse, a white buttoned affair with dainty gathered sleeves that probably have a special name. The blouse is paired with slim black pants and little ballet flats. Elegant, classy, somehow all the sexier for how casually restrained it is. Her hair is back in one of those maddening librarian buns, and he has a brief vision of cupping that head, bun and all, as she kneels in front of him and works on his belt.
"Hey," she says as she reaches him, not quite meeting his eyes.
"Hey," he replies, watching her mouth. There's the faintest glimmer of lip gloss on her lips, as if she swiped it on quickly while she was driving. The idea makes him smile...and it makes him want to kiss the gloss right off her mouth.
She looks up at him, her eyes huge and liquid in the dark. And then her gaze falls to his mouth too. He wonders if she's remembering the kiss from their first date, the feel of his hard cock pressing into her, a hard, hot ridge grinding against her clit. And then her gaze drops from his mouth to his belt, where he knows she can see that he's already hard for her. Color floods her cheeks, and she struggles to pull her eyes back up to his face.
He has to kiss her right now. Robin reaches for her, catching her by the waist with both hands and swinging her around so he's got her caged against the car. "I'm hungry for your mouth," he tells her, dropping his lips to hers. "So hungry."
She breathes against his mouth, her entire body trembling. "Robin…" she says, sounding dazed. "We shouldn't…"
"Why not?" Robin asks, nibbling at the corners of her mouth, at the bowed curve of her lower lip. Her lips taste like berries, sweet and ripe.
"Because...oh…"
He's moved to her jaw now, kissing his way to her neck, where he bites and sucks as much as he pleases, still keeping her caged against the car.
"Why, Regina?" he asks again, his lips tickling the shell of her ear. "Because why?"
She is squirming against him now, not in the struggling way, but in the way where she's trying to get her pelvis closer to his, seeking out any source of friction she can find. He gives her his thigh, and she makes this little grunt of satisfaction that drives him absolutely crazy, squirming down onto the hard muscle of his leg as if her life depended on it. Her fingers are digging into his biceps, and the heat of her on his leg is insane, even through their clothes.
"You like that, love?" he whispers in her ear. "You can ride any part of me as long as you please, so long as you let me kiss you too."
"I...we shouldn't kiss," she says hazily. When he pulls back to look into her face, her eyes are glossy and her cheeks are flushed.
"But I think you'd like it," he says, pushing his thigh a little harder against her core.
Her eyes flutter. "I would, I did...but it's not smart." Her words come out breathless and stilted. "Because we should just focus on the...you know…"
"On the fucking?"
The word from his lips seems to focus her attention. Like laser focus. He can feel her trembling against him. "Right. The fucking."
"So you don't consider kissing a part of the fucking?" He's genuinely interested in this. He's never met a girl who didn't want to have the breath kissed right out of her by him. And anyway, he really wants to kiss Regina. Like really, really, really wants to. Wants to feel those plush lips give in to his, wants to taste them, wants to flick his tongue against hers. He's probably beat off two or three times a day thinking about the kiss after their first date, and the urge to have another dirty, dirty kiss like that with her is unbearable.
But if she genuinely doesn't want to, then he'll abide by her wishes. After all, he's a pretty creative guy, for a cop. He can come up with a thousand other dirty things he can do with her that will scratch his librarian-shaped itch.
"I just don't want to feel, ummmm…" she trails off as he rocks his thigh from side to side, her hands moving from his biceps to fist in his leather jacket. "...confused. It's too intimate."
"Kissing is too intimate, but trying to get you pregnant isn't?" Robin asks.
"People get pregnant in doctors' offices. With syringes. It doesn't have to be intimate, not like kissing."
She tilts her chin up, a little show of defiance, but she's still pressing herself hard against him. He tilts his head quizzically. "Are you calling my dick a syringe?"
A small giggle escapes her, and he leans closer to run his fingers along her ribs to tickle her. She laughs harder.
"No. Well, maybe."
"Love, they don't make syringes like what I'm packing. If they did, the doctor's office would be the most popular place in town."
"I didn't say it was a bad thing. I'm excited to use your syringe." Then she flushes even deeper, as if she can't believe she just said that out loud.
Robin laughs too. She's so fucking adorable. He should stop bothering her about this kissing thing, but he can't help but ask, his voice laced with hope and caution:
"Is it something I can earn?"
She blinks at him, her body going still against his. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I want to earn it. If I prove myself to you, if I can prove myself a good man. Can I earn it? Earn kissing you?"
She's trembling again, biting her lip, still clutching his jacket. She finally meets his eyes and gives him a single nod.
Sweet.
And in the meantime…
"So for now you want to keep our insemination appointments strictly about the insemination?" Robin asks, already dreaming up some schemes.
"Yes," she replies, sounding relieved and disappointed all at once. "Just keep it about the insemination."
"Well, I'm here for whatever you need, love. But I've been doing some reading online—" Robin drops down to one knee and then the other in front of her, his hands easily working open the clasp to the front of her pants "—and I read that you need lubricant for insemination. For syringes." he winks up at her; she looks shocked.
"Robin, what are you doing?"
He wiggles the fly of her dress pants open, revealing a very cute pair of black panties. There's lace and ribbons and shit. Fucking awesome.
The rough concrete of the old parking lot digs into his knees, but he doesn't care. He tugs Regina's pants down to the middle of her thighs and then presses his mouth against that spot between her legs, kissing her right through the lace of her panties before he tugs them out of the way.
"Oh," Regina whimpers. She slumps against his Audi. "Oh."
Panties pulled to the side, he presses his lips against the top of her folds, his nose pushing into the firm skin of her mound. She smells like some kind of feminine body wash, the kind that has pictures of fruit and vanilla sticks on the label, and her panties smell like clean laundry. And under all that he can smell her, the smell of damp arousal. Vividly, the sense memory of her smell and taste from their first date hits him, the sharp, sweet taste of her on his fingers as he licked it off.
Fuck, he's hard. He's so hard that he can feel his pulse in his cock. So hard that he can feel pearls of pre-cum beading at his tip. He didn't wear boxers tonight, and he can feel the denim rubbing against his need.
"Robin," Regina protests weakly. "You can't…"
He looks up at her, his lips still pressed to her panties.
"We can't," she repeats.
He pulls away slightly with a grin. "This is part of the insemination, love."
"Someone will see us."
"I already checked before you got here. There're no cameras on this side of the lot, and we're in the shadows. No one from the road or the hotel can see us. Plus, people are on their knees in this parking lot all the time."
"Oh," she says, as if she feels like she should protest more, but can't remember what she needs to protest about.
"Do you want me to stop because you don't want my tongue against your clit? Or is it because you're worried about getting caught?"
"I, um, I do want that. The first thing you said. I want it. The thing about your tongue—fuck."
The moment she concedes she wants it, he hooks her panties farther to the side so he can access her clit, her folds. With her legs together like this, he can't tongue her deep, he can't lap up every bit of her taste like he wants to, but he can stroke her clit. He can flick the tip of his tongue against it, he can take it between his teeth and suck, he can cover her in nibble-marks and beard-burn.
And even as shallow and light as it is, he feels her begin to tense and thrash against the Audi. She makes that little noise again—half grunt, half whimper—and without thinking, his hand drops to his belt, working it open so he can give his cock a few rough yanks as he continues eating her. He loves being on his knees like this for her, dirty and fast, his cock throbbing, her losing all that reserve and distance and sliding her hands against his head, not to make his work her harder or faster, but simply to feel the tickle of his hair against her palms.
And right as she nears the edge, right as her thighs begin to tighten, he pulls away and gets to his feet, wiping his mouth and giving her his biggest grin as he loosely belts himself up. His cock whines at him.
"What are you doing?" she asks dazedly. "Why are you doing it?"
"I'm keeping it all about the insemination, like we agreed. Just getting you ready for…"
"...don't even say it…"
"My syringe."
Regina lets out a groan and her head falls back. "I regret saying that now. I regret letting you unbutton my pants. I regret everything."
In response, he tugs her pants back up her hips and buttons them, giving her core gentle squeeze as he does. "I guarantee you won't be saying that tomorrow morning. Now, are you ready for me to put a baby inside you?"
"God, yes."
Ten minutes later¸ they're standing in possibly the most disgusting room Robin's ever been in. And having been on multiple dead body calls and multiple elderly hoarder calls, that's saying something.
"I think," Regina pronounces, bravely stepping deeper into the hotel room, "that it has a certain charm."
She hits the lights—only two bulbs buzz on and then one of them promptly buzzes back off. There's a dusting of dead bugs inside the light dish and several fluttering alive insects right underneath it.
"You can't just say that shitty things have charm, and make it be so," he tells her, exasperated. To prove his point, he flips back the covers on the bed. Something dark and beetle-like scuttles out of sight. He tugs a miniature black light out of his back pocket and shines it on the sheets. In the dim light of the dying, bug-covered bulb, they can see well enough that the sheets are covered in stains. Stains that glow neon bright, like a sign flashing: DON'T SLEEP ON ME.
"This is worse than I thought," Robin mumbles, backing away from the bed. Out of curiosity, he shines the black light on the walls.
"Oh God," Regina gasps in horror, both hands coming up to cover her mouth. "Was a pig slaughtered in here?"
"Either that or someone had a very good night." He clicks the black light off and turn to face his soon-to-be baby mama.
"Well," she says, squaring her shoulders and starting to unbutton her blouse. "Babies have been conceived in worse."
"What?"
She gives him a very librarian look. "I mean, historically and globally speaking. It's only our modern, Western sense of sterile hygiene that makes this seem gross—"
"Babe," he cuts her off. "If you get in that bed naked, I guarantee you'll get pregnant. But it might not be mine."
She looks back at the bed, considering.
"In fact, it definitely won't be mine because I am not getting in that bed naked with you."
Her face seems to fall the slightest bit. "I just...I can't really afford something nicer, and it didn't feel right to suggest my place, and..." She trails off and shrugs, not making eye contact with him.
He softens. Well, his heart softens. His cock is still raring to go, especially since he can still smell her on his skin.
"Look, Regina. I'll tell you what. There's about—" he checks his watch and instantly consults his mental baseball schedule "—forty minutes left in the ballgame. What do you say we go grab some wings and some beer, watch the game, and I'll take care of the rest."
She sighs. "Dinner? Drinks? That's not keeping it just about the insemination, Robin."
God he loves it when she says his name. Even with a sigh. He walks over to her and pull her into him, and to his surprise, she lets him, folding perfectly against his chest and burying her face there.
"I really want wings right now."
She snorts against his chest.
"And I want you to have your baby, kitten, I really do."
"But?" she says morosely, still pressed into his chest.
He finds her chin and tilts her face up to him. "But you deserve better than this room. So does your baby. I know you think that every part of this has to be hard, and maybe lots of it will be. But this—this room—this is something I can make easier, okay? Let me help."
"Why would you help me? I'm basically forcing you into this, anyway."
"Because I like you? Too much for you to get bedbugs? Also I don't want the bedbugs?"
"Okay," she relents. "Take me to wings and beer."
"Give me your phone." Robin says as they finish their wings.
She chews on her lip for a second but hands it over. He plugs in an address and hands it back to her. "Meet you there in fifteen minutes. And I'm taking care of it, okay?"
"Okay," she says slowly, looking down at her phone. He sees the moment she realizes where the address is, what hotel it is. "Holy shit, Robin. No, you can't do this."
"I look forward to arguing with you once we get there. But let's do it while I've got my face buried in between your legs."
She flushes and mumbles something.
He gives her bottom a little swat. "Now, into your car, little kitten. I can't leave until you're safely on your way."
She shoots him a look that borders on indignant, but poutily so. And then she gets into her car, buckles up and drives away.
Bare.
The mere word sends a shiver through him as he pulls into the parking garage of the Raphael Hotel. Robin hasn't fucked bare since he was in high school with his first girlfriend. There was a broken condom once in college and a round of just-the-tip with a woman in his academy class that ended in some 'friendly fire'.
When he strolls into the lobby, Regina is already there and ready to argue some more. The hotel's too nice, she protests, he's too nice, nobody should be nice to her because it makes her feel guilty, and so on. He just keeps nodding as he checks in at the desk and as they take the elevator up to the room, injecting the occasional noise so that she thinks he's listening.
He's not though. Instead, he's watching her argue that he's being too nice by insisting on fucking her in a place without bedbugs. (It also has HBO. And free breakfast. And an oversized bathtub. And a Keurig.) And he then wonders if that's one of the reasons she wants a child of her own so much, if a parent-child relationship is the only kind of connection where she can imagine being completely unconditional. Completely free of the fears that seem to bother her now.
The elevator doors open and they're walking down the hall, Regina still arguing, and finally, he just cages her against the wall right there in the hallway and nuzzles his nose into her neck since she won't let him kiss her.
"I thought we were going to save this argument for when my face was between your legs," he murmurs, still nuzzling.
She shivers, tilting her head to grant him access to more of her neck. "I just don't like feeling like I owe you," she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as he moves his mouth over her earlobe.
"You made me sign a contract saying that we don't owe each other anything, right?"
"Right."
"And I hope you don't think I'm cruel enough to want something in return for a nicer hotel room."
She bites her lip. "No...I don't think that. I mean, I don't think it would be cruel for you to want something in return, but I also think you wouldn't ask it because you're already going to have sex with me anyway."
She's pressing up against him, breathing fast, and he pulls his head back to study her face with narrowed eyes. If he didn't know better, he'd think this librarian wants to owe him something. Not with the better part of her brain, certainly, but all this talk of owing and cruelty has her awfully worked up.
And that has him worked up.
"I could be cruel though," he says carefully, studying her face. "I could decide that you owed me."
"And how would you make me pay you back?" she whispers, pupils dilated wide and dark. Yeah, she's into it.
"You've already promised me yourself," he says. "But there are other ways…" he runs the pads of two fingers along her lips and then slides the fingers into her mouth. She sucks without him telling her, and he almost comes in his pants.
"Come on," he growls, removing his fingers and grabbing her hand. He practically yanks her the rest of the way to their room, not letting go even as he digs for the keycard and taps it against the lock.
Once they're in the room, he doesn't waste any time noticing how much nicer it is than the one at the Nite's Inn, he only notices her, only pay attention to her. To the high spots of color in her cheeks and the pulse thudding in her throat.
"I need to see you," he says, shrugging off his leather jacket and pulling off his T-shirt. "Let me see you, Regina."
Her eyes flare at the sight of his naked chest and torso, and then, unexpectedly, she seems to falter, to grow shy.
"I, um…" she moves her purse from her shoulder and opens it up. "I need to get dressed first."
His brow wrinkles. "Dressed? That's moving in the wrong direction, sweetheart." Then he has a thought. "Is this like a coy way of saying you need to go brush your teeth or something?"
She swallows and shakes her head. "I need to change," she elaborates.
"Change into what?"
She sets her shoulders back, lifting her chin with that proud look he adores so much. "If you must know, I bought a thing. A sexy thing. Lingerie."
Mmm, lingerie. Now that's the L word every man wants to hear. He definitely will require her to wear that for him soon. Very soon.
But not now. Now, he needs to fuck her before his cock explodes.
He's trying to think of a non-caveman way to express this when she admits, in a voice that manages to be defiant and faltering all at once, "I wanted to make sure you were in the mood when the time came."
He has no response to this. Does she think him groping her in the parking lot and again in the hallway means he's not in the mood?
"Regina. Come here for a second."
She hesitates, thinking, but then she takes a step toward him. And another. And he finds her hand with his and presses it flat against his thick erection. "You don't need to wear lingerie for me. You can if you want to, but this is how you have me in slacks and a blouse that buttons up to your neck. You could be wearing one of those giant padded suits we use to train the police dogs, and I'd still want to take you to bed."
He lets go of her hand but she doesn't move it from his cock. Fuck, it feels good.
"I just…" she swallows. "It's been a little while for me, and I'm worried that I've forgotten how it all works. How to make it fun for both of us."
He leans forward, enough so that he can circle his nose around hers. She breathes in a jagged breath as he does, tilting her mouth up, but he's careful not to kiss her. "How long has it been, Regina? How long is 'a little while'?"
"Um, just some time."
He gives her jaw a little nip, not hard, just enough to send a shudder through her. "How long?" He repeats.
"Two," she whispers.
"Two weeks?"
"No."
He frowns, pulling away. "Two months?"
She draws herself up and meets his eyes with an expression he can't read. "It's been two years."
His mind goes blank; her words don't make any sense to him, don't compute. Two years without sex? Seven hundred and thirty days? Seven hundred and thirty and a half days, scientifically speaking?
"How?" He asks. Her hand is still on his dick, and he is finding it impossible to actually process this information.
"Well," she explains, "the last time I had sex was two years ago. That's how."
"You're fucking gorgeous," he says, still confused. "I wanted to tackle you and fuck you right there in that school parking lot the first day I met you. Surely even if you didn't want a relationship, you would have had no trouble finding a man who would—"
"It just never felt right," she says. "After my last boyfriend dumped me, I tried hooking up with a guy I met at a bar, and it was fine, but it still felt like being vulnerable. It still felt like opening up to someone, even though it was supposed to be casual. I don't want to open up, and I don't need to. I can take care of those needs on my own. I have a fantastic vibrator."
But masturbating is not the same, he wants to argue. Part of sex is the sweat and the sighs, the give of another person's flesh, the smell of their hair, the taste of their lips. But then something else occurs to him, and it wipes all other thoughts out of his mind.
"Does this mean I'll be the first man inside you in two years?"
She nods, a shy smile on her face. Robin wants to nibble that smile, he wants to gobble her up, he wants to bite and possess her. And for the first time in three days, the twisting part of his chest and the rational part of his brain are in full agreement. His cock agrees too: they have to make this good for her. It's a huge honor to be the man she's chosen not only to father her child, but to make love to her after so long—she deserves for this to be good. Better than good. Perfect.
Also, his cock reminds her, there's something very exciting in the idea of being the first man inside that her in so long. Almost as if it were saved for him. As if it were his to possess.
"I've been thinking about it all week," she confesses. "What it will feel like. If it will feel tight and big and full. If you'll stretch me."
He groans. "You're killing me, Regina."
Another shy smile. "I can't wait to see you."
He reaches for her blouse and she lets him, moving her hand from his cock—boo—up to his exposed chest, which does feel pretty good. As he unbuttons her shirt, she runs wandering fingers all over his chest and abs and shoulders and arms, her eyes wide and her lips parted.
"I like you touching me like that," he rumbles. And he so fucking does, it's like having his ego and his body petted at the same time.
"You're so strong," she marvels. Then she squeezes his biceps so tightly he can feel her fingernails dig into his skin.
He lets out a hiss, but it's a good hiss, and her voice is low and needy when she says, "Hurry, Robin."
She doesn't have to tell him twice. He finishes with the buttons and slides the silky fabric from her shoulders, where it flutters to the ground.
"Fuck me," he mumbles, drinking in the sight of her skin, the smoothness of her belly, the delicious weight of her breasts in her black lace bra. Her navel is a sweet little divot on that perfect stomach, a stomach mostly firm, mostly flat, but with some softness, some curve. He has to put his mouth on it.
He drops to his knees and kisses her belly button, running his lips and then his tongue around the indent of it. His touch seems to surprise her; she jolts the second his tongue touches her skin. But her hands thread through his hair, keeping his mouth against her skin, making it clear she wants more.
He gives her more. He kisses and licks along the lines of her stomach, he nibbles until it tickles and she's giggling breathlessly, and then once he thinks he's got her relaxed and comfortable with him again, he slowly works her pants open, looking up at her from his knees as he does. "Is it okay if I finish what I started earlier?"
"Yes," she murmurs. "I would like that."
Once he has her pants unfastened, he leans back onto his heels and brings her foot onto his thigh, where he gently eases off her ballet flat. Then again on the other side. He runs a finger along the arch of her foot before he sets it down, not to tickle but just to enjoy the feeling of her skin, to enjoy the way every touch of his seems to light her on fire.
Then he pulls her pants down her legs and helps her step out of them, so she's standing in front of him in her matching bra-and-panty set. Keeping eye contact, he slides his hands up the outside of her thighs to her hips, taking a moment to squeeze and grope her ass, and then he hooks his fingers in her panties and drags them down, exposing her core to him completely.
His cock aches the moment he sees it, and he can't resist the urge to lean in and give it a kiss. He can smell her, can see that she's already so fucking wet, and it makes him just want to shove his face in there and make her figure out trivial details like balance and keeping herself spread for him while he eats her.
But no, she deserves better. Which is why he stands up after dropping a light kiss on her clit and reaches around her with one hand and easily unfastens her bra.
"You're really good at that," she says.
Normally he would say something like of course I am or I've had lots of practice, baby, but it doesn't feel right at the moment. So he helps her pull the bra off, and then he stands back and looks at her. Just looks at her. Completely naked for him.
How did he get so lucky?
"You're beautiful," he tells her in a husky voice. "Fucking gorgeous."
Her tits are perfect teardrops with dark tips just begging to be sucked, and they're already puckered into tight buds for him. "I'm going to suck on those," he informs her. "Just so you know."
"Okay," she breathes.
"A lot."
"Okay."
"It will be good practice for when the baby comes."
"It's for the baby," she repeats, dazed. "Right."
"But right now, I have to finish something else. Get on the bed for me and on your back, please."
She obeys, climbing on the bed, looking more like a sleek cat than ever. And then she slowly stretches out on her back while he works open his belt. Her eyes darken at the sight, goose bumps cropping up on her skin as she hears the leather slide against his jeans as he pulls the belt free. He drops it on the ground and pops open the buttons of his jeans to give his straining cock some relief.
He crawls up on the bed in between her legs, coming to rest on his stomach with her core mere inches from his face. He uses his thumbs to trace along the place where her thighs meet her sex, he strokes her outside folds until she squirms. And then he uses those thumbs to spread her completely open for him, exposing the soft wet of her inner petals and the small opening to her sweetest secret. He finally gets to see and smell and taste what he couldn't in the parking lot, this wet well, this deep-rose pink of her that has been waiting for another person's touch for two years.
"Regina," he moans, because he doesn't know what else to say. He might come just from looking at her, come right in his jeans, because this is the sweetest thing he's ever seen and he doesn't even know how he's going to last more than a minute while he's fucking it.
"Please," she begs.
"I like you saying please," he admits, leaning in close so he can give her a long lick from her hole to her clit. "It's very polite."
"I'm always polite," she gasps. He licks again, this time straight into her entrance, circling and thrusting his tongue as she squirms. He has to wrap his arms around her thighs to keep her still enough for him to eat her the way that he wants.
"You are so polite," he croons in between kisses and sucks. "You let me feel you when I wanted it so badly at dinner the other night. You let me suckle your clit tonight when I wanted to. And in just a few minutes, you're going to politely spread your legs and let me take what I need. Going to let me come so hard inside you."
She moans, throwing her forearm over her eyes. "Robin…"
Two years since she's had an orgasm given to her, and he can tell. Her thighs are tight, her belly tighter, a flush creeping up her chest. He adds a finger to his efforts, then a second finger, easing her open, making her soft and swollen and ready for him. She's thrashing now, trying to close her legs, like the feeling is too much.
"I can't," she pants, twisting and writhing. "Oh God, it's too much, I can't, I can't."
"You will," he growls, sucking and licking and moving his fingers in the slow, curling way she seems to like. Underneath, his cock is throbbing and aching so badly that he can't help but rock his hips against the mattress as he can bring Regina closer and closer to orgasm. He can't wait to empty inside of her, can't wait to drain himself of every last drop deep in her, can't wait to feel her wet heat surrounding his naked skin. Consumed by that idea, he flicks his tongue over the swollen pearl of her clit faster and faster, pressing against the sensitive spot on her front walls with his fingers. He wants her wet and wrung out and wanting more by the time he's ready to push these jeans down and start pumping inside her.
Regina still chants I can't, it's too much, I can't above him, and then her body betrays her words, tightening around his mouth and fingers, tightening like ribbons around a maypole, and then finally, with a cry so low and long that it makes him groan in response, she unwinds and releases. Her body trembles and quakes, and she's got one hand clutching his hair and her other covering her eyes, as if she can't handle having the power of sight on top of all the other sensory information flooding her body. As if his hair in her fist and the pulsing in her womb are her only anchors in this world.
He almost can't stand it, the feeling of her coming this hard, the sight of it, the sound of it, and the minute her flutters slow, and her hips stop squirming, he rises up to his knees and sucks on the fingers that were just inside of her. She watches him with dark eyes, her body limp and sated beneath him.
He finally opens his jeans the rest of the way. "My turn," he says, crawling over her with a sly grin.
Regina can't take her eyes off of him. He's a god. Adonis. The way he looks. The way he moves. The way she knows he's going to fuck. But it's more than what he is that makes him divine. Because, yeah, he's beautiful, but also he makes her feel beautiful. It's been a long time since someone's made her feel like that. Like sexy beautiful. Maybe she's missed it more than she realized.
He wriggles out of his jeans as he climbs up over her, and he's good at it. Good at undressing quickly in awkward positions without getting caught in his clothes the way she would if she tried something similar.
It's a testament to how experienced he is. She should feel put off by that, but in this moment, she feels just the opposite. It's part of how he makes her feel beautiful. Because with him she feels special. She feels lucky. Robin can have anyone. A man with his resume doesn't need a contract to guarantee his bed won't be empty. Yet he wants her. Enough to agree to forego other sexual relationships for what might be several months.
And if she didn't believe it when he signed, she surely believes it now that his cock is naked and stone in front of her. He tugs on his erection. Once, twice. Her eyes widen. She senses his hunger growing, and—is it even possible?—his dick thickens before her.
She wants it. She wants it so bad. She's just come, and she's ready for more. She's desperate for more. The reason she's here, the reason she's lying beneath him, suddenly isn't foremost on her mind. She stills want a baby, but right now the only thing she wants is his cock inside her. Stretching her. Filling her.
Is it so wrong to want to fuck him as much as she does?
It's biology. It's hormones. That's what she'll tell herself later. If their bodies didn't want sex, they wouldn't want to procreate. Desire is part of the process and giving into that desire is the step she's on now.
"I've been waiting for this," Robin half mumbles, half growls as he settles between her legs and bends to swirl his tongue around her peaked nipple.
Regina tilts her hips up to meet him and feel a delicious jolt of pleasure as his crown grazes along her hole. But then he slides his length along her slit, knocking his tip against her clit. At the same time, he sucks her nipple into his mouth, sending another electric shock to her lower regions.
It's amazing and hot as hell but not where she wants him. Not where she needs him.
"Robin…" she begs, bucking her pelvis against him.
"Patience," he says, his mouth full of her tit. He squeezes her other breast with his hand, and she moans. He's enjoying tormenting her. She doesn't know how he can stand it. She can feel how hard he is as he rubs again along her slit. How big he is. It has to hurt.
She's certainly hurting. She can already feel another climax brewing. Slowly. Achingly.
"Robin!" she wriggles, trying to maneuver so she can get his tip inside her. "Please!"
He surrenders her breast and presses his forehead to her. "There it is." His lips are so close, hovering just above her mouth. For a second she thinks he might try to kiss her. Or, that she might try to kiss him. She had reasons for not kissing—good reasons. Important reasons. Crucial-to-this-whole-arrangement reasons.
She's just struggling to remember them when he says, "I was waiting for the magic word."
He reaches down between them and positions his cock at her entrance, and then, instead of thinking about his lips or wondering about kissing or not kissing, she's gasping as he pushes inside her.
"Oh my God," she pants, her eyes shut tight. He's bigger than she realized, and while it's not painful, she feels every inch of him as he slides in farther. He's hot and solid and nothing like the silicone MegaMan 2000 that's hidden in her underwear drawer. "Oh my God oh my God oh my God."
"You feel good too, babe," he rumbles before pulling out. "Open your eyes."
But she can't open her eyes. She can't look at him. It's too much to see on top of everything he's making her feel. He thrusts inside her, hitting a sensitive spot, and she jerks and cries out in surprise, because it sends her clenching in a sudden climax.
"Jesus, Regina, you're so tight when you come."
She's dizzy and dazed from this latest orgasm, but she's aware enough to feel that he has to fight so that she doesn't push him out. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her with him as he shifts onto his knees so that now she's sitting on his lap.
She opens her eyes, and there he is, right in front of her. Something in her chest tightens, and the air is suddenly missing from her lungs.
Robin grins, rocking in and out of her at a leisurely pace. "That's better."
But this is not better. Not for her. This isn't just biological desire anymore, this is… she doesn't know what this is, exactly. It feels too intimate. It feels too much like connection. It feels too good.
She doesn't like it, and she shifts, trying to get off Robin's lap.
"Hold on. I'll fix it," he says, and however he's interpreted her restlessness, he does fix it by gripping her waist and driving into her with such force she has to clutch onto him. She buries her head in his shoulder, and even though her torso is pressed against his, the lack of eye contact allows her to relax. Robin quickly finds an earnest rhythm, and once again she can believe this is just about sex. Just about feeling good for him. Just about getting to his climax for both of them.
Soon, a fine sheen of sweat covers their bodies. His muscles tense underneath her thighs, and she can tell he's close. This is one of the things that's different from getting off by herself—someone else's orgasm is as important as her own. She'd let herself remember sex with a partner as somewhat of a chore for exactly this reason.
But Robin's climax feels like anything but work, and not just because she's after his sperm. For one, he's exerting all the effort. But also she wants him to come because she's into it. She's into him. He turns her on and gets her hot like no one has in a long time, and part of what's so sexy about him is how turned on he seems to be by her.
That's not something she gets from the MegaMan 2000.
She pulls back so she can watch him. His tempo increases, and his face starts to screw up, and she's fascinated. Enthralled. That she can turn this man into this beast, that she can do this to him—it feels like a superpower. Is this how he feels when he's making her writhe and moan under his tongue? Like he's in command? Like he's in control? No wonder he moves like a god—this ability feels very almighty.
But just when she thinks he's on the brink, when she's sure he's about to release, he surprises her by pushing her to the bed and flipping her to her stomach. His dick slides out of her, and she's missing it.
"I'm not ready to be done," he says as he pushes her knees underneath her.
"Robin. The goal is releasing." The resistance in his tone is not matched by his body. His body is pliable, bending to how he wants her, because she's not ready to be done either.
He kneels behind her and pulls her hips up so she's at the right height. Then, with his cock in his hand, he rubs his crown along the slit of her swollen, soaked core. "I'll release. But first I'm going to enjoy you."
"This isn't about enjoyment," she moans. With enjoyment. "This is about making a baby."
He rubs his palm over her ass as he gently bucks his tip inside her hole. "For you, it's about a baby." He pulls out and immediately pushes just the tip in again. "For me it's about getting to be inside you for as long as possible. But if you want me to stop—"
He withdraws again, and this time he doesn't press in again right away.
"No, no!" she protests, thrusting her hips back toward him in an attempt to capture the prize. She sounds desperate and needy, and she is, even though she knows he's only teasing her, because he's going to go until he comes no matter what.
He chuckles behind her, amused by her obvious anguish.
"I mean. You're right. My reward is a baby. Your reward is the sex. So. Take your time."
"I plan to." There's that cocky grin again. The one that disintegrates her panties every time she sees it.
Guess it's a good thing she's not wearing panties. Oddly, she finds herself giving him a grin of her own. But then, without warning, he shoves all the way inside her and her smile's wiped off her face with a pleasure-filled grunt.
"Fuckkkkk, Regina." He grinds into her, slow enough that she knows he's paying attention to every sensation, just like she is. Consciously noting every point of contact. Taking the time to feel how his cock rubs her here and then here and, holy mother of holies, here.
She wriggles and twists, both trying to get away and feel more of him at once. Sounds come out of her mouth. Phrases that don't make sense. Words she barely recognizes. Please enough more. Yes. Ung. So good so good so good it's good I can't so good.
She wants him to go faster, wants him to drive the ache from her body. She reaches down between her legs and rubs at her clit, needing some sort of relief, but her touch is like fire. She's nearly ready to explode just at the graze of her fingertips, and as much as she wants it, she doesn't think she can take it. So she drops her hand and curls her fists around the bedspread, pressing her forehead into the pillows.
"Can't. Wait," Robin pants, and, finally, he abandons his sweet agonizing torture, and picks up the tempo, pounding into her with a fervent frenzy. Her belly tightens and the tightness spreads outward, through her hips. Down her thighs. Her vision blurs. Her body tingles, everywhere.
She's going to come, and Robin, she can tell, is right there with her. And as much as she'd wanted to watch him when he does, she's glad that her face is turned away from him now. Because in the beautiful chaos of this heightened state of sensations, she remembers more than just what it's like to feel beautiful. More than what it's like to watch a man come. She also remembers that, once upon a time, she wanted all of this, all the time. Once upon a time she wasn't done with men. Once upon a time she believed that being with someone like this could be something that lasts.
She knows the memory is etched on her face when the wave of pleasure washes over her and pulls her under. She's glad Robin can't see this because then he'd know she has doubts. And no one can know she has doubts. That's a secret she keeps even from herself.
She's still navigating her way through her own orgasm when Robin stills behind her. With his fingernails gripping her hips, he lets out a long, low grunt and presses his pelvis tight against her hips as he comes inside her. Then he collapses on the bed next to her with a contented sigh.
She turns her head to the side so that she can't see him and give herself a few minutes to catch her breath and gather her strength. Her limbs feel loose and weak, and she's exhausted. Her brain feels like mush, but she forces herself to think clearly. This was good—this was amazing—she'll give herself that.
But now it's over. She can't let herself get comfortable.
She's about to get up when he stirs. "You're fun," he says, nudging her back with his elbow.
"I'm fairly certain that any fun that was had was because of you."
"And you."
She glances back at him and find he's grinning with as much lust in his gaze as ever. "I assure you," she tells him in her very serious, very librarian voice, "I am not fun."
He laughs. "Whatever you say, Regina."
Then she laughs too because this has been fun. Which means maybe she is fun. When she's with him, anyway. Which is very temporary.
She starts to roll out of the bed when Robin stops her.
"Where are you going?" he asks with a note of alarm.
His reaction startles her, and she's suddenly unsure. "To...clean up?"
"No, no, no," he admonishes. He's up now and coming around to her side of the bed with a pillow in his hands. "You're not supposed to get up right away. On your back. Put this under your hips." He guides her back down and slips the pillow underneath her. "You should sit like that for at least fifteen minutes. We should say twenty to be sure. I'll set a timer." He rustles through their discarded clothes, presumably looking for his phone.
"Uh. Okay. Thank you." She's not sure how else to respond. She'd been in such haste to get out of the room before things started to feel too intimate, she'd completely forgotten one of the best practices for conceiving is keeping the hips elevated after sex.
More stunning is that this is something Robin knows. She's impressed.
And touched that he cares enough to remind her.
He's probably just concerned about his obligation to knock her up. He signed a contract and all. The sooner it happens, the sooner he's back to banging a different woman every night.
She dismisses the jealous jolt that thought sends through her. She only feels that way right now because this was the first time they've been together, and the sex was so good. By the time she's pregnant, she'll surely be over it.
But while she's still not over it…
She shamelessly admires Robin's bare ass while he bends to grab a beer out of the mini-fridge.
"You want something?" he asks when he catches her looking.
Despite everything they've just done together, she feels her face flush. "Water, I guess. Thanks."
He brings her a bottle of water and tosses his phone on the nightstand, facing it so she can see the timer. Next he picks up the television remote, and after flipping through most of the channels too fast to see what's on, he finally settles on ESPN. Then he stretches out on the bed by her, one hand cradling his head, the other holding his beer.
He's still naked.
And he seems to have no intention of changing that anytime soon.
She gapes, but he doesn't notice. She rubs her eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe she's being too rigid. It's twenty minutes. He should be allowed that time to enjoy his beer.
"What does your tattoo mean?"
He glances at her. Then he turns his bicep so he can see his ink, and with his left hand, he points at the base of his tat. "This is a coat of arms from my family's line."
"Why did you want to be a cop?" Regina asks.
"I'm a cop because I want to stand up to injustice. Fight for the good guys. Like Captain America. That's all." He scowls, and it's sexy and adorable and funny all at once.
"Your nephews love you, I can tell."
He jerks his head slightly like it's no big deal. "They're like my kids. I probably won't have any of my own. I'm already thirty-three. It's not like I'm settling down anytime soon. Or ever. So they're the closest thing I've got. That means something to me."
Their gazes lock.
"Or, you know," he says carefully. "I probably won't have any besides yours. And that one won't actually be mine. So."
The air suddenly feels heavy. Tense.
What if her baby-to-be is Robin's only kid? What if he never has any others? This man who would obviously make such a good father... Does that change things? Does that mean something to her?
"Regina…" he begins, but whatever he's going to say is cut off by the buzz of the timer sounding from his phone.
"I need to go," she says, bolting up from the bed. She has to get out of here. She has to be somewhere that he's not. Somewhere where his presence and his life story won't tempt her to care about him or his future or whether or not he'll ever be a dad. It's not her place to care.
"Go where? It's late. We have the room all night." He seems truly surprised by her sudden desire to leave.
She pauses while gathering her clothes and stares at him incredulously. "We can't stay here together, Robin."
"Sure we can."
"No. We can't." How did he not think that spending the night together would cross the line from baby insemination to way too intimate? This was supposed to be detached. Sex and nothing more. She should never have allowed the wings or the fancy hotel or so many orgasms. Somewhere she lost control, and she has to get hold of the reins and not let things happen like this again.
Okay, maybe the orgasms can stay. But the rest has to go.
A beat passes, and for a second she's afraid he's going to continue to argue.
But then he says, "Okay. Right. Of course." Though he doesn't appear happy with her proclamation, he seems to get why she's proclaiming it. "But you should stay. I'll go." He stands and grabs his jeans from the floor.
"No, I couldn't do that."
"Yes, you can." He's already got his pants half on.
And now she feels like scum. "That's not fair. You paid for the room, a room you shouldn't have paid for in the first place." She runs a hand through her hair, considering what to do. "Maybe if we check out now they'll give you your money back. We haven't been here that long."
"This isn't the kind of place they rent by the hour, sweetheart. One of us is staying, and it should be you." She starts to protest again, but he cuts her off. "I have to be at work at six a.m. tomorrow, which means I'll miss out on the courtesy breakfast, which is the best part of staying here."
"But—"
He puts his hands on her upper arms and bends to meet her eyes. "They have crème brûlée French toast, Regina."
"That's—"
"Crème brûlée. French toast." He says the words slowly. Prayerfully. "Someone has to eat that, kitten. We can't both miss out."
A thousand arguments flash through her mind in the space of a mere second, and she knows in her gut that he has a comeback for every single one.
"Fine. But I don't have to be happy about it," she huffs dramatically, dropping her clothes to the floor in a dramatic flourish. Now she's naked and has nothing to hide behind, which is kind of awkward when just the sight of Robin moving around half undressed makes her nipples hard. She goes to the closet and find a courtesy robe inside. She wraps it around herself and when she turns back to him, he's nearly fully clothed.
She tells herself she's not disappointed. They're going to have to do this whole banging thing again. She'll still have more naked Robin time. Just not tonight. And not so personal next time.
He looks at her gravely as he threads his belt through his pant loops. "Turn the deadbolt after I leave, okay?"
"Okay," she says half-heartedly.
"This hotel has a good reputation, but I won't be able to sleep if I don't know you're safe."
"I'll lock it."
"I'm serious," he says, fastening his buckle. He starts for the door. "I won't leave until I hear it latch."
He's making her feel worse. He's too sweet. Too good.
"I'm right behind you. You'll hear it lock." She follows after him, wishing she didn't want to invite him to stay. Wishing it was easier to watch him go.
He opens the door and pauses. "Text me."
"With the next meet-up? Or to let you know I locked the deadbolt?"
He narrows his eyes at her with the same warning that made her skin tingle earlier. Now it makes her thighs tremble. She knows if he stayed there'd be another round of fucking, and she almost convinces herself that it's a good idea, for conception prospects, of course.
Except she wants him to stay too much. Which is precisely why it's not a good idea at all.
His eyes flicker to her lips then back to her eyes. "You can just text. Anytime. No reason. Send pics if you want."
"I'm not sending you dirty pics!"
"I was thinking more like pics of that French toast. But if you have other ideas…."
Grinning despite herself, she pushes him into the hallway and holds the door open with her shoulder. "Shut up and go," she tells him, wondering if he can see how much she really wants him to stay.
"Shut the door and lock it," he retorts.
She shuts the door and waits a beat before locking it, savoring the knowledge that he's still there, on the other side, until he hears the click.
TBC...
