Meant for Me

Chapter Three

Ivy

I hate that I’m freaking Eric out.

He tossed and turned all night after I confirmed my travel plans with Will. I’m leaving for L.A. tonight on a red-eye out of New York. Eric’s going to take half a day off and drive me to the airport. He called his buddy Jack to cover for him. He’ll drive the tractor and Eric’s dad Frank will take my place behind the register. Luckily they were both able to pitch in and help out on such short notice. Next week, Eric is going to rotate schedules between the two of them and Ben. Hopefully they’ll be able to tough it out until I get back.

I watch Eric sleep fitfully as the sun shines through the skylight above our bed, causing him to scrunch his eyelids. He looks so cute as he unconsciously throws an arm across his face to deflect the glare. My stomach clenches, and this time not from morning sickness, although it’s been pretty bad these last few months. I feel a pang, knowing that I won’t be waking up next to him for at least a week. We’ve only lived together since July, but the log cabin he built with his own two hands already feels like home. It’s up to me to make these last few hours we have together count.

I’m in one of his freshly laundered t-shirts, the white, short-sleeved style he regularly wears under his plaid shirts. I’m kicking myself for being so fastidious with the household chores because now I wish it smelled like him instead of fabric softener. I’m going to need something of his to help me fall asleep when I’m by myself in a strange hotel room.

I bite my lip to keep from crying. I can do this. I have to be strong, for him and for our baby. I’m not going to have him shouldering the financial load all by himself, not if I can help it. I refuse to strap him with any more burdens. For all intents and purposes, he’s supporting me right now, and it doesn’t make me feel good about myself. I’ve always pulled my own weight for as long as I can remember. I’ve never taken handouts from anybody before, and I don’t intend to start now.

Since our first night together, he’s always slept naked beside me. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I feel his erection press against the back of my thigh, and so far the only name he’s called out in his sleep has been mine. I’ve been dreading the moment when he cries out for Cassidy, but it hasn’t happened yet. It seems like he’s really and truly over her.

I glance over as he rolls onto his back, still unable to fully relax. He’s already pitching a tent, the sheet standing straight up below his waist. I chuckle to myself. He’s definitely ready for me. It’s time to make my move and start pampering my man with the precious moments we have left.

The feather mattress sinks beneath me as I get to my knees. Yanking down the sheet, I take a minute to commit his body to memory. I could stare at him all day long, but the clock is ticking. Scooting closer, I lift one leg over his waist to straddle him. He likes when I’m on top, especially when he sits up to join me. That’s a favorite position of ours, even though sometimes he likes to turn me around and take me from behind. I think it reminds him of our first time down on his couch when he tore me out of my black Jackie O. dress.

Before that night, I never had much experience with guys. My one hook-up was with Andre, the foreign exchange student from Ukraine whose dorm room was across the hall from mine sophomore year. We were always bumping into each other, making pathetic attempts at conversation. One Sunday morning, after a night out drinking with Sophie and the girls, we found ourselves between shower stalls. Stepping out, he took one look at me. I took one look at him. And bam…my virginity was a thing of the past. It was over in about twenty-five seconds, and I didn’t come anywhere close to achieving an orgasm. Sadly, we never had a chance at a second opportunity before the semester ended. He journeyed back to his homeland and that was that.

It was stupid having unprotected sex with someone I barely knew. And because of the language barrier, we never really had a real conversation. But I just wanted that dreaded rite of passage to be over with. I was sick of being the only one with an intact hymen among my group of friends. No one likes being the freak. I know I sure didn’t.

I haven’t revealed much about my sexual history to Eric. He’s kind of possessive like that, and I don’t think he likes the fact that he wasn’t my first. To be honest, I have mixed feelings about it. I don’t think I would’ve been as confident coming into this relationship without any kind of experience under my belt. Up until then, Cassidy was the love of his life. I was pitting myself against some serious competition. If I had been a virgin on top of all that, I would’ve been a complete basket case.

And I find it seriously hot that Eric was only with one other woman besides me. He wasn’t a player or sowing his wild oats after Cassidy died. He knew what it was like to be in love, and he was capable of restraint—two qualities that hooked me from the get-go. I knew that if I found the courage to trust him with my heart, he’d return my love with nothing but loyalty and devotion—as long as we stayed far away from the machinations of Lauren Price.

I need to drive any thoughts of that evil bitch right out of my head. I’m not going to have her ruin my morning with Eric. But I can’t prevent a surge of anger from coursing through me when I remember how she refused to sign off on Professor Tate’s form letter, denying me of my internship credits and basically canceling out the time I spent at the Weekend Express, my replacement assignment. Without her signature, I didn’t have enough hours to complete the requirements stated in the academic catalog. Her maneuver prevented me from enrolling in the courses I needed to finish my degree at the main campus. I couldn’t move forward without securing another placement, and since I am living in an area with more cornfields than media outlets, it was virtually impossible to secure a new position before the fall semester started.

Lauren’s efforts to derail my career were a complete success. She won, but I walked away with Eric. And it’s been eating at her ever since. Her bogus—although very public—display of affection with Eric went a long way toward cementing the image of them as a couple in the public’s mind. Everyone was rooting for Eric to make a fresh start. They were all pulling for him to find love again, just not with an outsider like me. They wanted him with one of their own. I was too young, too poor, too blah compared to Lauren. Eric could do so much better.

And I thought so too until Will contacted me out of the blue about his screenplay. He was having trouble nailing the local color the producers so desperately wanted when they visited our town last summer. They were considering moving on to another project if he couldn’t deliver what they were looking for by the end of the year.

Admittedly, Will is more of a schmoozer than a writer. He can talk a good game, but he just can’t translate his big ideas onto the page. If I didn’t step in and help him, he would have been in danger of losing his funding. Eric was leery of the idea, but he knew I needed this. He didn’t trust Will, but he was happy to see me writing again, putting my talent to good use.

Every spare minute I could cram into the day, I spent clicking away on my laptop, sending various drafts to Will for approval. I had never written a screenplay before, so I stuck mostly to dialogue, leaving out elements like camera angles, storyboards, and set design. I was in over my head, but I was having fun—and secretly getting even with Lauren in the process, making her the villain of the piece.

Up until this point, the producers liked what I was doing. Everything was going fine until Will texted that something was up. He didn’t elaborate when I called him back. He was rounding up the partners for an emergency meeting, and he needed my ass on a plane, pregnant or not. He was in one of his frantic moods and barely had time to write my flight number on his hand before hanging up on me. Whatever it was that had him so rattled didn’t bode well for the project. I had to help him salvage things. I owed it to Will.

Glancing down, I find that Eric is awake, watching me. I was so lost in thought. I didn’t even realize he was up. I’ll deal with Will when I get to L.A., but for now, my attention is focused on Eric. For the first time, I know what it’s like to be placed at the center of someone else’s universe because Eric gave me what Will never could—his heart and soul. He taught me what true love is all about. And he continues to teach me, both in and out of the bedroom.

“Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well?” He brushes my cares aside with one sweep of his hand, smoothing my hair away from my face. I’m still sitting on top of him, so it’s no wonder he’s awake. I’ve already gained about fifteen pounds with this pregnancy. I’m not exactly as light as a feather anymore.

“I did, but I don’t think you slept so well.” I frown, worried that he’s not going to get any rest at all when I’m gone.

“I didn’t disturb you, did I?” He sits up, lightly sliding me off him. I’m a little put out that he doesn’t want to fool around. He must be really tired.

I shake my head, trying to hide my disappointment. I can’t remember the last time he rejected my advances. Ever since I moved in, he’s been at my beck and call. Yeah, he has me spoiled, but we’re not going to see each other for a week. This is like our last chance to have sex, so why is he wasting it?

He yawns, stretching his arms above his head. He gazes at me sleepily under hooded lids. He has dark circles under his eyes, and it makes me nervous when I think about how much driving he has to do today. Three hours to the airport and three hours back—and he already looks exhausted.

It’s such a busy time of year at the garden center, and I’m abandoning him in the midst of the madness. I suck at being a girlfriend. God only knows what kind of mother I’m going to make. I just don’t want to let my new family down.

He notices the pensive expression on my face and draws my feet onto his lap. With his strong hands, he begins massaging each arch, one at a time, and it feels like heaven. I fall back among the pillows as he works his magic. This has become our morning ritual. He reaches back, grabbing the bottle of body lotion off the end table. Squeezing some onto his hands, he runs his palms up my leg all the way to the knee. I look up through the skylight at a flock of birds flying overhead as he begins to do the same thing to my other leg. I close my eyes and smile. He’s going to make a great father. I can picture him doting over our baby, just like he’s doting over me. The lotion even smells like baby powder.

But I have to stop being so needy. I want to give him some tender loving care before I go—and more than just getting the mud stains out of his jeans and preparing pre-cooked meals for the freezer. I want to do something special for him.

Getting off the bed, I grab his hand, dragging him along with me. He laughs, amused by whatever it is I’m up to. Groaning, he walks over to the dresser, taking out a fresh pair of boxers. I try to hide my disappointment that he’s getting dressed as I head into the bathroom. He must really not be in the mood this morning.

I pull a tiny stool out of the corner and place it in front of the sink. Digging through the shelves, I find what I’m looking for. Everything else I need is either on the counter or in one of the drawers.

“Hey, what are you up to?” Eric surprises me, kissing the top of my head while snuggling me from behind. He’s only wearing his boxers. That’s a good sign. They’re easy enough to remove. My eyes find his in the bathroom mirror as he drapes his arm protectively across my stomach. “Are you feeling okay? The last couple of mornings have been a little rough on you.”

Oh jeez, he heard me. Maybe that’s why he’s backing off. I thought he was already gone when I was on my knees, clutching the rim of the toilet bowl. But he must’ve been downstairs with Shep, who always renders his plaintive doggie wails whenever I’m battling a case of morning sickness. Shep’s howling undoubtedly muffled Eric’s anxious footsteps. I didn’t even know he was down there listening to me. How humiliating. I’m not even comfortable with Eric hearing me pee behind a closed door, never mind puking my guts out.

“I’m fine,” I reply before turning to face him. “Sit down.”

He raises an eyebrow, not even bothering to hide the smirk forming on his lips. I think he likes when I get all bossy with him. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, acting like he’s ready to obey my every command.

I turn on the faucet, waiting for the water to warm up. This close, I can see the tiny freckles dotting his shoulders. I want nothing more than to bend down and kiss each one, but I have a job to do. I can’t allow myself to get distracted—not yet. Eric starts stroking the back of my leg as I get everything ready. He’s waiting patiently, not sure of what to expect.

Once the water is lukewarm, I gently nudge his back, urging him to lean forward as I drape a towel around his shoulders. Trailing my fingers over his neck, I ease him into a reclining position. He gets the drift of where this is going as he gazes up at me, his head resting above the sink. There’s nothing but adoration in his eyes as I touch his face, my hand lingering on his cheek.

I hover over him, pausing for a minute. It’s hard to concentrate with him looking at me like that. I grip the edge of the counter. If I give in now, it’s all over, and I really want to do this for him. I take a deep breath, willing myself to continue.

I cup my hand under the running water and start wetting his hair. I work my fingers through it as he turns his head, allowing me to get the sides. His strong jawline stands out even more in profile. I feel his breath skim my breasts through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, causing my nipples to harden in response. Seeing how my body is reacting to him, he lowers his hands to his knees, gripping them tightly. He seems determined not to touch me, and that gets me going even more.

His hair is now completely wet, but I can’t stop myself from running my fingers through it. He moans with pleasure, making me glad I read that Cosmo article about how to massage a man’s scalp. He’s loving every minute of it. The ends of his hair are starting to curl as I rake my nails across his head. I can’t believe how long his hair got. He’s been too busy to go into town for a cut, but I’m about to change all that.

I turn off the faucet, and he takes it as his cue to sit up. I lift the towel from his shoulders, tossing it over his head. Only his mouth is visible as I wring out the excess moisture. I pat him dry as he leans back with his eyes closed, a sigh escaping his lips. My heart flutters from knowing that what I’m doing is making him feel relaxed and content.

Reaching for the scissors, I comb out a section of hair and start snipping away. I’m not a professional stylist by any means, but I’m competent enough to give him a decent trim. I measure how much I’m going to cut between my fingers as the pieces of hair start to fall to the floor. His eyes are shut, but there’s a smile on his face like he’s in a state of pure and utter bliss.

When I finish with the top, I kneel down to work on the sides. He can’t prevent his eyes from opening when he senses how close I am to him. He tries to get me to meet his gaze, but I keep my attention on what I’m doing, drawing the comb through his sideburn. He blinks when I bring the scissors near his face. I make a few snips then caress his neck reassuringly. I move around him to cut the other side, making sure everything looks even. We’re practically nose to nose as I make a few extra passes, wanting him to look perfect. It’s intense, feeling the weight of his stare on me. I can’t believe I got through all of that without kissing him.

I step back for a moment in anticipation. Now for the part I’ve been waiting for. I don’t know why but I’ve always wanted to shave the guy I love. Those kinds of scenes in movies never fail to turn me on. The man and woman are touching but not touching. Every movement is heightened. Every breath is labored. Every touch is charged. They’re playing at restraint when really they’re bursting at the seams. I admit that I always wanted to feel that level of sexual tension that such an intimate act creates. Not through a screen—but in person.

And Eric is about to help me live out that fantasy.

My heart races as I pick up the can of shaving cream, shaking it for all it’s worth. I tremble, squirting a generous amount onto my hand. I can’t believe how nervous I am. My mouth is watering as I dab my finger into the rich lather. He’s looking at me with such intensity that I almost chicken out and rinse my hands in the sink. Instead, I rub them together before spreading the shaving cream onto his stubbled cheeks.

I cover his mouth, gliding my fingers across the faint beginnings of a mustache. His face is nearly all white, and I chuckle to myself as I remove the lather from his lips with my thumb. He groans when he feels my finger on his mouth. I grin as I wipe the lather from my hands onto the towel before reaching for his razor.

I try to get in a good position as I raise the blade, but I feel awkward. He gazes at me warily, afraid that I’m going to cut him. He’s at my mercy now. A surge of heat shoots through me, and I press my thighs firmly together. He shifts uncomfortably on the tiny stool, causing me to look down. There’s a huge bulge in his boxers. I purse my lips to keep from smiling. I’m not surprised that he’s enjoying this, too.

I start by making a large vertical stroke down the length of his cheek. I love the sound of the bristle of his beard scraping against the path of the razor. It’s so sexy. Elated by my first attempt, I turn on the water to rinse off the razor before making another pass. I continue my way across his face from left to right, pleased by my progress. So far, I haven’t even nicked him. Familiar with the drill, he lifts his chin, allowing me free access to his neck. The blade scratches against his skin, causing him to flinch. I stop what I’m doing and wait for any blood to appear, but there isn’t any. Now that I’m in the home stretch, I have to calm my nerves. The last thing I want to do is cut him. I’m not used to handling a razor over the angles and planes of a man’s face. It’s a lot more difficult than the long, easy strokes I use to shave my legs.

With the last swipe, I want to jump up and down and scream, “I did it.” Instead, I bury his face in the towel, blotting away the last remaining traces of shaving cream. I can’t resist running my knuckles against his cheek. His skin feels so incredibly smooth. I love when he’s clean-shaven. When he’s scruffy, his stubble scratches my face and neck. His kisses end up leaving a trail of red marks that can last well into the next day. Not to mention, his mouth feels best between my legs when it’s not irritating the delicate skin surrounding my inner thighs.

He runs his hands over his face, examining my handiwork. He smiles at me, indicating that he’s pleased with the results. He’s usually in such a rush to get to the garden center that he doesn’t take his time getting ready. On the days he does shave, it seems like he’s always gulping down his morning coffee with bits of toilet paper stuck to his face to stem the bleeding where he cut himself. I’ve even caught him trying to shave with the bathroom mirror still fogged up from his shower. Oh, the crazy things men do.

I lean forward, intending to kiss him, but catch myself at the last moment. I want to draw this out as long as I can, and his lips are distracting me. I nuzzle against the softness of his cheek and whisper in his ear, “Did you like that?”

He doesn’t even give me the chance to respond as he lifts me up, placing me between his legs. He raises my arms, skimming his hands down my body as he fumbles with the hem of the shirt. In one swift movement, he draws it over my head, sliding my hair through the collar.

Standing up, he makes quick work of removing my thong. He’s in such a hurry that it’s still hanging around my ankles when he hoists me onto the bathroom counter. His mouth crashes onto mine as I tug on his boxers. They’re so snug around his hips that they won’t budge. I groan against his lips and he takes the hint, freeing his hands from my hair in order to yank them from his body. Anxious to reclaim my mouth, he tries to move between my legs, but my stupid thong prevents him from spreading them open. He’s wild as he bends down to untangle the strap that’s now wedged between my toes.

My breasts jiggle my hair as I burst out laughing. We’re both naked and absolutely desperate for each other, but seeing him so intently focused on freeing my thong from my feet just cracks me up. I can’t stop. He looks up at me like I’m crazy. He has no clue how I was imagining this whole perfect movie moment in my mind about how this would all play out. Romance in real life is so much more ridiculous.

I can tell he wants to take me now, but he’s debating whether or not to stifle my laughter with his mouth and keep on going. Despite the fact that he’s kneeling on the bathroom floor that’s covered with pieces of his hair, I can see a spot of shaving cream I missed behind his left ear. His hair is still wet, unstyled, and plastered flat against his head. But to me, he’s never looked sexier because in this moment he’s fulfilling every fantasy of mine and then some.

I open my legs to him with a devilish grin. If he wants me, he can have me, even if I can’t stop giggling like a schoolgirl. He slides between them, pulling my hips into him and tossing my legs around his waist. He’s inside me before I can even blink. I cling to his shoulders as I already feel myself clenching around him.

Oh yeah, reality is way better than any movie.