Supernatural Love: An MPREG Romance (Special Delivery Book 3) Read online

  Finally, we arrive at the house, which looks as much like a grandma’s attic as it did the last time I was here. I’m almost certain this bed and breakfast is just a tax write-off. Isabella isn’t in, but she’s left Nate the key. He has a goal this time and sweeps through the house efficiently. I tag along, while he provides commentary and references to movies that mostly go over my head. It’s a fair trade though. I listen to him ramble about movies I’m not interested in seeing, and he listens to me ramble about mineral formations and gemstone hardness.

  We’re back in the Freud room. Nate crouches at the foot of the bed and pans up, seeming to catch Sigmund Freud in all his glory. “Hey, Nate,” I say.

  “Mm?”

  “I have a scene for your movie.”

  “Do you?” Nate asks, sounding wary.

  “Yes. You need to have your couple having sex on the bed and getting crushed by that portrait of Freud.”

  Nate slowly lowers his camera. “Why on Earth would you think of that?” he asks, failing to hide his laughter. “God, that’s horrible, but at the same time, I can see it.”

  “I was thinking about sex, which reminds me. The hotel sheets. If you have sex on the sheets, you’re supposed to strip the bed and ball them up on the floor. That way the people cleaning the room know that the sheets have been…used. Or stained in some way. I Googled it a while back and forgot to tell you.”

  Nate shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re saying such awful things in front of the portrait of such a renowned psychologist. You’re going to be haunted by the vengeful ghost of Sigmund Freud.”

  “Please, Freud would probably congratulate me,” I say.

  “Oh? Since when are you a Freudian scholar?”

  “You mentioned psychoanalysis, so I looked up Freud,” I say. “Did you know he had a daughter named Anna, who was also a psychologist? She worked with children.”

  “I did know,” Nate replies. “I always thought that was weird. Sigmund Freud doesn’t talk nearly as much about women as he does men, and yet he had all these brilliant women around him. How does that happen?”

  “Maybe he was a bad listener,” I suggest.

  “That would make him a very crappy therapist,” Nate says.

  I shrug. There’s probably a reason that, from what I’ve read, most psychologists take Freud with a grain of salt.

  I sit in a nearby chair and hold Opal on my lap. Nate continues working his magic, walking around the bed like some sort of creep. Considering the lack of ghosts I’ve seen here, he’s probably the most terrifying thing in the house.

  “I’m disappointed I never saw the lady in white,” I say.

  Nate grunts. “Did you really think you would?”

  “No, but I’d hoped,” I reply.

  Nate turns his camera towards me. “Want to say something for the DVD commentary?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I reply. “I think this house looks like a flea market. I’ve never seen so much ill-placed crochet in my life, and the walls are a hideous rose color.”

  “So are the walls in the Addams family house,” Nate says.

  This feels like a trap somehow, but I’m not entirely sure. “I’ll bite,” I say. “What’s the punchline?”

  “There isn’t one. They really are pink. This was in the days of black and white television, so the colors didn’t really matter. They just used regular things that could be used again for the set,” Nate replies. “The walls are pink.”

  I immediately imagine Morticia trying to seduce someone against a blindingly pink wall. “Oh,” I say.

  “Cool, huh?” Nate asks.

  “So are you going to make your film black and white to hide the hideous wall color here?”

  “No,” Nate says. “I’m going to keep it. It’s symbolic of femininity and my character’s journey for her sense of self.”

  “Please, turn the camera off,” I say.

  Nate grins. “Why? Are you suddenly camera shy?”

  He lowers the camera anyway. “I don’t have anything to add,” I say. “I continue to be blind to whatever potential you see in this house, unfortunately.”

  “That’s fine,” Nate replies. “That’s just like I remain blind to whatever potential you see in chips of rocks. Every time you buy those strands of gemstone chips, I can’t help but think that it’d be so much easier to have the whole damn stone.”

  “You use them for different pieces,” I say.

  “And that, alas, is a talent I don’t possess,” Nate replies. “Want to say goodbye to the house?”

  As if. I might be in jewelry design, but I don’t have to be an interior decorator to know that this house is an unholy abomination with a nice, Southern outside.

  14

  Felix

  I shift Opal in her carrier from my right hand to my left and ring the doorbell to Nate’s house. Well, I say house. It’s a mansion. Then I wait. Eleanor, Nate’s butler and one-time caretaker, opens the door. Although Eleanor is in her fifties, she doesn’t look that old. She’s taken very good care of herself over the years, and the only hint that she isn’t thirty-five is that her hair is solid white. Her face lights up, and she bends down immediately, putting her hands on her knees. “And who is this?” she asks.

  “Opal Grace Monroe,” I reply.

  Eleanor smiles. “What a cute baby. You have good genes, clearly,” she says.

  “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t get the less desirable aspects of my personality,” I joke.

  “I think most parents hope their children don’t inherit their less desirable aspects. Come in. It’s cold.”

  She ushers me in and takes my coat, which takes a bit of work with a baby in-hand. Already, I hear the Trans-Siberian Orchestra floating from the kitchen and the main sitting room. Nate’s Christmas parties are lavish affairs and usually have many wealthy and powerful people as guests. I’m generally the exception, but while the wealth is sometimes intimidating, I like being with Nate for Christmas.

  It’s better than being at home by myself, and I’m slightly better dressed for this occasion than usual. I splurged and purchased a holly-red shirt and black jeans. Festive and professional. At least, that’s my aim. Part of me is thrilled with my choice of attire, but there’s still a small part of me that frets about how I might just be pretending, trying to fit into a place I don’t belong.

  “Do you want to keep the diaper bag with you?” Eleanor asks.

  “As soon as I don’t, I’ll need it,” I reply, “But I do have presents in there. Would you care to get them?”

  “Not at all.”

  Eleanor reaches into the diaper bag and draws out a wrapped present—for Nate—and a bottle of merlot. She arches an eyebrow at the alcohol. “For you,” I reply. “After all, you do put up with Nate. I thought you might need it.”

  “I’ll drink it and appreciate it,” Eleanor replies, “But I wonder what this choice of gift says about you.”

  I shrug and bat my eyes, feigning innocence. She’s known me too long, though, and obviously isn’t fooled. “I’ll go see Nate, then,” I say.

  “He was in the sitting room last I saw.”

  I thank her and head that way. No amount of words can possibly describe the grandiose nature of Nate’s home. It was originally a massive Victorian house, and from the outside there isn’t much to distinguish it from any other house. It’s all white and even cold-looking. Inside is a different story. Inside the house is awash with golds, browns, and reds. It’s very warm and now, it’s even more cheerful than usual. Boughs of holly and red ribbon grace the fireplace, the banisters, and every piece of furniture.

  The sitting room is even more beautiful. All the furniture has been cleared, revealing the smooth wooden floor beneath. It’s polished to a sheen. The columns at the entrances of the room are wrapped in holly, and the entire room smells like I’m standing at the center of a coniferous forest. It’s loud, something Opal seems excited by. She claps her hands together and giggles. I scan the crowd until I
find Nate. My game plan for his Christmas dinners is to glue myself to his side and spend the evening in his company.

  He waves me over. My breath catches at the sight of his well-fitting navy suit. He looks very handsome today. Of course, he always looks handsome but today, especially so. I smile, while my stomach does flip-flops. I cross the floor to him. “You look good,” I say.

  “Always do,” he replies, proving that modesty remains to be found in this man.

  But he’s right, of course.

  “Come with me, and I’ll give you your present,” Nate says.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Already?” I ask.

  “You’re really going to love it,” Nate says. “I can’t stand to wait around all night to give it to you. Come on.” He grabs my arm and pulls me after him.

  “What on Earth did you get me?” I ask. Is it a Keurig? Now that I’ve considered a Keurig as a possibility, I want a Keurig.

  “Eleanor has your present,” I say.

  “Mine can wait.”

  “So your present can wait, but mine can’t?” I ask.

  “Nope,” Nate replies, grinning.

  We head towards his bedroom. It’s as lavish as the rest of the place, but it’s not as warm. Nate’s room is gold and green. He strides to his dresser and takes a wrapped box off it. “For you,” he says proudly. “Hand me that baby and open it.”

  I hand off Opal, although I’m not sure why that is a prerequisite for taking his present. I inspect the box; it’s about the size of a box that might hold a necklace. Maybe a gift card. I shake the box, partly as a joke, but hear nothing.

  “For God’s sake, just open the damn thing,” Nate says. “Now. Come on. You’re going to love it. I hope. Unless I’ve read you wrong.”

  Read me wrong? “Are you nervous?” I ask.

  Nate simply gestures for me to open the box.

  I unwrap it and open the plain, white box. Inside is a Christmas card. A very tiny Christmas card. I raise an eyebrow, unsure where he’s going with this. Should I act really happy? Like, I suppose it’s a pretty Christmas card. It’s dark blue with glittering snowflakes.

  “Open it,” Nate insists.

  Is it money?

  I open it, but there’s nothing inside the card. Except for three words. I choke on my own spit and drop the box. My heart pounds so loudly that it seems to reverberate in my skull. I might actually faint. My knees feel weak, and the fluttering in my heart is starting to alarm me.

  “Well?” Nate asks.

  I love you.

  He loves me! He feels the same.

  “Are you going into shock?” Nate asks. “I have a speech prepared if you want more clarification. And I know we didn’t work the first time, but we’re older and more mature now. And it’s just that…over this past year, I’ve started thinking about you a little differently.”

  “No,” I reply hoarsely.

  “No?”

  “No, I mean, I’m not going into shock.”

  Nate nods.

  Passing out, however, is starting to look like a good possibility.

  “Let me just make something clear,” Nate says. “It took me a little while to realize that I did love you back, and when I did, it was just so close to Christmas that I couldn’t resist. Don’t be disappointed. I really do have an actual present for you.”

  “Disappointed? I’d never be disappointed. Thank you! I can’t…I don’t know what to say,” I say. But my heart soars. Anything could happen at this moment. My studio apartment could go up in flames, and I’d be just fine because Nate loves me. We can start something now. We can take our relationship to another level.

  “I think,” Nate says huskily, “You should leave Opal with Eleanor for a few minutes.”

  “I…”

  “You know she loves kids,” Nate says.

  Just a few minutes. Warmth floods my face. “This isn’t going to become an everyday kind of thing,” I say. “We aren’t going to just push my kid off on other people.”

  “No, we’ll hire a nanny or a sitter for when we need some alone time,” Nate replies.

  “Just this once, we’ll leave her with Eleanor,” I say.

  Grinning triumphantly, Nate leads the way back to the entryway. “Eleanor, will you take Opal for a bit?” Nate asks.

  I try to keep a straight face. While I respect Eleanor, I don’t necessarily want her to know that I’m about to go upstairs and have sex with her employer. But Eleanor doesn’t look like she suspects a thing. “Of course,” she replies. “I’ll have Marie watch the door.”

  “Perfect,” Nate says. “Now Felix can rest his arm. I was worried it was about to fall off.”

  We head back to his room, Nate grinning like he’s won the lottery. A guilty sort of glee shoots through me. I feel like I’m back in high school, sneaking around and misbehaving, but I can’t bring myself to care. Once we’ve reached upstairs and know we won’t be interrupted, Nate wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me flush against him. He puts his mouth on my neck and trails hot, sloppy kisses up my collarbone. Each one sends a delightful tremor through my body. I arch my back and push my neck closer to his mouth, encouraging him.

  In a quick motion, he spins me around, so we’re face to face. I close the distance between us and grind my hips against Nate’s. His hands curl in my hair and his mouth finds mine. Nate’s lips are chapped, and when we kiss, I taste iron and cinnamon candy. I wrap my hands around his neck and pull him more deeply against me. His hands find my shirt. Roughly, Nate untucks it and begins undoing the buttons with shaking hands.

  “Please, don’t be too rough with that,” I gasp.

  “I can buy you another,” he growls.

  But I know he won’t really tear my shirt. “But what if I like that one?” I joke anyway.

  “I’ll buy a sewing kit.”

  I snort back laughter at the thought of Nate trying to sew something. We make slow progress down the hallway, and it takes all my restraint not to pull my shirt off and throw it to the ground behind me. We reach his room and he slams the door behind us.

  I throw my shirt onto the dresser and once more, he pulls me against him. I trail my hands up beneath his shirt and trace over the familiar muscles. His hands fondle my ass, and teasingly, I wiggle against him. “Oh, God,” Nate says.

  “Last time we did this, it was really great,” I breathe. “My only regret is that you don’t have a giant portrait of Sigmund Freud above your bed.”

  He roars with laughter. “I’m going to teach you something about sex that you’d never learn just from reading Freud,” he growls.

  His breath falls warmly and damply against my collarbone. My hands fly to his shirt. I fumble with the buttons as his mouth meets mine once more. His tongue coaxes my lips into parting making me shiver against him. My cock aches, as his tongue explores my mouth, skimming between my teeth, tickling the roof of my mouth, and moving against my tongue. I undo three buttons, but it’s hard to focus when he puts his hands between my shoulder blades and pulls me more tightly against him, as if any space at all between us is too much.

  We break apart. I turn around and in a single motion sweep the comforter off the bed and onto the floor. Nate pushes me against the bed and I land on the soft mattress, bouncing a bit. He climbs on top of me, his shirt mussed and half undone. He grinds his hips against mine. I can feel he’s hard and I’m already halfway there.

  “Are we keeping our clothes on?” I ask breathlessly.

  “Let’s try that,” Nate asks.

  His mouth sucks on my collarbone, and I groan at the pressure there and building between my thighs. He’s marking me, just out of sight. No one at the Christmas dinner will know but I will. It’s such a juvenile thing to do, something horny high schoolers or young college kids do, but the thought of being marked by Nate makes my pulse quicken and my heart beat faster.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for months,” I gasp out.

  “Dirty boy,” Nate replies. “So much going on and y
ou were thinking about this?”

  “You sure didn’t take much time between confessing your love for me and having sex with me,” I counter.

  Nate bites down, his teeth teasing the fragile skin of my clavicle. I can’t stop the high-pitched whine that works its way up from my throat. It sounds so wanton and unlike me that I nearly laugh. I really make the strangest sex noises. I sound like a peacock. But it doesn’t matter what I sound like as long as Nate keeps bucking and rubs his hips and cock against mine, the movements are amplified by the friction of our pants brushing together. He licks a trail down to my navel and I shiver. My body feels all wound up, like there’s a quickly tightening spring deep down inside me. It pulls tighter and tighter.

  Then, Nate starts laughing. He slows his movements and buries his face into the blankets beside me. “I’m sorry,” he says, although his words are muffled.

  “You’re going to be if you don’t hurry up,” I say, without any heat. “What’s so hilarious?”

  “It’s your fault. You’re the one that brought up being crushed by a giant portrait.”

  I buck against him. “You don’t even have a picture over your bed.”

  “No, but I was thinking about what the most awkward picture to fall on top of you would be.”

  I grab a pillow off the bed and swat at his face with it. Nate begins moving again, but he’s very slow at it. I toss my head back and groan. And just to spite me, Nate begins listing every random person he can think of.

  My knees and thighs shake, and there’s a rush of heat and semen as I come.

  I lay against the bed while Nate continues. I’m tempted for a wild second to dart back and see if he’ll chase me. “Queen Elizabeth would be an odd choice,” I say.

  I curl my hands in his hair and force his face closer to mine. “Tit-for-tat, huh?” Nate asks. “I thought you were supposed to be the better man here?”