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Alana made her way downstairs and headed to the kitchen, intent on making herself some tea. Maybe that would help her feel better. Turning on the Keurig, she went in search of a mug.
The doorbell rang.
Placing the mug on the counter, she muttered, “Who is that?” Tightening the ties of her robe, she made her way to the front door. When she stepped into the foyer, she could see Sofie standing outside the glass.
Alana swung the door open. “Hey, girlfriend.”
“Damn, you are sick,” Sofie huffed.
“Ha-ha.” She moved to the side to allow Sofie to enter. “I shouldn’t even let you in.”
“Oh, you love me. You know I will always tell you the truth.” Sofie brushed past her, carrying a grocery bag.
The savory scent of hot food wafted from the bag, making her feel suddenly ravenous.
“What is that?” she asked, shutting and locking the door.
“Where is the kitchen again? I swear this house is massive,” Sofie chuckled.
“Follow me.” Alana headed back in the direction she had just come from. Over her shoulder, she surmised, “And because you brought something that smells so good, I’ll forgive your little comment.”
“Since you said you weren’t feeling good, I stopped and got you some soup and bread.”
They arrived in the kitchen, and Alana tried to avoid looking at the island. She could feel her cheeks warm. It was one of London’s favorite places to taste her.
Sofie sat her bag down on the edge of it, and Alana had to bite back a giggle. She didn’t want her friend to see her; otherwise, she’d had to spill what was so funny.
She moved back to the Keurig and put her cup under it.
“I’m making some tea. You want something to drink?”
“Not tea. What else do you have?” Sofie moved over to the fridge and opened it, but Alana barely heard her. She blinked, her gaze focused on the small box sitting on the counter next to the soup.
“What is that?”
With a pop can in her hand, Sofie rolled her eyes, cracked it open, and took a hefty sip before snagging the box and tossing it to Alana.
“You need to take this,” Sofie ordered.
“What? Why? I’m sick, Sofie, that’s it.” Even to her own ears, her words sounded hollow.
Could she be pregnant?
She knew that having sex meant there was a chance.
And with the amount of sex she and London had been having over the past few months, there was an increased possibility.
The man could barely keep his hands, tongue, mouth, and dick away from her.
Not that she was complaining. She was always ready for his advances. And hell, she didn’t wait for him to make the first move.
The old Alana would never.
But with a man like London, she couldn’t help it.
It was almost instinctive, and the orgasms were addictive.
But a baby?
