Page 13 of Tempted By the Handsome Doctor (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #3)

I can't believe this is happening.

That's the only coherent thought I can form as I move inside Maya, watching her face contort with pleasure beneath me.

I never expected this when I showed up at the fall festival—hoped for it, maybe, in some secret corner of my mind, but never truly believed we'd end up here, in her bed, our bodies joined as intimately as two people can be.

"Don't stop," she gasps, her nails digging half-moons into my shoulders.

As if I could. As if anything short of cardiac arrest could pull me away from her now.

I drive into her again, maintaining the angle that makes her cry out, mesmerized by the sight of her.

She's stunning like this—hair splayed across the pillow, skin flushed pink with exertion and arousal, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the dim light.

A droplet trickles down her forehead, following the curve of her cheek to her neck, and I have the irrational urge to chase it with my tongue.

Her breasts bounce with each thrust, occasionally brushing against my chest, the contact electric even through the sweat slicking our skin. I lower myself to feel more of her, to press my body more fully against hers, and she moans at the increased friction.

"Daniel," she breathes, my name a prayer on her lips. "So good. So—ah!"

Her words dissolve into incoherent sounds as I increase the pace, driven by her responses, by the tight heat of her around me.

This feels different than that first night—more honest, more raw.

Then, we were strangers finding comfort in each other's bodies.

Now, we're something else, something undefined but undeniably real.

Maya arches beneath me, her body bowing off the bed, thighs clenching around my hips with surprising strength. I feel her inner walls begin to flutter and tighten around me—she's close, so close.

"Come for me," I urge, the words rough against her ear. "Let go, Maya. I've got you."

Her eyes fly open, locking with mine with an intimacy that's almost unbearable. Then she's coming, her body shuddering around me, a cry torn from her throat that might be my name. The sight of her undoing is beautiful—her face open and vulnerable, completely lost to pleasure.

It's too much. The visual combined with the clenching of her body around mine pushes me to the edge. I grip the sheets beside her head, knuckles white with the effort to hold on just a little longer, to extend her pleasure.

But it's a losing battle. Five more thrusts, each one deeper than the last, and I'm following her over the edge, release crashing through me with an intensity that borders on painful. I bury my face in the curve of her neck, muffling my groan against her skin as I empty myself inside her.

For several moments, we stay like that, connected, breathing hard, hearts racing together.

I'm careful not to collapse on her, supporting my weight on trembling arms. When I finally find the strength to move, I ease out of her gently and roll to the side, bringing her with me so we're facing the same direction, her back to my front.

She nestles against me naturally, as if we've been sleeping this way for years instead of minutes.

Her curves fit perfectly against my angles, her ass nestled against my spent cock, her head tucked under my chin.

I drape an arm over her waist, palm splayed across her still-flat stomach.

Somewhere beneath my hand, our child is growing—an almost impossible thought after what we just shared.

"That was..." Maya trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.

"Yeah," I agree, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "It was."

She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the arm I have wrapped around her.

"Do you think we'll be good parents?" she asks suddenly, her voice small in the darkness.

The question catches me off guard, though perhaps it shouldn't. We've just been as physically intimate as two people can be, and now she's seeking a different kind of intimacy—honesty about the future we're facing together.

"I have no idea," I admit, tightening my hold on her slightly. "I don't have the best role model for fatherhood. But I know we'll both give everything we have so our kid can have the best life possible."

I feel her relax against me, her hand coming to rest over mine on her stomach. "That's all we can do, isn't it? Our best."

"And we'll figure it out together," I add, surprising myself with how right the words feel. "Day by day."

"Together," she echoes, a note of wonder in her voice, as if the concept is both foreign and fascinating to her.

We fall silent, our breathing synchronizing as we drift toward sleep. The last thing I'm aware of before succumbing is the gentle rise and fall of Maya's ribs beneath my arm, the soft scent of her hair, and a profound sense of rightness I've never felt before.

Following evening

I pull up in front of the small white house with blue shutters where I spent most of my childhood. The porch light is on, casting a warm glow over the worn welcome mat and the ancient rocking chair where Grandpa Lou sits most evenings, watching the world go by.

He's there now, a plaid blanket across his knees despite the mild evening, a mug of something steaming in his gnarled hands. He squints as my headlights sweep across the porch, then lifts a hand in greeting when he recognizes my car.

My stomach churns with nerves as I cut the engine. I texted him earlier, asking if I could stop by, saying I had news. He responded with typical Lou brevity: *Door's open. Bring beer.*

I grab the six-pack from the passenger seat—his favorite local IPA—and make my way up the walkway. Each step feels leaden, weighted with the enormity of what I'm about to tell him.

"About time you showed your face around here," Lou calls as I approach. His voice is gruff but affectionate. "Beginning to think you'd forgotten where I live."

"Sorry, Grandpa," I say, climbing the porch steps. "Hospital's been crazy."

"Hospital's always crazy." He peers at me over his reading glasses, his gaze still sharp despite his eighty-two years. "But that's not why you're here tonight, is it?"

Straight to the point, as always. I hand him the beer and take the seat beside him, an identical rocking chair that's been there as long as I can remember.

"No, it's not." I twist the cap off a bottle and take a long swallow, buying time. "I have some news."

Lou grunts, setting aside whatever he was drinking—tea, from the smell of it—in favor of the beer. "Good or bad?"

"Both? Neither?" I run a hand through my hair. "It's complicated."

"Son, I've been around long enough to know that when a man says 'it's complicated,' it usually involves a woman." He takes a sip of beer, eyeing me over the bottle. "This about that pretty librarian you were seen with at the fall festival?"

I shouldn't be surprised—Cedar Falls gossip mill works with ruthless efficiency—but I am. "How did you—"

"Tyra called me not ten minutes after she sold you two a scarf," Lou says with a snort. "Said you looked sweet together. Wanted to know if I was pleased my grandson finally found a nice girl."

Heat creeps up my neck. "We're not exactly—I mean, we are, but it's not—"

"Spit it out, Danny," Lou says, his patience visibly waning. "What's got you tied up in knots?"

I take a deep breath, then look him straight in the eye. "Maya's pregnant. I'm going to be a father."

For a long moment, Lou just stares at me, his bushy eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. Then he sets his beer down carefully on the small table between our chairs.

"Well, damn," he says finally. "That was faster work than I expected."

A startled laugh escapes me.

"It's not—we're not—" I stop, recalibrate. "We met about a month ago, before I knew who she was. It was just supposed to be one night, but..."

"But life had other plans," Lou finishes for me, nodding sagely. "Always does."

"You're not... disappointed?" I ask, the question that's been eating at me since I found out about the baby.

Lou's expression softens. "Why the hell would I be disappointed? You're a grown man, Danny. And from what I hear, Maya Sullivan is a fine young woman. Smart, kind—bit on the quiet side, but that's probably good to balance out the Morrison temperament."

"But we're not married, not even dating really," I point out. "It's not exactly the traditional way to start a family."

"Traditional," Lou scoffs. "What's traditional got to do with it?

Your grandmother and I eloped after knowing each other six weeks, and we had fifty good years together.

" He leans forward, his eyes intent on mine.

"The only thing that matters is what you do now.

Are you going to step up? Be there for her and the baby? "

"Yes," I say without hesitation. "Absolutely."

"Then I'm proud of you." He settles back in his chair. "And I'm going to be a great-grandfather. Hot damn."

The simple acceptance, the lack of judgment or disappointment, makes something tight in my chest loosen. "You'll be a great one," I say, meaning it. "The best."

Lou smiles, creases fanning from the corners of his eyes. "How's Maya taking all this?"

"Better than I deserve," I admit. "She was angry at first—I didn't call her after that night, like an idiot—but we're... figuring things out. Taking it day by day."

"Smart approach." Lou takes another sip of his beer. "You know, Danny, maybe this is just what you need."

"What do you mean?"

"A reason to slow down. To remember there's more to life than that hospital." He gestures vaguely toward town. "You work too hard, always have. Drive yourself like you've got something to prove."

I start to protest, but the words die in my throat because he's right. I've been running myself ragged for years, first through med school, then residency, taking extra shifts, volunteering for the hardest cases. Trying to build a name for myself separate from being "Lou's grandson."

"A baby changes everything," Lou continues, his voice softening with memory. "Makes you see what really matters."

"I'm scared," I admit, the confession easier in the growing darkness. "What if I'm terrible at it? What if I'm like—" I cut myself off, unwilling to even say it.

"Like your father?" Lou finishes anyway, always able to read between the lines. "You're nothing like him, Danny. Never have been."

"How can you be sure?" The question comes out more vulnerable than I intended.

"Because I raised you," Lou says simply. "And I know your heart. You don't run from what scares you—you face it head-on. Always have, even as a kid."

His faith in me is humbling. "I hope you're right."

"I'm always right," he says with a wink. "About time you figured that out."

We lapse into comfortable silence, rocking gently, watching as the last light fades from the sky and stars begin to appear.

"Bring her to dinner," Lou says suddenly. "Sunday. I'll make my famous pot roast."

The thought of Maya meeting Lou, of these two important parts of my life intersecting, fills me with unexpected warmth. "I'll ask her."

"Do that." Lou drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle aside. "And Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm happy for you, son. Really happy."

The simple words, spoken with such genuine affection, wrap around my heart like a balm. I set my own beer down and stand, crossing the short distance between our chairs. Lou looks up, surprised, as I bend to embrace him.

His arms come around me, strong despite his age, patting my back in that slightly awkward way men in our family have always shown physical affection.

"Thank you, Grandpa," I murmur against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of Old Spice that has meant safety and home for as long as I can remember.

"What for?" he asks gruffly.

"For everything. For being there. For believing in me."

Lou's arms tighten briefly before he releases me, clearing his throat. "Always will be, Danny. Always will be."

I straighten, blinking back the unexpected moisture in my eyes. Lou pretends not to notice, reaching for another beer.

"Now sit back down and tell me how far along she is," he orders. "And whether you think it's a boy or a girl."

I laugh, the sound freer and lighter than it's been in years and do as I'm told. As the night deepens around us, stars scattered like promises across the velvet sky, I tell my grandfather everything about Maya, about the baby, about the terrifying, exhilarating future opening before me.

And for the second time since seeing that positive pregnancy test, I feel not just acceptance or resignation, but genuine excitement for what comes next.