A Gorgeous Villain

by Saffron A Kent

  As Poe harasses Salem to give up all the dirty details, I turn to Wyn, who I realize hasn’t spoken a word in all of this. And the reason for that is that she’s staring at something with a slight frown.

  Wyn has always been the quietest of us all but these days she’s been quieter than usual. And I hate that I don’t share a room with her or I’d prod for every single detail during our midnight chats.

  I miss her so much. Her and her dream man stories.

  Anyway, when I follow her gaze, I see nothing that’s worth much attention though.

  There’s a group of girls, wearing mustard-colored sweaters and blazers, sitting on the concrete benches under the late February sun before the light goes out in the winter sky.

  Oh, and there’s a group of teachers right behind them that includes my brother, Conrad. Who’s been the new soccer coach since last November. Since I sit out soccer games because of my condition, I haven’t had much of a chance to be coached by my legendary soccer coach brother. But he does check in with me a couple of times during the day, including lunch, when he brings me all the fried stuff that I’ve been craving ever since I got my appetite back.

  Ugh, and right by my brother stands our history teacher, Miss Halsey, who has made no secret that she’s in love with him and would do anything to have him.

  Even now, she’s almost draped on his arm, looking up at Con like he’s the most amazing man she’s ever met.

  I mean, he is — he’s the best man and brother ever — but I hate that Miss Halsey thinks so too. I never liked her before and I don’t like her now.

  But that’s not the point.

  My friend needs me so I look away and bump her shoulder. “Hey, what’s up?”

  She blinks as if waking up. “What?”

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing,” she says quickly.

  I frown. “Are you sure? You were staring pretty hard at something.”

  She ducks her head and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Uh, no. I was just… thinking about something.”

  “About what?” I prod. “You know, you’ve been pretty quiet these days. Is something going on, Wyn? You can tell me, you know that, right? I mean, you have to know that. I love you.”

  She smiles at me but sadness still lingers in her eyes. “I know. It’s just I’m stressing about art school applications. It’s end of February now and I haven’t heard anything back. So I don’t know if they liked my sketches or not.”

  I get her nerves. I haven’t heard back from Juilliard myself but she has to know that she’s beyond talented and hard working and she’ll get in.

  “Are you crazy? You’re the best artist I know.” I grab her shoulders. “Wyn, you’re so talented. So, so, so talented. You make me cry with your talent, okay? Cry.”

  She chuckles. “But you’re pregnant. You cry at everything.”

  “Ha. Ha. I’ve always cried at your sketches. Because they’re awesome. And everyone will love them. You’ll see. You’ll hear back from them, trust me.”

  Salem and Poe say the same thing before hugging me goodbye and telling me yet again — Wyn joins in this time — how amazing it is that my gorgeous villain is waiting for me in his Mustang.

  So my girls are definitely in love with him.

  And although I wouldn’t ever say that my brothers are in love with him, they too have somewhat warmed up. Stellan doesn’t glare at him all that much and Shepard doesn’t respond to everything that Reed does with sarcasm.

  Last week Conrad even gave him a short nod through the black gates when Reed came to pick me up after school.

  Even Ledger isn’t always biting Reed’s head off. And vice versa.

  Last weekend it was my brothers’ turn to bring groceries and Ledger brought tons.

  Reed was also there because he came around to fix the gutter up on the roof. Because when it had rained a couple of days ago, the water didn’t go down smoothly, whatever that meant.

  When I told him that I didn’t notice anything and that he was crazy to worry about the littlest things and that he should relax and enjoy things like rain because it’s pretty and cozy to watch from the glass house, he shot me a flat look. Then he said that I should let him handle things beyond my ken.

  “Beyond my ken. That’s offensive, Reed.”

  He set the ladder against the siding of the house and murmured, without glancing at me, “Yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “It’s not only offensive, it’s also misogynistic to imply that women don’t know anything about house maintenance.”

  “Well, they don’t if they think rainwater clogging on the roof is cause for celebration.”

  “You’re —”

  “Are you bothering my sister?” Ledger asked, appearing out of nowhere.

  Reed threw him an irritated look. “I’d be happy to start something with you but I’m a little busy here.”

  “Yeah, with what?”

  I jumped in before Reed could make matters worse. “He’s cleaning the gutters or whatever. And when I told him he shouldn’t bother because everything was fine and that he should enjoy things in life like pretty rain instead of worrying about everything, he said I didn’t know anything about house maintenance.”

  Ledger turned to me. “Pretty?”

  “Yes. That’s all. Relax.”

  Ledger frowned at me before turning to Reed. “She tell you that it was pretty?”

  “Also cozy.”

  They both looked at each other, sporting the same look. The look that said I was crazy, that all women in the world are crazy for suggesting that rain is pretty.

  Ledger turned back to me. “Callie, it’s not going to be pretty or cozy or whatever the fuck when your roof starts leaking and there’s water damage. Let him do his thing.” And then, just to annoy me — I know it — he added, “You should go inside and bake cookies instead and see if the purple leprechauns that live under your bed want some.”

  My eyes went wide. “You moron. I can’t believe you said that. Especially when you know that I’m pregnant and my hormones are all messed up.”

  They are.

  Along with making me cry, they make me angry and hot and just… so irritated.

  So much so that I punched my brother in the chest that day, which only made him snicker. And when I noticed that Reed’s lips were twitching, I punched him too.

  “You know what, I am going to make cookies. Oatmeal raisin, Ledger. But you don’t get any.”

  “Hey!” Ledger protested. “Now, that’s a little hasty. Who loves you the most, huh?”

  “Not you.” Then I turned to Reed who was watching me with amused eyes and declared, “You too. I know you like them too. But you don’t get to have any either.”

  So yeah.

  Apparently, ever since Reed and Ledger ganged up on me, Ledge doesn’t openly glare at Reed anymore either.

  Which is great but I hate that there’s so much testosterone around me.

  The only person that I know who does glare at him is my ballet teacher, Miss Petrova.

  Aside from forcing her to apologize to me all those months ago, Reed gets on her nerves. Because he likes to watch my lessons and Miss Petrova thinks it’s disruptive.

  But of course Reed doesn’t listen.

  He still sits there and still watches me awkwardly hold my poses and heave and pant as my pregnancy progresses and my bigger belly messes with my balance. But my doctor has said that as long as I don’t exert myself too much and do it all under professional supervision, it should be fine.

  “You know, you’re starting to creep out other girls too. That you sit there and watch me and don’t even listen to our teacher,” I tell him when he opens the door to his Mustang to drive me back home after class one evening.

  “And I should care about that why?”

  “Because they might call the cops on you,” I reply, raising my eyebrows. “Because y
ou’re acting like a stalker.”

  He narrows his predator animal eyes. “I know all the cops, remember?”

  “So what, you’re going to keep stalking me then? Like a criminal.”

  “No, like a villain. And you’re pregnant with my baby.” He flicks his eyes over me, over my bun and sweaty neck, my white leotard and ice blue tutu that hides my pregnant belly. “It’s my fucking job to stalk you.”

  I run my hands over my tutu, cradling my belly. “But —”

  His eyes follow the gesture as usual before he murmurs, cutting me off, “Besides, you should tell your Miss Petrova that this isn’t the first time I’ve stalked you in a ballet class. So she should really stop gasping every time she sees me watching you.”

  “What?”

  His wolf eyes that I know are going to be the death of me sparkle then. They glow like his beautiful vampire skin as his lips tip up in a smirk. “Long before I made you spin for me in the woods, I used to watch you spin on your toes at Blue Madonna. I used to watch you leap and jump across the dance floor while your fucking Miss Petrova smiled at you proudly.”

  My skin wakes up in goosebumps but I know it’s not the winter breeze that’s making it happen. It’s him.

  “You used to watch me?” I whisper, looking up at him. “Before the woods.”

  “Why do you think I blackmailed you into dancing for me that night?”

  “B-because that’s what you do. That’s your thing.”

  His smirks changes into a lazy, languid smile as he confesses, “Yeah, that. But also because you were my tight little ballerina long before you knew it.”

  My heart goes up on its tiptoes and I do too. “But you never said anything.”

  “If I’d wanted you to know, Fae, I would’ve told you. Now get in the car.”

  This is crazy and incredible and exactly like the pregnancy book, isn’t it? That he was trying to hide that day.

  And I can’t help but ask, “Why do you hide it, the things that… that might make someone like you?”

  I don’t know where the question came from but now that I’ve asked it, it feels like the most important thing I could ask him. The most important thing that he could tell me.

  “If you think watching a girl dance through the window like a creepy stalker is something worth liking, then you need to reevaluate your whole thinking, Fae,” he says with a tight jaw. “And I don’t want people to like me. I’m pretty happy being hated. Now, for the last time: get in the car.”

  And I do.

  With a spinning heart and heaving breaths.

  With something moving and melting inside of me. With my stomach fluttering, and I know she’s melting inside of me too.

  At him.

  At her daddy.

  Melting and melting like thick raindrops on the windows, on the roof for which he cleaned those gutters last week.

  Melting like the honey when he makes me come.

  Because he does.

  He does make me come every night.

  And God, when he does, stars explode in my veins. I feel it in my stomach, my womb, my trembling thighs and my ballerina toes.

  Ever since I forgave him and he apologized to me and my body on his knees three weeks ago, he does it every night. He apologizes with his hands and his mouth. With his warm and wet and sucking kisses.

  His kisses that taste like cupcakes, my favorite dessert in the world, the most addicting dessert in the world. So is it any wonder that I’ve become addicted to his kisses? To his mouth.

  To him.

  Some of it could be my hormones again because God, I’m horny all the time. But I know that majority of the credit goes to him and his sexiness.

  In fact, I can’t even go to sleep without him.

  Before when I was really sick, I’d pass out in the bed and the only way I knew that he stayed with me in the same house, not in the same room or bed, was because he’d always be there if and when I woke up during the night to throw up again.

  These days though, I remember everything.

  I remember how he puts me to sleep. How after making me come, he kisses my pregnant belly and my forehead before cuddling with me.

  Gosh, his cuddles.

  My gorgeous villain gives the best cuddles ever.

  Maybe because he’s so much larger in comparison to me. So when he spoons me, he covers my entire body. When he settles his muscular arm on my waist and presses his splayed palm on my belly where our baby sleeps, he spans my entire torso.

  And when I close my eyes at night, I feel safe.

  I feel replete and satisfied.

  But I know he doesn’t.

  I know that.

  Because that’s all he ever does.

  He makes me come but he never takes his own pleasure.

  He doesn’t ever ask anything from me. He doesn’t ever fuck me, and yes, I know it’s a bad word. But I don’t care. I’m bad for him. I always have been.

  And yes, I know that fucking will make everything complicated. But I feel so restless without him. I feel so achy. My belly is filled with his baby but I’m so empty.

  So what’s a little dirty talk if it means he’ll do it? He’ll do me and put himself out of this misery. And me too.

  I don’t even know why he’s holding back.

  I’ve forgiven him, haven’t I? He gets to touch me everywhere, every night. So why would he torture himself like this? Why wouldn’t he take that final step?

  Especially when every day he comes to pick me up at school, I see how tense he is. How after a long day of work when he comes home for dinner, how agitated he appears.

  That job is killing him and he doesn’t even talk about it; I tried one more time, just casually, to strike up a conversation but he shut me down. So I’m at my wit’s end.

  I don’t know what to do, how to give him relief.

  So I try this.

  I try to make him take me, tempt him as much as I can.

  In fact, one night when he’s kissing me on the bed, I make the bold move of pressing my hand on his dick. “You’re hard.”

  He is.

  He is rubbing me right there, right where my pussy is, his cock.

  It’s making a small hill inside his jeans. And it’s so thick and swollen that he always has to pop the button of his jeans to let it breathe. If I focus hard enough I can see the dark shadow of his cock pressing up against the edge of his pants.

  “Shut up, Fae,” he growls, taking my hand off his cock and putting it up above my head on the pillow.

  Glancing up at him, I say, “But it’s hurting you.”

  He grabs my hand harder. “It’s fine.”

  “I can help.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  I lick my lips. “I can suck on it like you suck on me.”

  “Stop talking.”

  “Or I can jack you off,” I say from under him, moving my bare pregnant belly against his hard t-shirt-covered abs; because he doesn’t even take his clothes off while he strips me and makes me lose my mind. “I can use my hands. I’ve never done it but if you teach me what to do I —”

  “Stop fucking talking.”

  “Or you could… you could put it in me.” I arch up, rubbing my bare tits on his chest. “In my pussy. And this time you won’t even…”

  “I won’t even what?”

  God, I’m shameless.

  So shameless to tempt him like this.

  But I can’t stop. I won’t.

  I need him to stop torturing himself. I need him to give me what I want.

  “You won’t even have to pull out,” I say and his eyes become slits. “You could come inside me, inside my pussy. You could give me all your pain, all your hurt. Because I won’t get pregnant.”

  “Yeah, because you already are,” he says, in a guttural voice, his one hand holding mine over my head and the other buried in my hair, all tight and punishing.

  “
Yes.”

  “Because I already did that. I already blew my wad inside you before I had the sense to pull out and knocked you up.”

  Biting my lip, I nod. “So you can come inside me all you want now, can’t you? You can fill me up, Reed. Until I’m flowing with you. Until my pussy is all creamy with your cum and leaking and —”

  “Stop. Fucking. Talking.”

  And then he kills my words himself with his lips as he kisses me and doesn’t stop.

  Not until he’s completely overpowered me and made me come again and again.

  Until I forget everything.

  By the time my twenty-week appointment comes around and they tell us the sex of the baby, I don’t think Reed will ever end this torture on himself.

  And I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying, because I get what I always wanted.

  It’s a girl.

  I’m having a baby girl.

  “It’s a girl,” someone whispers, and I think it’s me. And when I do, I feel a pressure on my hand. Because the guy whose hand I’m holding, lying on the exam table, has squeezed my fingers.

  He’s wrapped his long, strong fingers that I adore around mine tightly.

  I look up and my ballerina heart skips a beat.

  I’ve never seen him happier than this. It’s not an outright, bright happiness though. It’s a subtle thing.

  The lines around his wolf eyes are crinkled slightly and the ones around his ruby red lips are loose and relaxed. And there’s this glint in his gaze and an easiness in his posture that usually disappears in the evening after work.

  “We’re having a girl,” I tell him as if he doesn’t know.

  “With blonde hair and blue eyes,” he whispers back, staring down at me.

  “Or maybe dark hair and gray eyes,” I whisper back and this time I say the words out loud that I’d thought the day I told him I was pregnant. “Like her daddy.”

  His stubbled, messy, beautiful jaw tics as a strong emotion overcomes him, and I squeeze his hand back because I know he needs it.

  When the appointment is done and we walk to his Mustang to go back home, Reed doesn’t let me sit in the front seat. He opens the back door and ushers me inside before getting inside himself. He then lets me crawl into his lap and I start crying again.