by Mj Fields
She looks up at me, trying not to smile.
“Your mother busted in before anything major happened, and your dad got a picture.”
Now she does smile. “You’re making this up.”
I shake my head. “I’ve never been more thankful for not waking up hard.”
Now she laughs.
“Now, you tell me something about your time here.”
“I found out I’m not pregnant, and I”—she looks down—“I don’t think I can have babies.”
When her eyes start to fill up again, I want to keep the conversation going so she doesn’t cry. Hell, I would rather have her pissed than cry.
“Your father kidnapped me yesterday.”
When she rolls her eyes again, I tell her the entire story, and it’s not fucking easy, but I do.
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault, and—”
“It ended well,” I stop her from apologizing.
“Yeah?”
“Just had to talk it through. Today I tried to keep busy, give you space, but well, we see that wasn’t possible.”
She swallows hard and looks away. “I took a test at home, and it was positive.”
I’m confused and a bit fucking pissed off that she didn’t mention it.
“I needed them … I needed my friends because”—she pulls her knees to her chest and buries her head in them—“they were here the last time.”
I have no damn clue what she is talking about, so I ask, “The last time?”
She rests the side of her head on her knees and looks at me. “The first time I had sex, I got pregnant, and I didn’t keep it.” Her lip quivers. “I was eighteen. He was—”
“Warren.” I try to remain calm, but it’s fucking Warren. “He made you—”
She shakes her head. “I hated him. After everything he did, that I allowed, I didn’t want his baby. And Pace was finally going to college, he’d given up on his dreams and stayed at the marina, waited years until he saved enough to go. My older brother was going to start college after I had. I couldn’t ask my family to …” She stops and buries her face in her knees again. “I think he did it on purpose. I think he went after Pace because of me. I think Pace will never be a father, and I think … I think I won’t ever be a mother either.”
“I’m a little confused here, Paige. You took a test, and it said you were pregnant. You ran off to your friends because you, what, wanted to terminate?”
She pops her head up and scowls at me. “No! No, because I’m overwhelmed, because I have had false positives in the past, because you want me to be mayor, and you bought … everything. I needed them to ground me, to let me be batshit crazy if I felt the need. But most of all, Vincent, I needed them to be here when I took another test, because they know … they know what I’ve been through, and they know how to …”
“How to what?”
“Let me fall apart,” she whispers as she lies back, turns on her side, her back to me, and curls up in a fetal position.
“You could’ve done that with me, Paige.” I lie on my side and pull her against me.
She’s quiet for a while, and then she whispers, “I don’t want Pace to know that Warren went after him because of me. How awful is that?”
“What good will it do?”
I’m going to ruin that motherfucker.
“I’m sorry to have to be the one to point out the obvious, but we need a tie breaker test.”
“I don’t want to do that. I’m not pregnant, and if you want kids, I can’t give them to you, so—”
“Your girls and you become doctors, Paige?”
She pulls away and sits up. “I’m not pregnant! I’m not, and I don’t need another test.”
“Do I get a say in this?”
“Did I get a say when you came inside me?” Oh, now she’s pissed, and oddly, that is such a fucking turn on.
“You mean the time you tied me up and—”
“Oh, my God, shut up,” she scolds then looks around like someone might hear me.
“Then you shut up.” I poke her in the chest, not hard, just enough to instigate her.
She bats my hand away, and I catch it in mine.
“Last time, were you all over the place emotionally? Because I’m thinking so.”
She scowls at me.
“Last time, did you throw up like you did on the boat?”
“I get seasick,” she huffs, trying to pull her hand away.
I can’t help smiling, and she can’t help looking at me like I’m crazy.
“No, actually, you don’t.” I laugh.
“Yes, I do.”
“Fine. Now might not be the time to discuss all that, but I want to point out that I can obviously handle your breakdowns. I can also tell you that you need to take another test or go to the doctors to find out.”
She shakes her head like she’s afraid.
She’s not afraid. Hell, she’s not even Paige right now. She’s pregnant.
“Stop looking at me like that.” She flops back on the bed. “And don’t put ideas in your head that this is gonna all work out.”
“Stop putting it in your head that I would want you any less whether you’re pregnant or not, whether you are ever pregnant or not. I want you. You hear me?”
“Vincent …” she sighs then closes her eyes.
I lean over, placing one hand on each side of her head, and she opens her eyes.
“Your dad told me something yesterday.”
“You mentioned that already. I’m sorry.”
“He mentioned that, when you were little, you used to beg to go out on the fishing boat with him and Pace. Said he wanted you to dream, create, laugh, and learn from everyone around you. Said you’d find your warrior prince and be the thing that held his world together. I told him that was great.” I move one leg between hers, and her body tenses. “But I don’t want you to hold it together, Paige. I want you to fucking own it.
“Kids”—I kiss her forehead and keep my lips on it—“or no kids, doesn’t matter much to me. I just want to be that guy who you look to when you want to fall apart.” I kiss her cheek. “The one you look for when you are victorious.” I kiss her other cheek. “The one who protects you when you’re at your weakest.” I kiss her chin. “The one who holds your secrets.” I kiss her neck. “And the one to control your desire.” I hover over her lips now, and she lifts her to meet mine, but I don’t let her kiss me.
I reach between us to unbutton and unzip my pants, pulling them down enough to pull my cock out. Then I push her panties to the side.
“Tell me you trust me,” I say, running my finger up and down her already damp seam.
Her back arches as she whispers, “I trust you.”
“I trust you, too.” I grab my cock and rub it against her pussy. “Tell me you’ll be loyal to me.” I use my finger to spread her just enough to rub my dick against her slick heat.
“I’ll be loyal,” she moans out.
“I’ll always be loyal to you.” I push in a little, and her hips buck up, so I pull back. “What else do we need, Paige?”
“Honesty,” she pants out.
“Good answer.” I thrust hard and fully, watching her eyes widen and her breath momentarily lost to her.
Giving her a moment to feel how I feel when I look at her, I then pull out completely, leaving her empty.
“Which do you like better: all in or all out?”
“In.” She wraps her legs around me.
“How do you feel right now, Paige?”
“Empty,” she says, trying to pull my hips down with her legs.
“Now you know how I felt for the past two days.”
Her lip does the full-on Paige pout.
“Now tell me you love me.”
“I …” She closes her eyes, but I want them fucking open, so I slam into her now soaked cunt. “Vincent!”
“Tell me you love me!”
When she doesn’t say a word, I slam back into her then don’t move.
>
Again, she opens her eyes as I swivel my hips, trying to prepare her.
“Tell me the truth!” I groan as my cock swells even more.
“I love you.”
“You fucking better, because a baby doesn’t scare me. Neither does the thought of not having them.” I pull out and slam into her again. “But loving a woman who takes off when she needs me the most”—I pull out fully, leaving her empty—“it’s wrong.”
“I love you, but—”
“Paige, I more than love you.”
She lifts her hand from my shoulder and grabs my hair, pulling me down to her hungry and fucking demanding mouth.
Sucking on her tongue like I want to her clit, I line myself up to drive the point home and slam into her. “I love you.” I pull out and slam into her repeatedly while releasing her tongue and pulling her tank top down. “I love your tits, Paige.” I pull out. “I love your tight, wet pussy that takes everything I give it.” I slam into her. “I love your ass and can’t wait to fuck it.” I pull out. “I love you. You understand what that means?” I slam into her again, and she cries out my name.
“Love. You,” she cries.
“That’s fucking right you do.”
I fuck her like she needs to be fucked right now. The kind of fucking that says I’m in control. The kind of fucking she’s going to come to love, because she loves to come.
When I feel her contract, I demand, “Come for me.”
“Yes!” she cries.
“I’m going to fill your pussy, Paige, because you and I both know it doesn’t much matter either way.”
She begins meeting me thrust for thrust, and when she comes, I do, too, making good on my promise.
Lying on top of her, she whispers, “I love you.”
I whisper back, “I more than love you.”
We kiss softly, gently, in no hurry, until she falls asleep, my cock still inside her. I decided that’s where it will stay.
All. Night. Long.
Chapter 22
Secrets
Paige
I wake up on saturated sheets, feeling like I have been completely and utterly battered in the most amazing fashion.
He told me he loves me, more than loves me.
I have been told that by so many men, so … so many. I have felt it for them, too … until it was gone. I realize now, it was because I wanted it so badly. But when he said it, I felt it, heard it, saw it, and I swear I could even taste and smell it. It was … It is beautiful.
With a smile on my face, I open my eyes to see the entire bed covered in my favorite flowers. Dwarf iris violets in every beautiful shade of purple you can imagine. I hold my hand to my heart that literally feels like it’s going to explode because of the emotional orgasm it’s having.
When I feel something—a necklace around my neck—I look down to see it. But I see something else.
A ring. A huge diamond ring. A sparkling, princess-cut diamond, with an amethyst on each side.
I look around for him, finding a cup of tea beside the bed. Against the tea is a small piece of paper with “ginger tea” written on it.
Nikki.
I sigh. Ginger tea helped settle the nausea yesterday morning.
I look down at the necklace again. The chain is long, and the amethyst matches the color and cut of the ones on my finger, sitting just between my breasts. It’s exquisite.
I grab the tea and take a sip. It’s cold, making me wonder what time it is.
I reach for the note.
Paige,
Your fiancé told Abraham and me that he could and would handle whatever it is you need. I insisted on making you tea, and yes, it was a fight.
Now might not be the right time to say it, but the four of us have never held back, you being the most opinionated and vocal. I love you because of it. So, good luck being engaged and spending your life with a control freak. I think he may be even more so than Abe, and that’s hard to imagine, let alone deal with. It’s a good damn thing that you’re one, too, said with love of course, because if anyone can handle him, it’s you.
Call me when you need me, with whatever … whenever.
XOXO
Nikki
I want to call her and thank her, but I would really like to find the man who just told me and apparently everyone else I am his fiancée more. It’s insane. Even more insane is that I love it, I love him, and I love the fact that this overshadows any childhood fairy tale proposal I could, and have imagined … even though it’s wasn’t a proposal at all.
Leaving the door to the bathroom open, I shower, because as sore as I am, I want more of him … always. When I finish alone, I put on a pair of purple panties and a matching bra, and then I stand in the mirror, blow drying my hair and looking at myself like I always do. But for the first time, I’m not criticizing my belly bulge, or the fact that my arms aren’t perfect, or wanting to reduce the size of my breasts because Vincent, he crowned them with the most beautiful gem. And my thighs are no longer my enemy when I think about how he kisses and rubs them, making me feel sexy, making them feel sexy.
I set down the hair dryer and turn to look at my ass. Instead of getting angry that it isn’t smaller, I think of what Mel said, that he looks at it like he’s angry. I think of the way he licks, touches, and squeezes my ass, and I laugh, thinking I should get a tattoo on the small of my back, one of a red flag like they wave at bulls to entice them to come and get it.
I smile as I rub moisturizer on my skin, and for the first time, growing old isn’t as scary as it used to be as a single woman, almost thirty-three years old. I truly feel like thirty is the new eighteen and wish I had met Vincent at college, he would have been my first, instead of … Nope, he doesn’t get to be here.
As I rub cocoa butter over my pouch and thighs, I think that, as much as growing older doesn’t frighten me, the thought of stretch marks does.
I jerk my head up and look in the mirror, giving myself a dirty look because, as the test said, I’m not pregnant.
I push away the fears I had about it never being possible and the possibility of not being enough for this man, this mix of everything perfect about Marlon Teixeira, Jon Kortajarena, Sean Opry, David Gandy, Matthew Perry, and as Tammy with a Y pointed out, Christian Williams, but so much more.
I feel the heat between my legs begin to build at just the thought of him and wonder if my panties will ever be dry again. Secretly, I hope not.
I pick up my nightshirt that I tossed on the countertop and see a purple velvet jewelry box that I didn’t see when I came in. I grab it so quickly that I would be embarrassed if anyone witnessed it and open it.
Earrings. Dainty platinum chains hold amethysts, and yes, they match. Of course they match.
My emotions again take over. I have never been so happy to not have applied makeup yet as tears, unashamed, uncaring, big, fat, confident, happy tears roll down my cheeks.
He has fought for me, against me, for my family, against my family, my friends, and no one, no man, has ever done that for me. None have been stronger, and sometimes we truly need someone stronger … if even for just a few moments.
I wipe away my tears, swipe on some mascara, lip gloss, and pat a bit of powder on my face. I always do more, but I’ve realized he’s seen me at my worst and still looks at me the same. And if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to spend another minute without him.
I walk out of the bedroom and see his white button-up hanging on the doorknob. On the floor next to them are a pair of superb purple stilettos that I know he left there for a reason.
After sliding my arms in the shirt and my feet in the shoes, I walk out the bedroom door and see a cup on the floor. Looking down the hall, I see several, almost like a path leading me to him.
I bend and pick it up, reading the script on it.
I love her butt.
I hurry to the next one.
She loves the cook.
But half of the second O has been covered by white out or
something, making cook, cock.
The next says: His.
The next, I assume will say hers. It doesn’t. It says his just like the last.
The next says: Best Husband Ever.
The next: Mr Right.
The next: Mrs. Always Right.
The next: Boss Lady.
The next is a white mug, and in purple marker, it says: Except in Bed.
I cover my mouth and laugh while thinking, fine by me.
The next: Be Mine.
The next, again white and written in marker, says: It wasn’t a question.
The next: It is what it is.
And the last: It was always you.
I hurry into Valentina’s old office to get to him and nearly fall when I see the back of another man, clearly one of the Steel brothers.
Vincent’s face drops. “You turn around, Cyrus, and I’m going to hurt you,” he snarls.
“Your fiancée missing some clothes?” Cyrus Steel laughs.
“She’s exactly how I envisioned.” Vincent stands, eyes locked on me, completely dismissing the fact that he has company as he starts walking toward me.
Cyrus laughs again. “I’ll let myself out.”
“Thank you,” Vincent says, black eyes burning … for me.
He’s in a white tee-shirt that fits snug enough to showcase every beautiful ripple underneath it, and dark gray jogging pants that don’t hide that Vincent is hung, so beautifully hung, and his feet are bare. I’ve never seen him quite so casual. It’s a look I may now insist on.
He has me pinned against the wall in the kitchen, eyes never leaving mine, when we hear the front door shut.
“Morning,” I say, trying not to sound too hot and bothered already, but I am.
“It’s afternoon,” he comments, stepping back.
I reach for him, and he takes my hand, leading me to the kitchen island where breakfast sits waiting.
“Have a seat. I’ll get you some more tea and make you some fresh eggs.”
After clearing the plates, he grabs some eggs out of the fridge and sets them on the island. Then he walks to the sink, grabs a whisk, and rinses it off before coming back and standing across from me to begin cracking them.