by Geneva Lee
“Of course, I didn’t.” Her lower lip trembled, and I realized that this was far from the good-natured tiff I thought we were having.
“Beautiful.” I moved toward her, but she held up a hand.
“Smith Price, I am horny as hell, so unless you’re going to come at me with your cock out, stay back. I am so not in the mood for a hug.”
It took considerable effort not to smile at this. That was my wife—poised and well-educated, with the mouth of a sailor.
“Don’t even think about laughing,” she warned me.
Apparently I wasn’t hiding my amusement as well as I thought. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“You would.” She wagged a finger at me.
“Maybe you should spank me.”
“Maybe I should get a vibrator,” she shot back. “I mean if you’re so disgusted with me now.”
I was across the room before she could react, my hands closing around her shoulders. “You aren’t going to goad me into taking you to bed, and no one speaks about my wife that way. Not even my wife.”
“Please,” she whispered. “You’ve spent so much time worried about feeding me and making sure I get enough sleep, but right now I need to feel close to you.”
It didn’t make any sense. I’d spent the last two weeks making certain she wanted for nothing, and somehow I’d still failed. “I guess my plans to finally be the man you deserve aren’t working.”
“Don’t say that.” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s just the hormones. I should feel safe, but I don’t. Something isn’t right, and that might be in my head, but I need my husband.”
“I’m right here,” I promised her. Releasing my hold on her, I wrapped my arms around her delicate shoulders.
“But you aren’t.” Her tears came softly, and right then it didn’t matter if she wasn’t thinking clearly or if she was being emotional. An urge to protect her burned through my veins, drowning out the rationale I’d been feeding myself for the last week. Guarding her made no difference if she still felt fear. Every happy moment of our life together had been clouded with shadows; I wouldn’t be the one to block the sun now.
“I am here. Forever,” I promised her.
She opened her mouth, but my mouth was on hers before she could protest. The kiss was unlike the cautious, brief displays of affection I’d given her since she told me she was pregnant. This one flirted with the boundaries I’d established for myself and then leapt over the line entirely. I didn’t wait for her lips to part, I forced them open. She met my domination with equal hunger, smashing her mouth against mine until I felt teeth and tasted blood. It was as hot and messy as every moment I’d spent with her. In one word, it was perfect.
I broke away, leaving her breathless. “We do this my way.”
“We always have.”
Seeing her there, panting and wild, stretched my control until I could have sworn I felt it snap. We collided again. This time, I dipped lower, cupping her ass before hoisting her in one fluid motion. Her legs coiled around my waist as I carried her, our mouths still locked together, to the bed. Neither of us broke contact as I lowered her to the bed. My cock pushed painfully against my restrictive jeans, but I couldn’t be bothered to undress us yet. Right now I needed to taste her. Belle squirmed under me, shifting her thighs to rub her groin against my erection. Even through the layers of denim between us, I felt her heat. I bucked against her, enjoying that as much as the friction.
The fact that she was still fully clothed was actually really working for me. Dipping my head, I found the peak of her right breast and bit down, sucking her covered nipple into my mouth. Even through her shirt and bra, it beaded.
Pushing up onto my palms, I hovered over her. “Hold still.”
She stilled immediately. Obviously I wasn’t going to get any resistance about doing this my way.
Dropping kisses down her abdomen, I stopped when I reached her waist and lingered for a moment. My fingers found the button of her jeans and I yanked it open. Hooking my thumbs along the waistband, I tugged. Belle got the idea and lifted her ass to help me as I slowly drew them off of her.
“Your panties are soaked.” I brushed my palm along the cotton, and she trembled but managed not to move. “You seem to think you’re the only one having a hard time with this? Let me make this clear to you. I’ve had a fucking erection since you told me. You have never been more beautiful to me. I spend all day wanting to find you and fuck you on the spot.”
She groaned, bucking her hips up in invitation, but I pressed her gently back to the bed.
“Do you know how many times I’ve touched myself?” I asked her.
Her eyes widened as she shook her head.
“Zero. I’m waiting for you, beautiful. Because there is no one I want more. If I’m not buried inside you, I don’t want to get off.” I hadn’t even been tempted. The idea of jacking off was almost unappetizing. “My orgasms belong to you just as much as yours belong to me.”
“Please, Sir,” she whimpered.
A familiar darkness swept over me, but I pushed it away. I wasn’t here to dominate her. “Not now. Right now I’m your husband, and all I want is to hold you. I need to bury my cock inside you and feel you coming on me.”
“Smith.” She spoke my name as if I were her very breath. Her hands fisted into my shirt, and I helped as she pulled it over my head. Within a few seconds, we’d stripped down to nothing.
I slid my arms under her body and lifted her against me. Her legs fell open, and my cock nudged against her folds, settling into the welcoming cocoon of heat between her thighs. My mouth found hers, and we moved slowly, as languid as a dream. My shaft rubbed against her clit, gliding easily along her slippery sex until she was breathing heavily.
“This is what I need,” I murmured against her neck. “Just to be with you, and only you.”
The days where that would be the case were numbered. Why had I been denying her? This close to her, it seemed so silly.
“I need you inside me,” she whispered, sucking in a breath as my tip brushed against her swollen clit.
“I need that, too, beautiful.” Rocking back, I circled her pussy slowly until my crown slipped effortlessly inside. I sank into her, savoring each delicious inch of velvety softness. She was wet but so fucking tight that I almost came immediately. I had no doubt I was good for more than a few rounds, but I wasn’t ready to give in yet.
“Oh God,” she cried out in a breathy voice. “Ohh, fuck me.”
But we weren’t doing things her way. We were doing them my way. I didn’t dare remind her of that. It would be impossible to take my time if I set off her wild side. I’d simply be holding on.
“You feel amazing,” I praised her, circling my hips and taking care to maneuver until her pussy was spread open. I rocked inside her, each slow thrust bringing my groin into contact with her clit. “I want to watch you come on my dick. Take what you need from me. It’s yours, beautiful.”
She arched up as soon as the words left my lips, and I hooked my arm lower, supporting her as she began to slide and buck against me.
“That’s right,” I coaxed, feeling my balls tighten in preparation. “Show me how much you needed to fuck my cock.”
I’d ceased moving entirely. Belle had taken over, driving down on me with reckless abandon. A frenzy possessed her as she rode me and as her movements grew more frantic, I grabbed her hips and slammed her against my cock in a tireless, swift rhythm until she shuddered violently, her arms flying up to grab my shoulders as she cried out. The sound of her orgasm spilling from her pushed me to the edge. I thrust until she was full of me.
We finally collapsed onto the bed, our limbs tangled together like wild vines. Belle grinned lazily at me as I stroked her hair, luring her to a well-deserved sleep.
“Regret that?” she asked, a note of apprehension in her voice.
“Making love to you? Never.”
“Then don’t hold out on me, Price. A girl has needs.”
T
hat was one need I’d be more than happy to meet.
Chapter 17
I was floating in my dream, my body buoyed carelessly on the surface of the water. Even though some part of my consciousness knew that I was asleep, I didn’t mind. These were the dreams I could look forward to now. Calm, peaceful, liberated.
Just like me.
Dipping my head back, hair swirled around me like rays of light. I closed my eyes and allowed the peaceful sensation to wash over me. Then the first wave crested my body, the force of it pushing me under and shattering the glassy surface of the ocean. I kicked hard, thrusting my body up for air. I broke free of its hold, but while I gasped and sputtered from the unexpected assault, another wave rushed toward me.
I sat bolt upright, still panting. My hand dropped to my chest. My heart was pounding. I’d known I was dreaming, so why did I still feel on full alert?
A tiny surge of heat between my legs called my attention from the memory of the nightmare to the present. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I ran into the bathroom and dropped onto the toilet. I wanted to believe it was the remnants of our lovemaking, but I knew this was different. It had a distinct familiarity that was unwelcome. It had happened to me before. I imagined it happened to every woman periodically. But this time, it wasn’t a mere nuisance, it was terrifying.
I closed my eyes and said a prayer. I hadn’t been raised to be religious, but once again I found myself calling on a god who owed me nothing. I had no relationship with him, but he was the only hope I had in that moment.
Folding the toilet paper into a tidy square, I reached between my legs and wiped.
Crimson.
Not a little blood—a lot of blood. The kind I might expect on the day my period was set to arrive.
But mine wasn’t supposed to come for nearly nine more months. All the fear and uncertainty I’d felt since the moment I’d discovered I was pregnant faded into panic. I’d questioned if I could be a mother. If I was ready to become one. I’d driven myself crazy with anxiety. And now I knew two things:
I was ready.
And it was too late.
I wanted to believe it was from the sex. Women bled during pregnancy. Clara had at the beginning of hers, but in the deepest recesses of my being, I knew the truth. I couldn’t hide from this. I couldn’t lie to myself.
I didn’t drop the bloodstained paper, instead I sat there and stared at it, trying to make sense of the violent shifts in my life. There was no point. This didn’t make sense. This just was, and knowing that did nothing to squelch the rapidly growing ache in my center. So I stayed motionless and felt the one good thing Smith and I had ever done drain, drop by drop, from my body. With each passing second, a little piece of me died along with our child.
There were no tears. I’d cried too often lately. I hadn’t saved any for this.
“Stupid bitch,” I muttered to myself. “Cry.”
Cry. Cry. Cry. I wanted the tears to come. I wanted to feel this, because what did it mean if I didn’t? What kind of person would that make me? If I was this broken, I could never hope to be fixed.
I might have been there for hours. Or minutes. Time didn’t hold a lot of meaning anymore. At some point, the cramps began. I’d wanted to feel this, but as my body contracted and pushed, emptying the future from my womb, I realized I didn’t want to. Numbness was better. I would have traded every happy memory I had not to feel this now. The pain had stolen whatever shreds of self-deception I’d allowed myself. This wasn’t a fluke. I wasn’t being paranoid.
It was real.
When Smith finally appeared in the door, blinking sleep from his eyes, I didn’t move.
“Beautiful?” He wasn’t fully awake yet, but as he adjusted to the light, confusion swiftly turned to concern.
I was still holding the bloody paper.
He dropped in front of me and took it gently from my fingers, tossing it in the wastebin. Then his hands wrapped around mine, holding them firmly in his grip. He didn’t speak. I’d married a smart man. I didn’t want to hear placations. I didn’t want to explain.
I just wanted him to be there.
I tried to look at him, but the sight of his handsome face, heavy with the weight of this, tore through me. Would it have been a boy? Would he have looked like his father? Some long-forgotten snippet from a biology class came to mind. Smith’s green eyes would probably override the blue of mine.
Piece by piece, I was building an image in my mind. Green eyes. One dimple. He’d have dark hair like his father. In another version, a girl shared my fine blonde locks.
But the eyes were always the same.
That’s why I couldn’t look at Smith anymore. All I saw staring back was the painful reminder that I was quietly birthing death on a toilet.
I had no idea how long we stayed like that, but finally the cramping dulled to a faint pulse. Drawing my hands from his, I turned my face away from him.
“Can I have a minute?”
He hesitated, and I wanted to scream. But there was no strength for it. In the end, he stood slowly, as if his limbs were stiff, and walked to the door. He shut it behind him, and I went about the necessary business of breaking my own heart.
I flushed the toilet and then I washed my hands, careful to keep my eyes on the floor. I didn’t want to see the evidence of my loss, and I couldn’t bear to look in the mirror. Because I wasn’t sure whom I would see reflected back at me.
I wasn’t the girl who went to bed last night. I was someone new, born of a pain that I felt physically, if in no other way, and I wasn’t ready to face that stranger yet.
Opening the door, I discovered Smith. In his hands, he held a pair of knickers and a t-shirt. I took them wordlessly, wondering how long he had stood there. I should thank him, but it seemed pointless.
We were both doing what had to be done.
“I need something for the bleeding.” I struggled to put it all together. I was talking out loud but not to him, walking myself through the necessary next steps.
But he responded anyway, rummaging through the loo’s cabinets until he produced a dusty pink box.
I took the pads from him and shut the door. This wasn’t for him to see. He didn’t need to deal with this.
He was still there when I came back out. I tried to push past him, my only thought of climbing into the bed and pulling the covers over my head. If I closed my eyes, would I wake up?
“Do you need anything?” he asked in a soft voice.
What else was there to say? I needed nothing. I wanted nothing, except the blissful absence of conscious thought.
“Sleep.”
He didn’t press me further. Instead he followed me to the bed, but he didn’t climb in beside me as I curled into a ball in its center.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I waited for sleep to find me, but before it did, I felt the soft comfort of blankets being tucked around my body. Then a hand pausing on my shoulder. It lingered for a moment. Then it was gone, and I was alone.
Chapter 18
She was so still as she slept that I found myself moving closer to check her breathing. My own mind refused to quiet. It whirled with the ways I could help her or the things I should say, but as dawn crept across the horizon, I realized they were all lacking. When she’d been in danger, I’d acted. I’d been able to do so without hesitation then. I’d acted out of an instinct that failed me now.
I couldn’t protect her from this. Instead I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep. Reaching out to touch her, I stopped midair and let my arm drop to the side. This was our life: celebration mixed with grief, tears mingling with joy. It was how it had always been for me, and now I’d fucked up her life, too.
When her eyes fluttered open, I was still there. It was the only support I could offer her.
“Take me to London.” Her words were soft, floating in the air between us.
I could do that if nothing else.
Belle rolled over and closed her eyes, but her breath
ing didn’t settle into the shallow pattern of sleep. She was cutting me out, and I couldn’t blame her. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t wake up with me by her side every morning, waiting until she was ready to cry or scream or talk.
For now, I would take her home.
Chapter 19
My mother met me at the door with a stack of contracts. Thrusting them into my hands, she tapped her foot. “I can’t let you leave until you sign these.”
“I’ve already told you—“ I began.
“Let me make this clear to you. Belinda. Gunther. The people you actually care about here. Your decision affects all of them. I’ve made it easy for you.” She held out a pen. “All you have to do is sign.”
“I don’t think you understand. I won’t.” I couldn’t be any clearer on this. “I refuse to continue a relationship, even a business one, with Philip Abernathy.”
“What have I done to deserve this?” She threw her hands in the air. “Why do you want to destroy me?”
“Maybe I have your flair for the dramatic,” I said in a flat voice. “I have to go, Mum.”
“You can’t run away from your problems.” Her voice held no maternal concern. This wasn’t a mother giving her daughter advice. It was a bully delivering a warning.
“Believe me, I know.”
Her nostrils flared as she studied me. “How old are you?”
There was a distinct possibility that she didn’t know the answer, but I wasn’t about to play into whatever she was setting me up for.
“You act as if you know about the world. You started a business. You snagged a husband. That hardly makes you an expert on life.”
Heat seared through my palm as it smacked her face. I backed up a step when I realized what I’d done. But even though it had been wrong to hit her, she had been wrong as well.
“You have no idea what I know about the world,” I choked out over the rage simmering into tears.