Is he having second thoughts about the baby?
No…
He spent months trying to knock me up. Months breeding me. Obsessing over it.
He wants me pregnant.
But this? This domestic, quiet version of him?
I don’t know what to do with this.
I hover awkwardly, like I’m stranger in my own home. What the hell do I say? Why are you making food and not eating me?
This sucks.
“Are you pissed at me?” I say it quickly, before I can stop myself. I don’t mean to sound so small, so pathetic, but I feel both. It makes my eyes sting.
Jensen turns so fast it makes me dizzy.
“What?” He forgets the stove entirely, crossing the space between us like it never existed. Then his hands are on me. He cups my face, his eyes scanning me like he’s looking for the bruises he’s inflicted but can’t see. “Baby, no.” His mouth brushes over mine, soft and reverent.
Too soft.
I pull back just a fraction, and my hands cover his. “You got up before me. Youneverdo that.”
I hate how uncertain I feel. Unmoored. I’ve never had that with him before. I’ve always been sure of my place in his life.
Jensen blinks like I’ve said something in a language he doesn’t understand. “You were sick last night. I wanted you to rest.”
I frown, not sure what to do with that without sounding hysterical. My bottom lip slips between my teeth as I try to find the words. “That was last night,” I whisper.
He stares at me like he’s hanging onto the last thread of restraint, but I want him to snap it. I want him wild and unhinged for me. I don’t know what to do with this careful version of my husband.
Jensen brushes my hair from my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. I lean into his touch. I can’t help it. “I didn’t want to push you when you felt so bad.”
My smile is thin. “So I get pregnant and you don’t want me?”
I don’t know why I’m so upset about this. It’s not like he left the country. He’s still here, taking care of me, but rejection burns through me. I’m holding back tears, even though I don’t know why.
I try to step back, but his hand wraps around my nape, holding me there. Firm and possessive—a flicker of the Jensen I know better than myself.
“Don’teverfucking say that.” His voice is low and wrecked. Angry too—not at me, but at the idea I’d believe that for even a second. “You think I don’t want you?” He presses my hand between his legs. He’s hard, thick and aching under the fabric of his pants. Oh, damn. “All morning, all I’ve been able to think about is spreading you open and stuffing you full of me.”
My thighs clench.
My pussy too.
“But you’re sick, Mia. You came home early. You never do that.”
My throat closes and my chest swells. There’s so much pressure inside me I feel close to bursting. I’m sick but not broken. I don’t want things to change.
Jensen captures a tear with his thumb and he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, like he doesn’t understand how I would ever doubt that he wants me.
“Baby, you’re killing me right now,” he murmurs. He presses his forehead to mine, like he can siphon his thoughts into mine. “I would spend every minute of the day buried in your pretty cunt, fucking you slow, listening to you beg for my cum, but I’m not a monster, Mia. Your comfort matters more than my need.”
Oh.
Oh…
