She’s shaking apart beneath me, sobbing my name, and I kiss her through it, like I can make up for everything I’m about to do to her with this one moment.
When it’s over, when we’re both boneless and gasping for air, I don’t pull out. I stay buried inside her, my forehead resting against hers, our breath mingling in the small space between us.
“Vin…” Her voice is so small, so fragile. “What are we doing?”
I close my eyes. Press a kiss to her forehead. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t fucking know.”
But I do know.
I’m breeding her. I’m getting her pregnant so that when I’m married to Ashlyn MacCuinn, when I’m playing the role of dedicated boss to secure the Irish alliance, part of me will be growing inside Sophie.
Our child will have her eyes. Her smile. Her goodness. And it might just be enough to keep me from becoming my father.
I roll onto my side, pulling her with me, keeping my cock buried deep inside her. She curls into my chest, her leg around my waist, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight.
I hold her while she falls back to sleep, one hand stroking her hair, the other resting possessively on her flat stomach where my child might already be growing.
And I let myself pretend just for tonight that this is my life. That I get to fall asleep inside her every night, wake up next to her every morning. That the babies we make together will be as fucking amazing as she is.
That I’m not about to destroy the only good thing that’s ever happened to me.
59
Sophie
Istare up at him, my eyes wide, searching his face for—what? Confirmation that this means something? Guidance on what we’re going to do next?
His expression is unreadable, shadows and light playing across his face.
He holds me. His arms tight around me, his heart pounding against my chest, our bodies still connected. For just a moment I let myself believe this is real. That we’re real.
As the sun comes up, spilling light into our little cocoon of darkness, he shifts out of me.
“You’re not staying, are you?” The words are out before I can stop them.
He goes still. Every muscle in his body tenses, and I know the answer before he says anything. The silence stretches between us, cutting deeper than words.
“I’m sorry.”
I push him away, the cold air rushing in where his warmth had been.
“I don’t want this, Vin,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “You can’t do this anymore.”
He flinches and for half a second, I see hurt flash across his face, genuine and unguarded, and something in me wants to take it back.
But then his expression hardens, and the walls slam back into place, brick by brutal brick.
“We were never in a relationship.” His voice is cutting. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the clothes I’d laid out for him last night. “You don’t like it, use your fucking safe word.”
I lean up on my elbows, glaring at him as he yanks on his sweats and pulls his shirt over his head.
Sitting up in bed, I pull the blankets up to my chest. I feel used, marked, just… off. I search for a way to repair this, to get us back to where we were when he was inside me.
“I’ll make you something to eat before you go.”
“No.”
He’s so cold, completely and utterly shut down.
