At the scene of my crime.
At the scene where I touched her with my dirty hands. Touched her pregnant, warm belly and her soft, swollen tits. I touched her pussy.
I touched my gorgeous, glorious, pregnant Fae when I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t touch her, make her all dirty.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Pete asks from his beat-up office without me having to give him any context.
An office with a table that’s overrun with files. A cabinet that hardly organizes anything for him and a computer screen that he was squinting into because like me he can’t sleep either, until I interrupted him.
It’s a tiny place, much smaller than my father’s office, and Pete has had this as long as I’ve known him.
But this doesn’t suffocate me.
It doesn’t choke my breaths.
“Fuck no,” I spit out.
“And how’s that?” he asks, settling into his cheap leather chair that squeaks and is bad for his back. That I’ve told him a million times to replace. But he won’t.
It was a gift from Mimi.
He can be such a sucker.
I plow both my hands through my hair. “I don’t deserve it.”
“Well, that’s not your call to make now, is it?”
“It fucking should be.”
“But it’s not. You wronged her and she moved on. You need to move on too. That’s how it works. An apology, making it up to someone.”
My chest contracts. My fingers flex.
The fingers that touched her because she tempted me.
She wouldn’t let me keep my fucking hands to myself.
I’ve been aching, dying to touch her ever since she told me she was carrying my baby. I was fucking craving to touch her body, her belly that she so freely touches and every time she does, my blood heats up. My fingershurtfor not getting to touch her skin, the life inside of her.
And she fucking took advantage of that.
“What if…” I burst out but then trail off, pacing in his office.
“First, sit down. You’re giving me a headache. And second, what if what?”
I don’t.
I come to a halt though and grab the back of the chair in front of his desk. The chair that’s better than the one he’s sitting in but he won’t replace it because he still loves his dead wife.
What is with people and love?
Seriously though, why is it such a big deal?
“Thanks. But I’ll stand,” I tell him.
He studies my face before shaking his head. “You know what you are?”
