“Stop fucking talking.”
“Or you could… you could put it in me.” I arch up, rubbing my bare tits on his chest. “In my pussy. And this time you won’t even…”
“I won’t even what?”
God, I’m shameless.
So shameless to tempt him like this.
But I can’t stop. I won’t.
I need him to stop torturing himself. I need him to give me what I want.
“You won’t even have to pull out,” I say and his eyes become slits. “You could come inside me, inside my pussy. You could give me all your pain, all your hurt. Because I won’t get pregnant.”
“Yeah, because you already are,” he says, in a guttural voice, his one hand holding mine over my head and the other buried in my hair, all tight and punishing.
“Yes.”
“Because I already did that. I already blew my wad inside you before I had the sense to pull out and knocked you up.”
Biting my lip, I nod. “So you can come inside me all you want now, can’t you? You can fill me up, Reed. Until I’m flowing with you. Until my pussy is all creamy with your cum and leaking and —”
“Stop.Fucking.Talking.”
And then he kills my words himself with his lips as he kisses me and doesn’t stop.
Not until he’s completely overpowered me and made me come again and again.
Until I forget everything.
By the time my twenty-week appointment comes around and they tell us the sex of the baby, I don’t think Reed will ever end this torture on himself.
And I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying, because I get what I always wanted.
It’s a girl.
I’m having a baby girl.
“It’s a girl,” someone whispers, and I think it’s me. And when I do, I feel a pressure on my hand. Because the guy whose hand I’m holding, lying on the exam table, has squeezed my fingers.
He’s wrapped his long, strong fingers that I adore around mine tightly.
I look up and my ballerina heart skips a beat.
I’ve never seen him happier than this. It’s not an outright, bright happiness though. It’s a subtle thing.
The lines around his wolf eyes are crinkled slightly and the ones around his ruby red lips are loose and relaxed. And there’sthis glint in his gaze and an easiness in his posture that usually disappears in the evening after work.
“We’re having a girl,” I tell him as if he doesn’t know.
“With blonde hair and blue eyes,” he whispers back, staring down at me.
“Or maybe dark hair and gray eyes,” I whisper back and this time I say the words out loud that I’d thought the day I told him I was pregnant. “Like her daddy.”
His stubbled, messy, beautiful jaw tics as a strong emotion overcomes him, and I squeeze his hand back because I know he needs it.
When the appointment is done and we walk to his Mustang to go back home, Reed doesn’t let me sit in the front seat. He opens the back door and ushers me inside before getting inside himself. He then lets me crawl into his lap and I start crying again.
