Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable. I…I would never hurt you. Never. Do you believe that?”
He’s asking so earnestly, his hand frozen, his whole body preternaturally still, that I reach up and cup his cheek. “Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, I know that.”
“I’m an idiot sometimes, no doubt. And I have a past. A past that, when I’m brave enough to tell you, you’re going to find out isn’t savory, but you’ve probably already guessed that. I’m rougher around the edges than most, and the scars on my face are the least of the ones I bear. If you…if you want to bail on this, on me, you have every right. I just need you to know that there are things beyond my control. Things that I…that I have to do to protect you.”
Protect me? From what? From him? From his past? From his demons? The ones that made him tremble and shake earlier, that made him shiver and break out in goosebumps, his hair standing on end, that haunted his eyes to their very depths? The ones that made him say—with enough belief behind his words that they broke my heart—he wasn’t going to be a good father?
Fuck. That.
I have my own demons. My own weaknesses and strengths. I have my own insecurities, and I’m so far from perfect that I would never claim something like that. It’s true what they say about learning. The second we stop, life just goes to shit, and we go to shit. I’m not running. Neither of us asked for this, but we did make a decision, and I refuse to think of this pregnancy as our penance. This pregnancy is a blessing—a sacred surprise, which was our real start. That blue line on the test pointed me in a direction I would never have thought I’d be taking, but this is my path now.
“No bailing.” I move my hand to his shoulder and curl it there in the fabric of his T-shirt. “I know you won’t hurt me. We all have scars. Yours might be the ones people can see, and mine are the ones they can’t, but we all do. I’m here, Smoke. I’m here with you. And this is the path I’m choosing.”
I know it’s daring and way too soon, but I sense that he needs it, so I take my hand and move it right over his slamming heart. His eyes, two smoky gray storms, ignite high with flames, then they get shiny with moisture. Neither of us knows how to get out the words that are clogging up our throats, so I smile at him just because I want him to see it. And maybe smiles really are contagious because he slowly smiles back. Anyone else might think his smile is a tad scary because of that brutal scar bisecting his face, but I think it’s as beautiful as a bouquet of sunflowers, which happens to be my absolute favorite flower. Something fires up in my chest and cracks wide open in all those spaces where feeling this kind of thing for another person who isn’t my dad, Cass, or the club brothers is brand new. I wonder if he feels cracked open like a nut, shelled like a peanut, and peeled like a fruit too. My throat burns as though I’ve just eaten a whole wad of cotton candy.
Smoke surges up, laying himself over me while I raise my legs and curl them around his waist, welcoming him. I love that just about every bit of him is covering every bit of me, and we’re touching and connected, even if we still have our clothes on. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hug him tight, feeling the urge to protect him, which is kind of absurd because I’m so much smaller.
His kiss is brutally wonderful, and it says all the things that language is so inadequate to express. The groan that tears free from his throat reverberates over my teeth, my tongue, and my lips. I lap at that sound, tasting myself there, too, like fresh sweet juice on his tongue.
His cock is hard as stone at my entrance, throbbing and kicking and soaked with both our wetness mingled together. My whole body stills in anticipation. I dig my nails into Smoke’s T-shirt a little bit harder, and when he hisses against my mouth, I know he can feel the bite. I squirm eagerly, my hips rocking against his, but he has other ideas.
He bows his head and tears the neckline of my dress down so violently that the seams nearly split. The fabric surges against my skin, burning me as he frees one of my small breasts. He rears up and uses his hand to ply my nipple, tweaking it painfully between his fingers until I’m panting and thrashing my head against the couch cushions.