I shake my head at the strange thought. I’d expected it. It wasn’t there, of course, but I don’t know. I guess that’s bothering me, too. Skulls along with roses, morbid and beautiful, and our very limited past together. The ugly months. It’s all too much.
I put my hand over my stomach because now there’s a baby to consider. It raises the stakes.
And this is what it comes down to. This one-eighty turn. He wants an heir. He needs one. Did he suddenly fall madly in love with me once I became pregnant? Did he suddenly set aside years' worth of vengeance and hatred the moment he learned I was carrying his child?
I feel a little sick at the thought. At what it could mean for me.
What if he’s acting? Given all that’s happened, it’s a miracle I’ve held on to the pregnancy. Maybe he’s worried if I’m stressed or upset, I’ll lose the baby. And then what? Back to square one? Will he remember his hate of me? Lock me in my room, daylight barred from my windows again?
I get up and pad barefoot over the plush new carpet to the dresser, where a few boxes sit on top. I open one, take out the little outfit. It’s for a boy. Any clothes that have arrived whether from Santiago or The Society are all for a little boy. Only Antonia is buying clothes in neutral colors and even some little dresses. What if we have a girl? What will that mean?
I touch the gold bracelet on my wrist. Hazel’s. I’m still wearing it. Will we receive another one with our little girl’s name on it welcoming a daughter of the Society, the gesture itself almost mocking?
You didn’t have a son. A boy.
I shake my head. It’s not like that. IVI isn’t like that. The doctor has been wonderful. Attentive and caring. Colette has had nothing but good things to say about them, all the help they’ve provided since little Benjamin Jackson was born.
That’s another thing. I haven’t been to see her either.
My mind wanders back to Hazel. Santiago has promised to take me to her, too, to meet my nephew, but he has yet to deliver. He insists he’ll be the one to bring me once he has some time. Once things have quieted. Once everything is safe. And seeing as how Hazel ran away from The Society, ran off on a Sovereign Son, he hasn’t said as much, but I know it won’t look good for him if they find out he knows where she is but hasn’t brought her back.
But then there is the guardianship of Evangeline. If she’s in our care, my mother and brother can’t hurt her and he’s willing to do that for me. He’s put everything in motion already.
I bite the inside of my lip and think about Abel and what he’d said about Eva. What he’d do once he had guardianship which he assumed, since my father lay dying in a coma, was inevitable. He’d said those things to manipulate me into cooperating. He is manipulative. But is he capable of murder like Santiago believes?
The lipstick would prove Santiago right.
“There you are.”
I startle, turning to find Santiago standing in the doorway. He’s still fully dressed. He must have just gotten home. I smile as he closes the door and comes up behind me. He kisses my cheek and wraps one arm around me, hand over my stomach. I look at that hand. At how big it is. How strong. How possessive.
I’m not showing yet, but I’ve put on a few pounds. I feel it when I put on jeans, not to mention my boobs are fuller. Santiago seems pleased by both.
“What are you doing here in the dark?” he asks, nuzzling his chin against the back of my ear.
“I’m not in the dark,” I say, melting into his touch. He’s so warm and big and safe.
The instant I think that last part I close my eyes to ward off the thoughts that begin their incessant circling again.
But when his hand dips lower and slides under my nightie and into the lace of my panties, all thoughts are banished. I turn my head a little, enough to feel his breath on me, enough to open my mouth and take his tongue when he kisses me.
We’ve always had this insane attraction, Santiago and I. This fiery passion for each other.
“Always wet for me, my sweet Ivy.”
I can’t help but remember when he called me Poison Ivy.
He closes his other hand over my breast, the lace rough against my hard nipple as he kneads it, the fingers of his other hand still working my clit. “So very wet.”
“I’m going to come,” I manage as he tickles the shell of my ear with the scruff of his jaw, and when my knees buckle, he tightens his hold on me, his cock hard against my lower back.
“That’s the point,” he says with a chuckle, and I arch into his hand, eyes closed, head resting against his shoulder as I pant my release.
When I turn to him, I find he’s watching me, the un-inked corner of his mouth turned upward in a grin. He slides his hand out of my panties and brings it to his nose, then to my mouth. I open, lick, taste myself before he slides his fingers into his own mouth, that grin widening.
“So sweet,” he says before kissing me on the mouth, one hand on my shoulder guiding me to my knees.
I look up at him, aroused again at us like this. Him standing over me, big and dominant.
“Take me out,” he says.
I lick my lips and shift my gaze, undoing his belt, his zipper, pushing his pants and briefs as far as I need to before I free him. He’s hard, and I listen to his deep sigh as I stroke his length and lick the tip, tasting him. He cups the back of my head, weaving fingers into my hair, grip just tight enough so as not to hurt but to control.
“Open.”
I do, and I keep my eyes on his as he moves slowly at first, savoring each stroke of my tongue, pushing deeper as I relax, my hands on his thighs, my own cum leaking down the insides of my thighs as he takes my mouth because no matter how gentle he is, how careful with me, it always comes to this with us. Fucking. Wild. Feral. Like animals as he bends me backward, setting one knee to the ground and pushing in so deep that I gasp for breath between thrusts, and when he throbs in my throat, and I feel him empty, I think about how beautiful he is when he comes. How his eyes glisten, almost black, how his chest heaves with heavy breaths. How sweat beads on his forehead. And mostly how he can’t drag his gaze from mine like he can’t get enough.
Because this is the thing with us. I can’t get enough either. And I’m banking on this new Santiago. This man who cares for me. Who takes care of me. Who treats me like I’m precious.
Because if I’m wrong, if I’m making a mistake, the price I’ll pay will be a heavy one. One I won’t recover from.
He draws out, then watches me swallow, and we straighten so we’re facing each other on our knees. He adjusts his pants but doesn’t bother with the belt. He brings his thumbs to my eyes, wiping away the tears at the corners.
“I was too rough.”
I smile, shake my head, and touch his cheek. I want so badly for this to be real. For him to be real. I kiss him gently, and he looks confused when I draw back.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Just tired.” It’s a lie but also not. He swoops me up in his arms, and within moments, I’m lying in his bed, and he’s tucking me in, and it’s me who’s confused now.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?”
He kisses my forehead, stands to look down at me, buckling his belt and tucking his shirt back in. “I have to do some work.”’