“But I’m fine now,” I say in a determined voice.
“Yeah. But you weren’t, were you? You couldn’t keep anything down. Not even fucking water.”
Oh yeah, that night was brutal.
I think my stomach was all upset and even the water was making me throw up. And he was up with me all night. But he was tired too, I remember. He had a meeting at work the next day and I remember him not getting a wink of sleep, same as me.
I know I was going through a hard time but he went through it too.
But he doesn’t let me speak as he continues, “So I don’t want your fucking forgiveness. Because there isn’t any. For what I did. For breaking my fairy. For putting her in a cage, for taking her dream away from her. For hurting her body, making her bleed, and I wasn’t even there to make it better. I —”
“Do it, then.”
“What?”
Yeah. What?
What did I just say?
But I take a moment to study him then. His messy hair, his stubble. His wrinkled shirt. The fierce expression on his face. The regret that is apparent in his every gesture, his closed fists, his wildly breathing chest.
And I realize I had to say it. I had to.
Not because I need him to make it better. Because he already did it.
But because he needs to.
He needs to make it better and I can’t not give it to him, what he wants.
I swallow. “You said, back at the bar, that you’d… you’d make it better. You’d apologize. To her. To my… pussy. Because you made her bleed. Because you’re so big and I’m so small. So…” I swallow again, clutching the hem of his hoodie. “So do it then. Make it better.”
By the time I finish, a throb has started up between my legs.
A throb that I’ve been feeling for days now. But I always pushed it aside. First, it was my sickness and then it was the fact that I shouldn’t have been feeling it in the first place.
But now there’s nothing stopping me.
I don’t want anything to stop me. From feeling it. From feeling him, inside of me. Even though he’s only been there once, I remember it so well.
I remember all the dirty, intimate things he did. All the dirty, intimate things he said to me.
His eyes glint, his high cheekbones going flushed and I know he remembers them as well.
I think he shudders too, licking his ruby red lips, and I have to press my thighs against each other.
“Are you fucking with me, Fae?” he growls. “Because I told you I’m not in the mood for it.”
“No, I’m not.”
In fact, I reach out and take his hand. And I put it where I know he wants to touch me but hasn’t because he’s been keeping himself away. I put his hand on my slightly swollen stomach as I go on. “I don’t want you to apologize anymore. I’m done, Reed and I mean it. But if you need to do it anyway, if you need to apologize or make it better, then I want you to. I want you to apologize and take my hurt away.”
And then I let his hand go but his fingers latch on.
His long strong fingers latch onto my baby bump and I know, for sure this time, that he shudders. His chest vibrates, his fingers too, on my belly.
And his gaze drops down to where he’s touching me.
I look down as well and my own breaths shake when I see how his big hand covers it all. My tiny bump. How he’s cradling it and how his fingers sport a slight tremble.
“I wanted to…” he rasps with a slight crease between his eyebrows.
I reach up to smooth it. “I know. You wanted to touch it but you never did.”
He swallows. “For a long time.”
“You can touch it. Whenever you want. I want you to.”
He looks up, the color of his eyes one that I’ve never seen on him before.
All melting and liquid. Molten mercury.
“It’s warm,” he says.
My eyes become wide in excitement as I bring my hands to grab the sleeves of his shirt. “Isn’t it? I feel it too.”
“Yeah.”
“I thought I was crazy,” I tell him. “I haven’t read this in any of the books yet but I —”
“Books can go fuck themselves.”
I bite my lip to stop my smile. I can’t stop my blush though and his wolf eyes sparkle at that. There’s my predator. My gorgeous villain.
“You shouldn’t curse, Reed,” I whisper, looking up at him with smiling eyes.
His fingers on my belly tighten. “Yeah? Maybe I should apologize for that then.”
“You should.” I fist his sleeves even tighter. “I’m a good girl and all you ever do is talk filthy to me.”
“What a fucking asshole am I, yeah?”
“And you make me hurt.”
His nostrils flare again on a long breath. “Tell me where I hurt you.”
I have to open my mouth as well because breathing is getting harder. “In my pussy.”
“My fucking dick is an asshole too.”
My channel pulses, waking up, remembering everything from that night. “And also here.”
This I can’t say.
But I will show him.
I will show him all the places that hurt so he can do whatever he wants to them. So he can make it better and lose all his regret.
So he can see that I’ve already forgiven him.
I take his hand again, the one that’s clutching my swollen belly, and drag it up.
Up and up.
Until his hand is right there. On my breast.
I know my cheeks are all pink now. Red and burning. But still I peek at him from under my eyelashes. “This. It hurts here too. Sometimes.”
His fingers twitch on the fabric and like he grabbed hold of my pregnant belly, he palms my breast too and my toes inch up.
Because God, I’ve never known my breasts to be so sensitive.
I’ve never known them to be so soft and tender. So heavy.
And it’s all getting worse because he’s watching them.
Even through his soft, thick hoodie, I can feel his gaze on them, on my bare skin. Not to mention his hand covers all of it, like it did my belly, and that makes me so breathless that I squeeze his wrist tightly, making him look up.
“They hurt,” he whispers thickly.
“Yes,” I whisper back.
“Tell me how.”
“They’re all sensitive and tender and… and big. Bigger than before, and my nipples…”
“What about them?”
“They ache sometimes. They throb. I-I think it’s because I’m changing. My body is.”
His jaw clenches, making the peaks of his face harsher, painted with a deep flush. “Your body is changing. Because of what I did.”
“Because of the baby.”
His fingers squeeze my breast, just one squeeze but it’s enough to make me moan slightly and he watches it all. With his heated eyes.
“My baby,” he whispers as if correcting me.