Not all the way though.
Like he did the last time, all blind and raging in his jealousy.
He gives me only an inch but even that stretches me out. Even that makes me throw my head back and moan, makes my thighs slip around his hips.
Reed pulls out then, grunting, and on his next push, gains another inch.
Another inch that makes me moan and stretches me out like a rubber band. So much so that I take my hand off his shoulder and bite on my finger.
I take it between my teeth and bite on it hard, trying to adjust to the pain, to the largeness of him, the girth and the width.
My villain’s invasion.
But as always, Reed doesn’t like it when I bite or claw on things when I’m uncomfortable.
Especially when that discomfort is something he thinks he’s responsible for.
So breathing heavily, still half stuck out of my body, he makes me take my finger out of my mouth and gives me his. He gives me his thumb, and as always I latch onto it like it’s my lifeline.
I grab his wrist with both hands and suck on his thumb, bite on it, and just like that my pain goes away.
His magical, fascinating hand makes everything easier.
He pulls out again, his body vibrates before pushing back in. All the way in.
And the stretch is not so bad.
The stretch is sweet.
So sweet that I suck on his thumb harder and I arch myself under him and open my legs wider. I stretch them on either side of his body, like I’m doing a split, getting ready to spin on my toes and dance for him.
He gets so deep that I feel him in my pregnant womb and the moan that I emit is my loudest so far.
But I’m not alone.
He makes noises too.
Especially when he watches my big lusty blue eyes staring up at him and my pink lips sucking on his digit.
A long growl escapes him as he drops down on me, not all the way though. He’s careful of the baby but enough that his forehead falls on the crook of my neck.
But I’ve gotten so messy now, so wet between my legs that I don’t feel any pain, only delicious pleasure when he starts to move and sets up a rhythm.
A rhythm that drives me crazy. That gets his cock all the way in and all the way out. That makes me juice up more so he can hasten it.
Hasten that rhythm so his hips slam into me.
His hips shake my body and I grab onto his sleek skin as I moan.
As he grunts too, in my neck. As he sucks on the skin there, leaving yet another mark on me.
The mark of my gorgeous villain.
And God, he’s so deep now.
So deep and so high up there that my thighs, which had gone back around his waist after he gained full entry into my body, inch up. They slide up and down his sweaty sides.
That somehow makes him go even deeper when I thought there was no space for him.
But that’s the thing about him, isn’t it?
He always creeps up on me. He always makes space for himself in my heart, in my body.
Even when I don’t want him to.
Even when I knew I was wrong to obsess over him back at Bardstown High because he was my brother’s rival, he lived in my heart, in my thoughts.
Tonight I want him in there. I crave him, so when he gets deeper and deeper and his pumps grow feral and faster so that he has to pull himself up and away from me, so he can look down at my jiggling body, at my pregnant belly, I come.
My womb contracts and I come all over his dick.
I come even harder when he puts a hand on my swollen belly, as if he wants to feel the life he’s given.
The life I wasn’t expecting him to give me that night but he gave me anyway.
In turn binding us for life.
Maybe he’s thinking the same thing, that love or not we’re bound for life, when his eyes snap shut and he comes too. His back arches and the beautiful lines of his face drip agony as his dick lurches inside of me and spews cum.
It lashes it as I’m still coming.
As my pussy is still fluttering around his rod and I put my hand over his on my belly.
As he grabs my hand and joins our fingers, squeezing, and when he’s done, he opens his shining wolf eyes. He opens them to show me his stark possessiveness, his stark satisfaction that he’s got me now.
That I’m his.
Not forever, no. But for as long as he wants me.
And then he comes back down and kisses me softly on the forehead.
Some girls in love don’t get their happy ending.
The men they love don’t love them back. The men they love can’t love them back. And so they are forever blue.
They’re forever sad and aching.
They’re forever longing.
But my Halo won’t be one of them. My Halo will be loved.
By the first man she’ll ever love.
The man with sparkling vampire skin and glinting wolf eyes. Her daddy.
He will carry her in his muscular arms, play with her with those fascinating hands. He’ll even put her on his shoulders so she feels like she’s at the top of the world. He’ll make her smile and laugh. He’ll wipe her tears off, bandage her scrapes. Maybe teach her to ride a bicycle.
He’ll protect her from everything bad. Or at least he’ll try to.
I know that.
I know that he’ll lose sleep over how to protect her, how to make her life easier, how to give her everything. How to make all her dreams come true.
I’ll take my happiness in that.
I’ll watch them together, our baby and him, and all the blue inside of me will fade for a while.
For now though, I’ll let myself cry.
In the shower, at school during lunch, when I’m shut up in the restroom. Even in class, sitting in the last row while teachers are explaining to a bunch of uninterested, delinquent girls how a heart functions or why Romeo and Juliet is the greatest Shakespeare play ever written.
It’s not.
It’s tragic and painful. There is nothing great about tragedy.
There is nothing epic in keeping two people who love each other apart.
Heartbreak is not glorious. It’s not poetic or an inspiration for generations to come.
Stupid, sadistic, sick Shakespeare.
Although crying in class is much harder, not because my teacher cares that a pregnant girl is sitting with her head down all the way in the back, possibly not paying attention. But because my girls are there and they worry over me. Especially Salem, who always sits right adjacent to me. Something that accidentally happened in the beginning of the year and that’s how our friendship started.
But I tell her and the other two that it’s the pregnancy.
That’s my excuse for everything.
I’m crying because I’m hormonal.
And I am.
The only good thing is that I can eat meat now; as soon as I entered my twenty-third week, something shifted and I started craving meat again. So peanut butter ice cream with beef jerky bits on top? That’s the food of the gods. That’s like my pregnancy anthem.
Other people don’t think so though.
Especially the guy who got me pregnant in the first place.