“Do you love me, Grimm? We knew this wasn’t just friends.” Her almond eyes were glowing, and her hands fisted the bottom of my shirt, dragging me back between her legs. “Grimm…”
She had met the monster, knew about Jason, and fell for all of me.
She knew about the Clave.
She let me wreck her pussy more than once, and now it resulted in me sharing her with a fetus. Although, I still wasn’t convinced a few times had gotten the job done.
That’s when it dawned on me: If she was pregnant, she would be mine. Beyond free will, she would be bound to me forever.
It was the only thing that made sense. It was the only loophole for our relationship to survive, her being mine, pregnant.
My hands cupped her face. “It was terrifying, exhilarating, overpowering, but never just friends.”
My mouth kissed every patch of skin down to her cleavage pushed up in this dress. Letting my fingers get caught in her panties, I pulled them down her legs before settling back up against her.
“Grimm… What if I love you and you don’t love me?” She wasn’t getting the reaction she wanted from me. Three words, that was what she wanted.
She wanted me to cry with her or hate it all enough to remove her from my life. She wanted hard truths.
I squeezed myself through my pants, only making it worse. I was turned on by the whole situation, but the word vibrating inside my skull had me pulsing: mine.
Turning her face to one side, she avoided kissing me, just like she avoided me for a week. Pushing down my pants, I sprang out, and I could see her stealing peeks, even if she was acting uninterested. Wrapping my fist around myself, I pumped my length, while I looked down between us at how wet she was.
She wanted to hate me and play tough, but her body betrayed her, not a great stance.
“It makes us even.” Pushing my tip against her opening, I felt her hold her breath and accept my half-ass confession. I had her distracted, angry, and probably not pregnant, but if I wanted her to be mine no matter what, this was the kind of distraction I wanted her to fall under.
Brushing my fingers against her bare clit, I sucked off her taste, savoring her in my mouth. I used to be pretty confident this would be the death rattle of our love story.
No one fucks the Clave over without being scathed.
“Is that your way of saying I love you?” Her lips found the shell of my ear, while I thrusted inside of her, hands on her legs, keeping her on the edge of the table.
“When I say those words, you’ll know, Abigail. It’s not going to be because of a pregnancy scare or boner. It’s gonna be exactly when you need to hear it.”
Even the firm grasp of her tightness couldn’t choke those words out of me. We were playing a game of who would break first, and she lost. That loss was all I needed to want to admit how much I love her.
Now it was about timing. I wanted to control even that moment, having learned nothing about the best parts of my life being born out of my control.
I didn’t want anything tainting her ability to hear me when I finally chose to say those three words. The words she was hungry for were on a loop in my head this whole time. Too bad she couldn’t hear them.
“Grimm…” she panted my name, pulling my shirt down to expose more of the top of my shoulder for her to plant kisses on. It was that action alone that made me realize I didn’t bother to take it off.
“Abigail, I—” The fragile sentence broke off in my hand when my thumb found her clit between our bodies and I massaged it while I found my pace. Her legs pinned at my hips dropped, twisting around the back of my own, making her knees fall further apart.
I wanted to say something equally as powerful. I wanted to make her feel special in a different way. I just didn’t know how.
Her lips attacked mine, keeping me silent purposely. Holding my name on her lips, she tried not to moan too much. She never did let me have the upper hand too easily.
“I can be okay with this…” I didn’t prompt myself to speak between the shallow fucking breaths I was taking, but I did.
“This?” My hands were holding her to me, and my hips were meeting hers, knocking around what little control we had left. It was hard to see that was the wrong thing to say when my mouth found the sensitive spot on her neck.
“If you're pregnant… I can be okay with it. I’ll protect you both, give you a good life, this. I don’t want to go back to before… without you.” I never spoke so much at the wrong time, but between my feelings for Abigail and the fact that she might be pregnant with my kid gave me word vomit at the wrong time…while inside her.
Her delicate hand wrapped around my mouth as her sharp inhales got more frantic. “Grimm...”
It was a plead, prayer, a hail fucking Mary… as I pushed her over the edge. She just agreed with my crazy ass in a peculiar position, with a vice grip on my dick and heart.
Breathing heavily, I gave into the fog and blur of ecstasy only Abigail let me reach. My body tensed against hers, and I bit down on her shoulder, listening to her breathing try to steady, even though I was pretty sure this act of making her mine was going to send her off the edge again.
Neither of us made a move, still flush against each other and settling into the only other thing I could say if I wasn’t going to say those three words I knew she wanted: “I want you.”
I watched her chest rise and fall still out of control when my lips fumbled between hers. Neither of us wanted to leave this moment. Vulnerable yet safe, but the real world had a way of reminding us no matter who you trust you are always slightly alone.
I was going to toss my damn phone in the fireplace that I was turning on with the remote. It never stopped buzzing or grating my senses.
666-6: Abigail Duffy. #8 Rialto Avenue, Venice, CA.
Feeling powerless felt exactly like this moment. I was powerless against a fucking text message telling me my next job for the cult I pledged my life too. Even though I marked the invitation “not attending,” I was still deep in the trenches of their laws.
Abigail brought over a plate of Oreos with a tall glass of milk as I tucked my phone away, trying to hide the overwhelming feeling of powerlessness. I didn’t need to scare her into overthinking or assuming powerlessness looked like regret… because it did.
Her name just showed up as my next kill, without them knowing she was right in front of me.
No travel time.
No prep needed.
I was breaking all the rules, and I didn’t even consider the fall out.
GRIMM
My mother, Jacqueline Troy-Rothschild, was the kind of extra that came off presentable, eccentric, and an all-around perfectionist, instead of what she truly was: calculated and cold.
The Illuminati Ball was a staple event for every member, not just of the Clave but the Cloth and all the other branches of enforcement doing the work for us. The Clave truly was the last line of defense.
My mother was so calculated that the Ball seemed bigger than the Oscars, and we lived in LA. Nothing was bigger than the Oscars. Not in a town full of try hard actors, wanna-be directors, and producers convincing girls to take just one more article of clothing off.
Every flower arrangement, every cocktail, every employee there to entertain was a piece on her gameboard.
I didn’t know I was the same kind of game piece she was moving around. I was blinded by how much she seemed overbearing, when it was really just to cover her up the abhorrence masked as love.