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So damn happy.
My gut clenches with pain, and I throw back the rest of my drink. A sharp sting, burning all the way down my throat. Tears spill onto my cheeks, and I wipe them away, ashamed.
I should have manned up tonight, out in the alley. Told her I’m sorry, at least.
Instead, I walked away like a fucking coward.
She hitches her legs around my hips, and I lower her down onto the bed, tugging her shirt off as she props a hand behind her head. Smiling down at me as she spreads her thighs, beckoning to me.
Come inside.
Cock hard, I press into her heat, our bodies perfect for one another. Me giving, her taking. Pistoning in and out, her fingers squeezing my shoulders, her legs wrapped around me, urging me to go deeper, harder.
Never stop.
Setting my glass on the floor, I unbutton my jeans, springing my cock free from the tight cotton prison. Fisting myself, running my hand up and down the shaft, I grow bigger, longer, harder. Moving faster, pumping up and down and squeezing. Shutting my eyes and floating away, I can feel her all around me. Her tight pussy muscles clenching my dick, contracting as she bucks against me. Our bodies slap together, and I’m nervous about the baby, but she giggles and tells me not to be ridiculous. Everything’s fine with the baby. She’s so warm and responsive, the scent of her arousal stronger now that she’s pregnant. I slide in and out, her clit swollen and greedy. Wanting more.
My balls tighten, the base of my spine tingling. I fist myself tighter, jerking and squeezing, wishing it was Juliet’s wet pussy instead of my damn hand.
“Fu-uck,” I hiss into the empty room, hot cum spraying from my dick. Muscles tight, I pulse in my hand, and I’m warm all over. Too warm—from the bourbon and the lack of air circulation in the stuffy room.
I slump back against the headboard, my release sticky on my shirt, dick limp. Breathing hard, a light sheen of sweat beading at my hairline.
Eventually my pulse and breath return to normal, and I tuck my dick back into my pants, then zip up. I slide my cell out of my pocket, tap the screen, and the glass lights up. I hold my finger down on the contacts, my throat tight.
I should do it.
Dragging my finger down to “R.”
Tap.
Moving down, down, until I get to “Rose Queen.”
Click.
Hovering over the message button.
Press.
Typing out the words I should have written long ago.
King: I’m sorry
Pausing, hand shaking as I stare down at the phone, a lump lodged in my throat.
Do it.
I hit send, then toss the cell to the end of the bed. It’s well past midnight, and Juliet’s tucked up in her bed, sound asleep, I’m sure.
Shutting my eyes, I drift off, knowing full well I’ll dream of Juliet all damn night.
8
JULIET
I’m brushing my teeth, finally getting ready for bed after this absolute trash day, when I hear my cell ding from the other room.
Shit.
