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I looked out the window and ignored her, knowing she was being argumentative just for the sake of it. On the ride to the doctor, I got a great blow job, but now we argued like an old married couple. “Just look at the picture and shut up.”
She moved across the seat and slapped me across the face. “Don’t tell me to shut up.”
I snatched her wrist and yanked it down, showing her that I outmatched her strength fifty times over. “You think I won’t punch you in the face as hard as my brother did?” I squeezed her wrist hard, watching her slowly fight the discomfort until she started to cringe. “I will, Siena. I’ll give you another black eye.” I released her arm.
She didn’t massage it or whimper. “No. I don’t think you’ll do that.”
“You really want to try me and find out?” With wide eyes, I challenged her, tested how stupid she was.
“Alright.” She slapped me again.
I turned with the hit and felt my cheek immediately become inflamed. No woman in my life had slapped me as much as this one. It had to have been at least a dozen times. Sometimes I liked it, and sometimes it pissed me off.
I turned back to her, my eyes burning with fire.
She challenged me with her stern look. “You won’t do it.”
My hand shot out, and I gripped her by the neck. Then I squeezed.
She didn’t fight it. “You won’t hurt me.”
“I can hurt you without hurting the baby.” I squeezed her hard until she could barely breathe.
“That’s not why—and you know it.” Her words came out weak because her lungs didn’t have enough air for her to speak. Her hand gripped my wrist, but she didn’t try to fight for her freedom. She just held my gaze, keeping her pride despite her vulnerability.
I squeezed her until she couldn’t breathe.
Instead of pushing me off, she grabbed my shoulder and pulled me toward her, her lips aimed for mine. Then she kissed me, kissed me the best she could while suffocating.
My anger vanished when our lips touched, so my hand slackened against her throat. I made up for the savage way I had gripped her earlier by sliding my hand into her soft mane of hair. I fingered her strands as I brought her closer to me and kissed her harder.
She shifted onto my lap with her dress pulled up. Her hand slipped into the back of my hair, and she kissed me softly, taking her time like there was no reason to rush it. She kissed the corner of my mouth then trailed her lips to my neck. She kissed me everywhere, her hand moving under my shirt to feel my abs. Her lips pressed against my ear. “You would never hurt me.”
I hated myself in that moment. Absolutely loathed myself. But her kisses and touches thrust me into a sea of desire, so I didn’t think about that anger. This woman pissed me off but also stole my obsession. I hated her but needed her at the same time.
She moved her lips to mine and kissed me again, her soft lips giving me a purposeful embrace. She grabbed my hand and placed it over her stomach, right where our baby’s heartbeat would be.
My fingers spanned her entire stomach, and I moaned into her mouth. I had no idea why this turned me on so much. A pregnant woman wasn’t sexy to me. Getting her pregnant had only made my life chaotic. But during moments like this, when we were just a man and a woman, it turned me on more than anything else ever did. I was the one who put that baby inside her, the one who made that little heartbeat. Now she was carrying it, carrying a piece of me. It was so arousing.
She unzipped my jeans and popped open the bottom. She’d just swallowed my come on the drive there, but that must have been an appetizer for her. Now she wanted the entrée. She pulled my boxers down so my cock could be free. Then she yanked her thong to the side and slowly sheathed my length.
Fuck, how did I keep forgetting how good her pussy was?
Jesus fucking Christ.
She straddled me and started riding me.
My hand stayed on her stomach because I didn’t want to pull it away. I could barely think straight because her pussy felt so damn good. Fucking another woman sounded disgusting. Going to a bar and picking up two women sounded like the dumbest idea I’d ever had. Why would I want that when I could have this?
Even if she betrayed me.
She was manipulating me, doing whatever she could to save her life.
I didn’t judge her for it. Anyone else would do the same.
I just had to remember none of this was real. The passion, the lust, the connection—all of it was fake. When the moment came, I would have to forget all those feelings and pull the trigger.
