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Alone
Leigh
“Ooh.Yes.Yes,baby,right there.” I pull at Nick’s hair as his tongue moves over all my swollen areas. His fingers dig into my thighs as I tense up, panting, begging for release.
He swirls his tongue around me again and I lose it. “Nick,” I hiss, grunting as I try to hold back the moans. My stomach hardens as the pulsating subsides. He pulls his lips away from my most sensitive spots and drags them up my body, pausing to quickly give each nipple some extra attention.
He lies next to me and kisses my neck, placing a hand over my growing stomach. “What do you think? Third time the charm?” he teases, knowing I can’t get enough of him. I didn’t know pregnancy could make you so horny. I guess it doesn’t happen that way for everyone, but for me? It’s all I can think about half the time.
“For now,” I tease back, giving him a steamy kiss. “I haven’t heard you complaining.”
“Oh, absolutely no complaining on my part. I love making youhappy.”
I pull him to my lips again, wanting him to feel just ashappyas I am. Even though I’ve done that for him twice today. Once with my mouth and once with my, well, you know.
“Plus, I love when you say my name. It reminds me that you’re mine.”
Fuck, he’s so sexy when he says shit like that.I’m not gonna tell him that, though.
“Excuse me, I’m my own woman.” I narrow my eyes and pretend to be mad.
He kisses all over my face. “Oh, Señorita, I know you are a strong, powerful, badass woman. You’ll always be your own person. But when it comes to relationships, I’m yours and you’re mine. I thought I made that clear.”
His teeth sink into the skin of my neck and I can’t think anymore. I mutter some noise, maybemhmm.I don’t know. I don’t care. He’s right. I’m his. And there’s nothing I want more than—
There’s a sharp cry from the kitchen, and I leap out of bed. Throwing on my underwear and Nick’s tee, I dash from the room, leaving Nick stumbling behind me trying to get his sweats on. When I get to the living room, I see Abuelita on her knees on the floor.
Is she having a heart attack?
Sliding onto the floor next to her, I grab her arms. “Abuelita, what’s—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” she whimpers, and I realize she’s crying.
“Abuelita, what’s happening?”
Her eyes move slowly up to mine. “Oh, my baby. My baby.” She cries more and darkness fills my stomach.
“Your mother…” she whispers, eyes haunted.
No.
More cries. Then she breathes out the sentence that shatters me. “…está muerta.”
She’s dead.
