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Just as the poison thoughts welled within me, hope now bubbles up in me too. Hope that maybe we can find a way. My brothers and Granny, I mean. And a way for me to tell her, so she won’t hate me and won’t lose that newfound faith that she’s inexplicably placed in me. I truly hope that I won’t hurt her, that she’ll understand and be able to forgive me and know why I couldn’t tell her right away. I also hope that maybe she’s right. Maybe that voice in my head is a real shithead, and I’d still be a good dad, no matter what my childhood was like. Despite what the voice said and despite the fact that I was already mostly grown when she found me, I know that Granny loves me, and she’s enough to make up for a thousand sets of parents.
“That’s…that’s very good advice.”
She nods sagely, unafraid of the force of whatever is going on with me. Unafraid of me. Unafraid of my massive size, the ugly scars, all the things she can probably sense I’m shielding from her, and all the demons of my past roaring and rattling in their cages. She can probably hear the noise, but she’s not shying away.
“It is.” There’s a twist to her lips that is all devil on that sweet, angelic face. “Now, are you still up for that shower?”
CHAPTER 7
Ayana
We don’t make it to the shower. Smoke’s hands, which are so much colder than normal, curl around mine, and he tugs me into him. I cant my face up and stare into his stormy eyes, the pupils absolutely huge. I twist my arms around his neck without hesitation. Whatever demons he’s fighting, I’m not going to let him go down without a fight, and now we’re fighting together. I’m with him in this, too, because our plan, be it as it was, was to do this together.
As I claw at his neck, his hand tangles in my hair, fisting a good bit of it, and then his mouth is on mine, claiming me with the kind of kiss that you feel straight down to your soul. It’s the kind of kiss that is possessed to the point of madness, and it possesses me in turn. I can barely stand upright as my legs threaten to give way, and where I’m soft, Smoke is all hard angles, solid muscles, and rock-hard granite. He hefts me up easily with just a single hand. My legs wrap around his waist, my flowy sundress riding up, so my core is pressed against his waist. His hand cups my bottom as he walks across the room, heading straight for the long couch. That big leather baby is a three-seater, and I moan when I get a vision of him fucking me into the cushions, my legs threaded around his waist the same way they are now. I want him to take me hard like that, hard and rough. I don’t think I could handle slow and sensual right now. I need him.
All I can think about is what we did that first night and the frantic way we couldn’t bear to have clothes between us, even though they were half on when he carted me up on his hips while I cracked open the condom and rolled it onto his massive length. My pants and panties had been torn away, but he was still wearing his jeans and T-shirt. It was dark, and it had been a good enough long time for me that I was incredibly eager. He’d taken me up against the wall and made me come so hard that I couldn’t remember my own name.
My body remembers every detail about his hard length filling me up and stretching me wide, my tight passage barely able to accommodate his thick length. I remember the pleasure, the crazy, astounding, blinding pleasure. He wasn’t done with me, not nearly satisfied after the wall. No, he took me on the bed with my legs up in the air, then flipped me over and took me from behind while we both watched as he thrust into me, filling me to the root over and over again.
It was most definitely the rawest, most brutal, and most sensual sexual experience I’ve ever had. His body fit like it was made for mine. All his brutal energy and my crazy passion were channeled into something that was fierce and wild and just right for us. It might have scared other people, my shameless screams as I came, the way I clawed his back through his T-shirt, and how I bit into his lip, drawing blood, but it was just. Right. For. Us.
Smoke stops when he gets to the couch. He doesn’t dump me down. Instead, he treats me like I’m made of glass, setting me down with total reverence before he kneels before me. This isn’t going to do. I don’t want to be treated like I’m going to break now that he knows I’m pregnant. I know he would never hurt me, and my body is going to shelter our baby safely. I might not be into the rough kind of sex that some people dream of, but I’m no vanilla angel either, and I don’t need to be worshipped. I expressly forbid it.
