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“You okay?” He sounds worried, and I suddenly feel bad. I don’t want him to be concerned when I’m more than okay.
What he did to me last night was… amazing. There’s a delicious ache in my pussy and a weariness from being sated by him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. When he was touching me, it felt as if I was electrified. Since I became pregnant, my clit is so sensitive, I could come from one touch.
This thing between us is nothing like what it started out as. Rage certainly has made up for our first time together, which hadn’t been horrible, but it didn’t leave me satisfied in the way I am now. That night had been about us both getting our happy ending. It was fucking and nothing more.
What we did last night—and this morning—is so far from that evening, it’s unreal.
There is an undeniable connection between us. That was always there on some level—I mean, we fucked without even knowing each other’s names—but this is different.
My heart thuds every time he looks at me and my stomach dips. I want to mount him even now, despite only coming ten minutes ago, and that makes heat rise in my cheeks.
I do avert my gaze now, because I don’t know that I can keep looking at him without begging him to release some of the growing pressure within me.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I assure him, shuffling off the bed and going into the bathroom.
I take longer than I should to hang the towel over the radiator, my heart thudding with every passing second. This feels like a fever dream. I’ve had love, but not like this. I’ve had the love of my mother and, although it pains to admit it, the love of Tommy too.
But none of that was the same heat I feel from Rage.
He wants me.
Not because he sees me as a sister figure or family. When he looks at me, I’m consumed by him and I don’t understand why, especially right now.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the basin and frown. How the hell does he find this attractive? I look awful. There are sweeping shadows under my eyes and my skin, which is usually dewy and glowing, is washed out. My hair is clean, but it’s hanging around my face in damp waves. I don’t look put-together. Not to mention the way I’m dressed, in a clean pair of leggings and a T-shirt that hangs off my frame.
It’s not the most attractive outfit, and as I look at myself, my confidence, which is something I’ve never struggled with, starts to slip.
What if when I start to get bigger, he moves on to someone else? What happens to me then? I’m always going to be at the mercy of other people—first my father, then Scarlett, and now Rage.
I hate it.
I’m annoyed at the tear that rolls down my cheek. I’m so emotional, and I hate that too.
“Skye? You okay in there?”
I jolt at Rage’s question, but I realise I’ve been staring at my reflection for longer than I should have.
“I’m fine.” I force out the words. What the hell is wrong with me?
I’m weirdly self-conscious as I force myself to walk back into the room. I don’t want to look in his direction and risk seeing disappointment as he takes in the girl he’s saddled with because of one shitty broken condom. My throat is so tight, I can hardly breathe as I move over to the bed.
“Skye?”
I risk raising my lashes to look at him. “Sorry. I was just deciding whether I needed to barf or not.”
Why the hell did I say that?
His concern grows. “You feelin’ sick again?”
Oh, fuck. The last thing I want is to have him worry about me. “False alarm,” I assure him.
“Good. I was worried I might have pushed you too hard this morning.”
I glance in his direction, unable to stop the delicious heat from pooling in my stomach. Rage’s gaze seems magnetised to me as his eyes lift to examine my body from toe to head. He takes his time, slowly skimming up my frame until he pauses for a long time on my face. From his expression, it’s clear he likes what he’s seeing, and that confuses me more.
“Don’t do that,” I blurt the words before I can stop them, and I don’t blame the confusion that crosses his face.
“Don’t do what?”
