Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
He waves the medical tape in the air, letting it speak on his behalf.
In the privacy of our cramped bathroom, Grayson prepares to wrap my stomach. He wants to secure it like a bit of tape will stop preterm labor better than bed rest, but a gleam in his eyes also announces that he wants to make me as comfortable as possible before we make our commute into town.
The tension hissing in the air is electric, though more than sexual attraction fuels it. It’s like we’re finally on the right track, that we are on the cusp of greatness.
He tears a strip of tape with his teeth before he moves it toward my stomach. Despite his steady hands, his back molars are so friendly that an occasional grind sounds over my pounding pulse.
He’s nervous.
I am too, but I won’t show it. I don’t want him regretting giving me so much faith before I’ve proven it was the right decision.
“Can you lift your shirt a little?” Grayson’s tone is gentle but edged with worry.
I do as asked, exposing more of the rock-hard lump keeping us at a safe distance. Faint lines mark the stretched skin on my stomach, showing the evidence of the life growing inside me, and reminding me that no woman deserves to have her child cruelly stripped away from her like the victims we’re endeavoring to protect.
Although I should feel exposed, Grayson’s tenderness when he kneels before me won’t allow such a pitiful response to surface. He is so gentle and attentive that I forget the seriousness of our day and what we still have to face.
After ensuring the waistband of my panties won’t interfere with the stickiness of the tape, Grayson smooths a large piece across the lower half of my stomach. His hands are warm, though a shiver still courses through me. His mouth is mere inches from a region of my body I’ve severely neglected over the past thirteen years. Mercifully, his breaths are frequent enough to give me the perfect excuse to brush off any dampness as condensation.
Like the day he shaved my legs, he starts low before working his way up. The tape feels foreign at first, but as it melds with my skin, the weirdness wears off. It is a snug, supportive hold, though not constricting. I like how it reduces the load on my pelvis and how it’s like protective armor.
Only one thing could top it.
Grayson’s hands taking their place.
I bite back a giggle when Grayson’s fingers brush the side of my stomach. I had no clue that region of my body was a sensitive zone for me, and it takes everything I have not to squirm.
When Grayson peers up at me, seeking a reason for my wiggles, anticipation sparks in the air, thick and electric. Even though he feels frustrated and worried, his appreciation for how my body responds to his touch lessens their impact.
After a handful more minutes, Grayson asks, “Is that okay? Not too tight?”
I swallow to ensure my reply comes out clearly. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
He acknowledges my praise without words, but his hands don’t move away from my stomach, nor does he stand. Instead, he rests his hands on my hips, grounding me. The turmoil of our day fades, and another, more tangible emotion takes hold.
As his thumb strokes a stretch mark on my left hip, his eyes search mine for any deceit his following words may conjure up. “Promise me you’ll stay close. That if anything feels wrong, you will pull out immediately. No arguments.”
The sheer fear in his voice makes a fresh lump lodge in my throat, and I immediately obey his command as if I weren’t trained for undercover operatives exactly like this. “No arguments. I promise.”
A hint of relief relaxes his stern expression, and a faint, almost ghostly smile appears on his lips. After standing, he presses his lips to my forehead, and then we head out, the air thick with anticipation.
When Grayson guides me to the underground lot, I spot Adeline through the lace curtain covering the front window of her apartment. She’s pale and shaky, and her eyes are brimming with silent apologies.
A mix of emotions bombards me when Grayson latches my belt a second after assisting me into the passenger seat of my bureau-issued vehicle. He makes sure the belt tucks safely under my belly, as all the mommy forums state, before he jogs to the driver’s side, slips behind the steering wheel, and then fires up the ignition to begin our short commute across town.
The accident site is chaos, with flashing lights, shattered glass, and witnesses talking to the police. A handful of commuters are also milling about, filming the scene.
Grayson slows to a snail’s pace when we reach the official crash site. Authorities moved the impacted vehicles off the freeway, but traffic remains gridlocked due to rubberneckers.