Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“Oh God, Trav...” I gasp, voice raw.
“Fuck,” he growls.
“I need more, more, Trav...”
He answers by pulling out and pounding back in, hard enough to rattle the plates in the cabinet. I latch onto his neck, moans tangling with his guttural sounds. The heat radiating from his body, the slick friction, every sense is alive.
“Come...come for me,” he rasps, voice ragged with need.
I’m trembling, undone, my second climax roaring through me as he drives into me one last time, deep and relentless, until he groans my name and releases inside me. We collapse together, a tangle of sweat-slick limbs and ragged breaths. He pulls out and slides back in once more, still hard, still searching. I open my eyes to catch his, so dark with love and hunger that my heart thrums against my chest.
“Do you know what I’d do for you?” he murmurs, chest rising and falling, still dragging his cock in and out, slowly.
“I know,” I whimper.
He fucks me again.
Slower this time.
He sighs, settling into me with a gentleness that makes my heart ache. His hands cradle my face; his back ripples with satisfaction as he moves slow and perfect. I stroke the damp strands of hair from his forehead and meet his gaze, feeling as if the universe has narrowed to this moment—his lips on my throat, his body fused to mine.
We have just come down from the second round of bliss when his phone lets off a string of text message alerts. He pulls away reluctantly, eyes narrowing as he checks the screen.
“Janice,” he growls under his breath.
I frown. “What is it?”
“She says her boyfriend’s back,” he mutters, throwing on jeans and a shirt.
“Call the police,” I say urgently.
He shakes his head. “I’ll handle it.”
“Travis, this isn’t for you to handle, can’t you see that?” I say.
He pauses in the hallway, shoulders tense. I force myself to meet his gaze. “I am helping someone in need.”
“But it doesn’t feel right, something just doesn’t feel good about this. Please, just call the police.”
“I can’t. I have to go.”
“Do your words mean anything?” I call, hurt.
He stares at me one more time, hurt flickering in his gaze. “They mean everything, Mischief. If you don’t know that by now, we’re wasting our time.”
He steps out and closes the door, leaving me trembling in the hush of the apartment—his love lingering on my skin, and the ache of his absence heavy in the air.
16
“Oh God,” I groan, clutching the rim of the toilet as I retch again.
This is the third time this morning, and I can’t seem to shake it. I have been feeling off for days, and it has only gotten worse.
Reagan’s hand is firm on my back. “Girl, what did you eat?”
Jasmine dabs my forehead with a cool cloth. “You should see a doctor, it could be food poisoning.”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, though the world spins.
“We came to surprise you for your birthday,” Reagan says. “And here you are, dying slowly.”
My birthday.
I’d forgotten all about it. I heave one more time, with nothing coming out, then slump back against the tile. Reagan presses a glass of water into my hand. I sip tentatively. My stomach protests but settles enough that I can stagger into the living room and collapse on the couch. Jasmine comes over and perches next to me, concern in her eyes.
“You look pale,” she says. “Seriously, doctor. At least then you know.”
Before I can object any further, they’re ushering me into Reagan’s car and taking me to the clinic. An hour later, I’m seated across from a kindly but stern physician whose gray hair is pinned in a neat bun. She checks my temperature, asks routine questions, then leans forward.
“When was your last period?”
I hesitate. “I...can’t remember exactly.”
“That’s okay. We’ll do a test.” She offers a small cup. “Urinate into this, please.”
“A test?” I ask, staring at her. “For what?”
She looks at me like maybe I’m not all there. “Ah, pregnancy?”
“Oh, no, I’m not pregnant.”
She shakes her head. “You said you have been sexually active.”
“Yes, but...”
“Are you on protection?”
“I mean, I take the pill but...”
I trail off and recall a few times where I forgot to take it for a couple of days, but I always took it again when I remembered. Surely that wasn’t enough to make it stop working, right?
“But? Have you missed any days?”
I press my lips together.
“If you don’t take it daily, it isn’t as effective. Let’s do a test to rule that out, and we can go from there.”
I take the cup, heart racing, head spinning. Surely that’s not it. I must have just picked up a bug. There is no way I’m pregnant. No way. I take the urine back to her, and she dips a strip in and studies it after a couple of minutes. A careful smile blooms. “Congratulations—you’re pregnant.”