I know how crazy I’ll probably sound, I know it’s more me wishing my own desires into reality than any kind of viable plan, but I drop my gaze to his chiseled chest so I don’t have to watch his face, ‘cause crazy or not, I’m gonna say it anyway.
“If you introduced me as yours, there would be a prospective father. Bri would think you’re the one who got me pregnant.”
He’s dead silent, and it scares me to death. Maybe that was too crazy, even from the girl who jokes about murder workshops, who volunteers to be a sex slave and a dirty secret if it means a shot at a relationship with her would-be kidnapper/murderer.
Even though my stomach sinks with dread, I force my gaze to his and find him staring at me. He doesn’t look like he’s about to throw me out of his house for being some kind of crazy clinger with designs on finding a new baby daddy since the first one didn’t work out, but that’s what I feel like he’s gonna think now that I’ve said it.
“Not that I think—not that I’d ask that of you,” I amend, worrying as he continues to look at me without saying anything.
“I’m not Theo, Alyssa,” he says carefully, holding my gaze. “I would never be so irresponsible as to create a situation like he did.”
Heat creeps up my neck and suffuses my cheeks. “I know that, but accidents happen. Maybe a condom broke or something. It’s not like—”
“That is not what I meant.” Grabbing my chin and forcing my gaze to his since it’s nervously darting around now, he looks me dead in the eye and tells me, “Accident or not, strangers or not, if I got you pregnant with my baby, I’d marry you. There’s no one in my family who doesn’t know that with a fucking certainty.”
I swallow, tempted to look away from the intensity of his stare, but he won’t let me. “I… I’m 18,” I manage, not even sure what my argument is, or what I’m arguing against. “I’m a little young to get married. We could just tell them that for why we’re not… getting married,” I finish awkwardly.
Brant shakes his head, apparently disagreeing with the validity of my proposed excuse. “If you’re not too young to impregnate, you’re not too young to marry. Me claiming that baby as mine wouldn’t be something we could half-ass and back out of later if it didn’t work the way you thought it would. I would also be the one taking on every bit of the risk, because if you ever did want to get out, you’d be able to weaponize the truth and ruin my fucking life.”
“I would never do that to you,” I tell him, frowning.
“Aw, never say never, baby girl. You think it’s fun being stuck with me right now, but you might not always feel that way, and make no mistake, if you were carrying my baby, you’d be stuck with me. There’d be no getting away from me, even if you wanted to.”
Even though I can’t foresee a future where I’d ever be so desperate to get away from him, I point out, “I wouldn’t really be carrying your baby, though.”
“Oh, yes you would. We tell a lie that big, we’re married to it. I’m not getting any younger, either,” he says, looking me over, his gaze lingering on my breasts. “You better believe the next baby sucking on these pretty little tits would be mine.”
His words excite something primitive that must be buried deep inside me but wrapped all around me, too, because the presumed ownership in his words sends a spike of arousal straight to my pussy.
My body responds like if I can make him fuck me again right now, maybe he could put his baby in me, but my body is wrong. That space is occupied, and I’ve never been more aware of the costs of that decision.
Swallowing, I ask him, “Do you… do you think you could really love my baby, though? I know you hate Theo, and I know we’re not talking about this seriously, don’t freak out or anything, but… if we actually… I mean…”
Not making me complete the thought, he says, “Of course I could. I love Scout, and he didn’t spring from my seed, did he?”
I laugh a little, but I’m overwhelmed by this conversation. “That’s not the same thing. I mean, especially in this far-fetched scenario where you would get me pregnant down the road and I’d actually have your baby. You don’t think you’d feel like one is more yours than the other?”
He caresses my face, his gaze searching for something, but I’m not sure what. “Of course not. Like I said, if we took things that far, it wouldn’t be like that. It couldn’t. We’d both have to accept the new reality that I am the one you’re having a baby with, and we’d both have to see it through and accept the consequences, too.”