Inherited Malice: A Dark Secret Society Romance

It was probably stupid to ask just how much it would hurt to give birth to the baby, huh? But as if she’d read my mind, she asked, “Have you started thinking about a birthing plan? It’s a little early, but sometimes planning can be a way to help ease any pre-baby jitters.”

But before I could get a word out, Beau jumped in with, “What about physical activity?” He furrowed his eyebrows at the woman. “You know exactly what goes on here. Is it safe for my child if she continues with the Trials?”

The woman didn’t give us a quick answer, which I imagined Beau preferred. I did too, if I was honest. While I might not be at a Beau level of paranoia, I was still concerned.

The Trials the last few weeks had all been benign—along the lines of group orgies where all the Elders could get their wicks waxed by some pretty woman or another.

One time more collars showed up in a box, but there was a black one this time, which meant I could stay at Beau’s side.

The Trials were the only time Beau had sex with me.

He was so careful with me the rest of the time, sometimes I wondered if he was attracted to me anymore at all. If I’d just become the sexless mother of his child.

At least until a Trial came.

Maybe it was just his need to fully and enthusiastically participate while all the Elders were watching on?

I had no clue, but the things he did to my body when we were both on display for all to see… dear God. I got the voracious lover back my body was craving more and more. The times in between the Trials started to feel cruel.

I’d sit all day in the same room with Beau, my body on fire with the longing to touch him, to rub against him, to fucking ride him…

But no. I had to just stay at a distance because of… well because we hadn’t discussed whatever the hell we were to one another now, and I was afraid if I asked, he’d bring up that damn contact again, and then I’d have to strangle him with it!

Apparently, Beau had finished interrogating the doctor, because she was finally packing up her equipment.

“I’ll be back in three weeks and we can find out the sex of the baby if you’d like.”

“No,” I said, at the same time as Beau said, “Yes.”

We looked at each other and his face immediately darkened. “Abilene. We want to know the sex of the baby.”

That commanding, demanding tone of his was so damn sexy, and also absolutely infuriating. “Do we? I think it’s more fun if it’s a surprise when I give birth.”

He shook his head. “That’s ludicrous. We can purchase appropriate clothing and decide on a name if we know the sex of the child.”

“Oh really?” I took the paper towel the doctor gave me and wiped at the leftover gel on my stomach before sitting up. “Says who? You? Look, buddy, times have changed since your old Boys Club days when they founded this place. It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. I’m not into painting the bedroom pink if it’s a girl or blue if it’s a boy. Gender is a construct and—”

“So are you suggesting we name the child Apple? Or perhaps Rocket?”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I suppose you want Beau Jr.?”

The way he shrugged told me he had totally considered it. “Oh my gosh, you’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not naming my son after you! If it’s a boy, that is!”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why not? It’s my firstborn too.”

I glared at him. “Well, come up with some different name options, buddy. Because I veto Beau Jr.”

That had begun what I—on my more generous days—referred to as the Great Name Debate. On my less generous days I referred to it as the Shut the Fuck Up We’re Naming the Kid What I Want to Name Them.

Which had continued for the last week and a half.

I grinned up at Beau from the floor now as Singin’ in the Rain continued playing in the background. “How about Gene if it’s a boy?”

“Like Simmons? No thank you.”

“No, like Kelly. Don’t you want our little love muffin to be debonair?”

“Hard pass.”

I rolled my eyes and reached my hands up. Beau took my hands and pulled, helping me up off the floor. I tried (and failed) to ignore the zing of electricity that raced through my body at even the brief contact of his skin on mine.

Was I absolutely shameless in finding excuses to touch him? Yes. Yes, I was.

Did I feel bad about it? No. No, I did not.

“If it’s a girl,” he said, “how about—”

But whatever he was going to say was cut off by a knock at the door.