A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

I don’t even know why he’s holding back.

I’ve forgiven him, haven’t I? He gets to touch me everywhere, every night. So why would he torture himself like this? Why wouldn’t he take that final step?

Especially when every day he comes to pick me up at school, I see how tense he is. How after a long day of work when he comes home for dinner, how agitated he appears.

That job is killing him and he doesn’t even talk about it; I tried one more time, just casually, to strike up a conversation but he shut me down. So I’m at my wit’s end.

I don’t know what to do, how to give him relief.

So I try this.

I try to make him take me, tempt him as much as I can.

In fact, one night when he’s kissing me on the bed, I make the bold move of pressing my hand on his dick. “You’re hard.”

He is.

He is rubbing me right there, right where my pussy is, his cock.

It’s making a small hill inside his jeans. And it’s so thick and swollen that he always has to pop the button of his jeans to let it breathe. If I focus hard enough I can see the dark shadow of his cock pressing up against the edge of his pants.

“Shut up, Fae,” he growls, taking my hand off his cock and putting it up above my head on the pillow.

Glancing up at him, I say, “But it’s hurting you.”

He grabs my hand harder. “It’s fine.”

“I can help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

I lick my lips. “I can suck on it like you suck on me.”

“Stop talking.”

“Or I can jack you off,” I say from under him, moving my bare pregnant belly against his hard t-shirt-covered abs; because he doesn’t even take his clothes off while he strips me and makes me lose my mind. “I can use my hands. I’ve never done it but if you teach me what to do I —”

“Stop fucking talking.”

“Or you could… you could put it in me.” I arch up, rubbing my bare tits on his chest. “In my pussy. And this time you won’t even…”

“I won’t even what?”

God, I’m shameless.

So shameless to tempt him like this.

But I can’t stop. I won’t.

I need him to stop torturing himself. I need him to give me what I want.

“You won’t even have to pull out,” I say and his eyes become slits. “You could come inside me, inside my pussy. You could give me all your pain, all your hurt. Because I won’t get pregnant.”

“Yeah, because you already are,” he says, in a guttural voice, his one hand holding mine over my head and the other buried in my hair, all tight and punishing.

“Yes.”

“Because I already did that. I already blew my wad inside you before I had the sense to pull out and knocked you up.”

Biting my lip, I nod. “So you can come inside me all you want now, can’t you? You can fill me up, Reed. Until I’m flowing with you. Until my pussy is all creamy with your cum and leaking and —”

“Stop. Fucking. Talking.”

And then he kills my words himself with his lips as he kisses me and doesn’t stop.

Not until he’s completely overpowered me and made me come again and again.

Until I forget everything.

By the time my twenty-week appointment comes around and they tell us the sex of the baby, I don’t think Reed will ever end this torture on himself.

And I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying, because I get what I always wanted.

It’s a girl.

I’m having a baby girl.

“It’s a girl,” someone whispers, and I think it’s me. And when I do, I feel a pressure on my hand. Because the guy whose hand I’m holding, lying on the exam table, has squeezed my fingers.

He’s wrapped his long, strong fingers that I adore around mine tightly.

I look up and my ballerina heart skips a beat.

I’ve never seen him happier than this. It’s not an outright, bright happiness though. It’s a subtle thing.

The lines around his wolf eyes are crinkled slightly and the ones around his ruby red lips are loose and relaxed. And there’s this glint in his gaze and an easiness in his posture that usually disappears in the evening after work.

“We’re having a girl,” I tell him as if he doesn’t know.

“With blonde hair and blue eyes,” he whispers back, staring down at me.

“Or maybe dark hair and gray eyes,” I whisper back and this time I say the words out loud that I’d thought the day I told him I was pregnant. “Like her daddy.”

His stubbled, messy, beautiful jaw tics as a strong emotion overcomes him, and I squeeze his hand back because I know he needs it.

When the appointment is done and we walk to his Mustang to go back home, Reed doesn’t let me sit in the front seat. He opens the back door and ushers me inside before getting inside himself. He then lets me crawl into his lap and I start crying again.