“To you? N-not a damn thing. Lyla b-belongs to me. N-not you,” Thomas says, his hand squeezing mine tight.
I jerk against his hold on me—a reaction to his words. He doesn’t let go and for now, I don’t say anything. I’m not even sure how I feel, so I’m not positive about what I would say.
“Grunt,” Dad barks. “You stay with Lyla. Is that okay with you, T-Boy?”
“I want a m-m-minute with Lyla alone,” Thomas replies, surprising me.
“Lyla?” Dad prompts me.
I nod, not truly trusting my voice.
“Come over to the club when you’re done, T-Boy. Grunt will be outside.”
Thomas nods and then just like that, we’re alone and I’m staring up at Thomas, feeling a million different things and unable to figure any of them out.
Chapter 17
Thomas
The sound of the door closing is unusually loud. I stare at it a moment before looking back at Lyla. Our hands are still joined and I find I don’t want to let go of hers just yet. There’s so much that I want to say, but the only thing that I can think of is the fact that in front of her father’s entire club, she held my hand and backed me. When I looked down at her, there wasn’t shame on her face either. She cares. Lyla may not want to admit it, but it was written on her face—however briefly. Despite the fact that I’ve hurt her, she still cares. I don’t deserve it, but she does.
Seeing her sick and defenseless woke something up inside of me. I met Lyla at the worst time imaginable. I should have done things so much differently, but when I look at her all I feel is relief. I have a chance to have her back in my life. I want that. I want her light, the peace she gives me and the contentment I felt having her close. I want it all back.
It’s more than that, though.
I’m not confused about Gabby. I didn’t want her when I met Lyla—not after what happened. Still, that didn’t mean my head wasn’t a fucking mess. Gabby’s mind tricks did a number on me. I wasn’t ready for a woman to come into my life. I doubt Lyla would believe me if I told her that the fact she looked like Gabby almost made me walk away that night and never talk to her. It was her smile and the way she looked at me, the way she made me feel that didn’t let me walk away. Lyla and I can have a future. I know it. That baby inside of her tells me that we have to try. Hell, I have to try for me. I was miserable not having contact with her.
I go down on my knees, leaning against the mattress, our hands still joined as I look at her. It’s funny, the longer I’m with her, the less she reminds me of Gabby at all. If anything, Gabby is a poor copy of Lyla. I take my free hand and move it along the side of her face and her neck. I keep my palm pressed against the steady beat of her pulse and look into her beautiful blue eyes. They’re filled with confusion. I understand because I feel the same way.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask, my voice unusually hoarse.
“I’m okay. I go back to my doctor in two days. Hopefully, he can find something to help with the morning sickness. I thought I was getting over it—apparently I was wrong.”
“I want to g-go with you,” I respond, clearing my throat. I should probably ask if I could go with her, but I don’t want her to turn me down.
“Okay, but Thomas, we need to talk about what just happened…”
I lean in and kiss her forehead. “You still c-care for me, Lyla.”
Her eyes become shuttered as she looks at our hands.
“I don’t know what I feel, Thomas. Sometimes I’m pretty sure I hate you.”
Her words cut, but she’s not looking at me. I can only go by what I saw on her face earlier and that wasn’t hate. Still, I need something from her. I put pressure on her chin and ease her head back up so that she’s forced to look at me. I bring her lips to mine and I kiss her.
It’s soft at first, lips touching clumsily, tasting just a hint of her sweetness as I nibble. Then, moving my tongue along the same path, teasing her. I push inside and search for more.
That’s when the kiss goes from good to intense. She whimpers into my mouth and I swallow the sound down as our tongues dance and then all but fight for one another. Instantly, the passion that we shared that night in my shitty apartment springs back to life with a vengeance. I groan as I unclasp her hand to dive my fingers into her soft hair, holding her so that I can kiss her even deeper and she can’t get away from me. Eventually my hand moves down to her large breast. Jesus, she’s perfection. Her breasts have enlarged since her pregnancy. They’re beautiful, but the feel of them in my hand after all this time is a pleasure that there are no words to describe. My thumb brushes against her taut nipple and I moan as she breaks away from our kiss to cry out in need. Her hips involuntarily thrust out toward me—showing me she needs more. I tunnel under her shirt, needing it out of my way—needing to suck on her nipple, to taste her sweet skin, to build her passion and bury myself deep inside of her.