Stealing Amy (Disciples 2)

I know he wants me to be pregnant, but it’s way too damn early to tell. I keep telling myself that he’s going to be pretty fucking embarrassed when it turns out that I’m not pregnant. But I have this stupid feeling that he’s not going to be embarrassed at all. That he’s a man used to getting what he wants, and his will alone is powerful enough to knock me up.

I know, I know, now I’m the one who’s thinking crazy. But this entire situation is fucking with me. Everyone around me is so happy, gathered around the table like it’s one great big happy family.

And I feel like I’m the odd man out.

I’m surrounded by murderers, kidnappers, and adulterers, and yet I wonder if I should be trying harder to fit in.

When I really think about it though, especially when they’re all so polite and considerate of me, I have to wonder who am I to judge?

I don’t know for certain that Lucifer, Andrew, or any of the other men sitting at this table are murderers.

It’s just a gut feeling I have.

Sure they grabbed Ivan and I, but I’m still alive, aren’t I?

And it’s not like I’m exactly free from sin. Lord knows I’ve made my own mistakes.

Lots and lots of them.

“Our princess looks tired,” Andrew murmurs beside me, and that word, our, strikes a nerve in me.

I can understand why he wants to claim me, so he can use me for my body, but I don’t understand why he’s claiming her… unless he’s serious about us being his.

I look towards Abigail and she is indeed nodding off in her chair with her spoon hanging precariously above her bowl.

“You look tired as well,” he murmurs, gently grabbing me by the chin and turning my face towards him. “Are you ready to go home?”

I peer into his dark eyes, searching for the evil staining his soul, but all I see is warmth and concern.

His thumb strokes against my cheek and his touch is so warm, so nice, my skin prickles with goosebumps.

“Yes,” I answer, my voice weak and barely above a whisper.

His lips curve into a smile and damn if that smile doesn’t give me butterflies.

Butterflies that flutter towards my core.

I look away, wishing I knew how to destroy the power he holds over me. Inside my mind, I can hate and hate and hate, but when he touches me all that hate goes flying out the window.

Andrew grabs my hand and we stand. We say our goodbyes and Lily makes me promise to pay her a visit during the week. After having a word with Lucifer, Andrew picks up Abigail and we head to the car.

Abigail doesn’t stir at all. She’s so tired she curls into Andrew, clinging to him as he gets her buckled in, and then she’s softly snoring by the time we pull out.

The drive is quiet, almost peaceful. I stare out the window, into the night. The lights of the city streak by, white, yellow, blue and red.

It feels good just to be outside, to be exposed to possibilities again.

Beside me, Andrew is silent and radiating tension. I look towards him and for a split second our eyes meet. The strongest jolt courses through me like I’ve been struck by lightning.

There are so many words between us, hanging in the air, unspoken.

To speak them, though, would be to acknowledge them, and right now I just can’t do it.

I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore. I don’t know how I feel about him.

Is his baby really growing inside me? I place a hand on my tummy and turn back to the window.

Everything is changing—my life, the way I think…

My body.

I could have what Lily has, if I allowed myself to want it…

Am I going insane?

Our situations are completely different.

I glance back at Andrew. As if he was expecting my attention, he reaches over and strokes my cheek.

Damn him. Why did he have to do that? Why does he have to be nice to me? Why can’t he just be an asshole like Ivan?

I jerk away and twist in my seat, turning my entire body away from him.

Am I seriously getting angry because he’s being nice to me? Now I know I’ve truly gone off the deep end.

His hand comes down on my thigh.

Warm, heavy, and possessive.

His fingers curl around me and squeeze.

I look to him again and glare, using my eyes to tell him to stop touching me. To stop breaking me down with his affection.

He smirks and his hand begins to slide up, towards the hem of my skirt. I will myself to be disgusted by his touch, to be unaffected as his skin slides against my skin, but I’m only human.

God help me, I’m not strong enough to resist this man. He’s everything I could ever want, strong, protective, and affectionate. When he touches me, I come alive. And when he stops touching me, it feels like I’m dying a slow death.