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“Don’t say that,” I plead.
“Etta.”
Staring at a spot just over his shoulder, I focus on not looking at him.
“Etta, eyes on me…now.”
Unable to resist, my gaze gravitates to his eyes, like a moth to a flame.
“Do I want to see your belly swollen with my baby? Yes, I do. Do I need it? No, I don’t. I need you. Simple.”
“You can’t just?—”
“Yes, I can,” he says, talking over me before I can argue. “If you can’t have kids, then we’ll adopt or use a surrogate. Or if you don’t want kids, we’ll spend the rest of our lives naked, and I’ll enjoy watching my cum drip out of you because, baby or no baby, I’m always going to want to breed you. I’m always going to want to pump you full of me. I’m always going to fuck you and worship you and love you.”
When the first tear falls, Oz reaches out and catches it with his finger, licking it from his skin while his eyes stay locked on me.
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“Completely sure. Now let me feed you, because sore or not, if we stay here much longer, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from needing to be inside of you.”
Grabbing the back of my head, he slams his lips to mine in a fast, hard, possessive kiss that makes my sore body flare to life. When he pulls himself away, we’re both breathing hard, and the outline of his hard cock is impossible to miss.
“Jesus, you’re addicting,” he pants, swiping at my bottom lip with his thumb, before he turns back to the griddle and starts to cook.
“That’s too much,” I say, staring at the three slices of golden-looking french toast and strawberries that are piled on my plate.
“You’re tiny, and you barely eat. I ordered you some vitamins to take too, to supplement the things your body’s not getting because you’re vegetarian.”
“You bought me vitamins?” I splutter.
“Yes, and some protein shakes.”
My mouth falls open, and I stare at him in bewilderment. Instead of saying anything, he leans over my plate, cuts off a chunk of french toast and holds it up to my mouth expectantly.
“Eat,” he orders.
Before I can even consider denying him, my lips close around the prongs of the fork, and the food is in my mouth, the hot, sweet taste coating my tongue.
“Good girl,” he praises with a wink.
“I can’t believe how much you made me eat,” I moan, rubbing at my bloated stomach as I follow Oz out of the front door.
“You had two slices of french toast and some fruit.” He scowls. “You should have eaten the third slice too.”
“I would have exploded if I’d have eaten any more.”
“You just wait till we get to Tori’s place; you’ll overdose on sweets and cookies.”
The drive into town is made in mostly comfortable silence. Oz keeps his hand on my thigh the entire time, and neither of us feel the need to talk for the sake of talking, which is oddly nice. When we slow to a stop at the curb outside a pretty store, I reach for my seat belt, only for Oz to click his tongue.
“Wait, I’ll come and open your door.”
Jumping out of the driver’s side, he strides purposefully around the hood, then opens my door and leans over to me to unclasp my seat belt.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Always,” he replies simply, offering me a hand and then helping me from the truck.
