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All I hear is the sloppy wet sounds coming from my pussy, so I shake my head.
“Mhmm, I think you do. Your cheeks are burning with misplaced embarrassment, whore.”
Thrust.
“That’s the sound of your cunt greedily accepting my cock.”
Thrust.
“Your body is so fucking primed for me, baby.”
Thrust.
Thrust.
“And it’s so fucking hot to be able to hear it.”
Thrust.
His husky, almost gravelly tone paired with the filthy words makes my pussy contract around him. Arching my back, I cry out his name. “Soren! Fuck! I’m so… I’m so close.”
He groans my name, “Gail,” and then he picks up his pace, fucking me so hard I’m pushed up against the door, but I don’t care, not even as my head bounces off it with each slam of his hips. All I care about is the way I’m about to rapture, cream on his cock as he demanded.
The orgasm tears through me, sharply and quickly, leaving me unable to do anything but moan and writhe in pleasure. Soren follows me over the edge, my name falling repeatedly from his lips as his cock twitches inside me.
“You’re fucking mine,” he growls viciously as ropes of cum paint my inside. “Say it, whore.”
Panting, I move my hands, cupping his face and angling him so he’s looking down at me. “I’m yours right now,” I agree, careful not to give more of myself than I’m willing to part with.
Mickey
I’m alone in Soren’s sprawling house, the silence echoing like a damn accusation. The walls feel like they’re caving in, yet stretching out, distancing me from any semblance of comfort. There’s a war waging inside me, deep in the guts where fear clings like a parasite.
“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my shaggy white hair. My fingers tremble—no, they quake, betraying the turmoil I’m desperately trying to bury under layers of cockiness and bravado.
I don’t know why I’m still acting like there’s a fucking choice here when there isn’t. If I don’t embrace the pregnancy, I’ll lose Soren. Maybe not today, tomorrow, next week, or even next month. But it’ll happen. His words about family slither around my mind like a snake made of ice. He means it; I know he does. Family is everything to him.
To him, Gail’s carrying something precious, nothing like the curse it feels like to me. But, fuck! Every fiber of my being revolts at the thought of that kind of responsibility. Vulnerability? It’s a no-go zone, a landmine field I ain’t ever willing to cross.
“Son of a bitch,” I grunt, standing up so fast the chair screeches across the hardwood floor. I pace, a predator trapped in a cage. Each step is a testament to the restlessness consuming me, each clench of my jaw an echo of pain.
Unable to stand the quiet any longer, I take the stairs two at a time, striding into my bedroom. Then I fire up my laptop. Haven’t done this in ages—the whole masochist routine of Googling people who are better off forgotten. But I have to see, have to know.
I’m not completely sure what I’m looking for, so I just insert the traitors’ names into the search field. Jared and Simone Frank. I type their names with a hesitancy that pisses me off. Hitting enter feels like jumping off a cliff.
Pictures flood the screen—Jared, looking every bit the proud dad, holding a kid with Simone’s eyes. A happy little family, complete without me. My throat tightens, a noose of emotions choking the breath right outta me. Anger surges, hot and bitter as bile. Sadness follows, a cold wave drowning whatever warmth was left in my chest. Regret is the undertow, pulling me under.
“Should’ve been me,” I whisper to no one. My silver eyes, usually sharp as blades, blur with unshed tears. I pound the desk, a raw sound tearing from my lips. Jared used to be my friend, my teammate, until he wasn’t—until he was just the guy who got the girl, my fucking girl—and the life I desperately wanted. And Simone… she’s the ghost of what could’ve been, haunting me with ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys.’
“Motherfucker,” I curse, slamming the laptop shut. That’s enough self-torture for one day. I push back from the desk, every muscle coiled, ready to spring. I need out—out of this house, out of my head, out of the suffocating reality that’s closing in on me.
I sneer at my reflection in the window. It sneers back, mocking me with its clarity. Yeah, time to lose myself in the kind of pleasure that hurts so good—to blur the lines until I can pretend, just for a while, that I’m not standing at the edge of a precipice, staring down at the end of everything I thought I knew about myself.
After a quick shower and change of clothes, I stare accusingly at the laptop. It would be so easy… much easier than explaining everything. Yeah. It’s a stupid thought—a risky idea. But it’s all I fucking got. So I make my way to Gail’s room, the laptop under my arm feeling like a goddamn anchor. There’s no hesitation as I open it up and disable the password. A few clicks and I’ve Googled myself—headlines, stats, and too many candid shots splashed across the screen. It’s all there for Gail to see, a digital confession of sorts.
“See who I really am,” I mutter, leaving the laptop on her bed like an offering.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, a text from Soren letting me know they’re almost home. I should answer, but instead, I throw it down on Gail’s bed. Although I should take it with me, stay connected to what’s left of my sanity, I just can’t.
