Page 106

Trust.

17

Pace

I hate waiting.

Something about it feels wrong, like I should be using my time more wisely. Part of that is the conditioning I can’t seem to shake off from my time in prison, sitting in a cell for eight hours and wasting away the hours on any little thing. A bigger part is the way Father is always sure to fill every block of each day withsomething.Today’s outing was approved weeks ago, but it still feels illicit, as if I’m shirking some greater duty.

There’s a bench beneath the awning of the student union that has a complete view of the courtyard, and that’s where I sit, staring off into the distance at somber clouds and the occasional flash of lightning. I’m both exhausted and wired, fueled by little more than caffeine and spite. It’s Tuesday, and there may have been a time I looked forward to the weekend, but I can’t remember it.

“You’re late,” I say as Verity walks up, sparing her a discreet glance.

Everythingfeels wrong.

“I had to pee,” she says, tugging at her black leggings. To my annoyance, her belly is hidden under an oversized sweater, just like it has been for the past two weeks. The crew neck does nothing to hide her tits, however. It’s a West End outfit; tight in all the wrong places and street-casual, including those scuffy sneakers she likes to wear. Nose wrinkling, she squirms. “Apparently, your son likes to sit on my bladder like a bean bag.”

She glides past me, opening her umbrella and stepping out in the rain. Her casual use of those words—your son—shakes me, and I run after her, stepping foot first into a puddle.

“Damn it!” I sidestep it, but not before tepid water seeps into my boot. I shake it off and jog toward her, trying to catch a glimpse of her belly. “Wait the fuck up.”

I slide under the umbrella, wrapping my hand around the handle. She cuts me a smug look at being so close to her.

“I’m still pissed,” I tell her, eyes dropping to her stomach, “but I already got soaked waiting for you to get out of class.” I direct her toward the road that cuts between buildings. “I parked over there.”

The black Lamborghini sits next to the curb. Slick and shiny from the rain. The inside is top-of-the-line, all leather and chrome with updated features, wireless access, and a screen in the dash. Jesus, the first time I sat in it, I basically got a boner.

The only thing that would be better is actually getting off in the car. I peek over at Verity, at those soft, plump lips, remembering how good they feel wrapped around my cock.

Nope.No.

Not after what she did.

“What the shit?” I ask, darting out from under the umbrella to the side of the car. A yellow, rectangular piece of paper is stuck under the wiper. I snatch the soggy paper out and read the blurred print. “A parking ticket?”

“You’re in a fire lane, dumbass,” Verity says, continuing past me to the passenger side.

Crumpling the paper in my fist, I intercept her, blocking her before she opens the door. “Show me.” The demand is gruff, impatient, and more than a little aggressive. Oh well.

It’s been a shitty day.

I deserve it.

She squints up at me, face twisted in confusion. “Show you what?”

I gesture to her belly. “Him.”

Her cheeks pinken, eyes casting around the parking lot, which is practically deserted. Heaving a sigh, she reaches for the hem of her oversized shirt, yanking it up. “Happy?” she mutters, tugging it back down.

Or, she tries to.

I jolt forward to catch her wrist, rucking the shirt back over the swell of her belly. Half of it’s hidden by her pants, and I don’t think twice about hooking my fingers into the waistband, tugging it down.

Once I have the bump of her belly exposed, I pause.

Fuck.

“You’ve been hiding the way you’re growing,” I say, unwilling to mask the anger that rises at the thought. “That’s a problem. We’re entitled to see this. To feel it.” Unthinkingly, I press my palms to it, dwarfing her belly with my wide hands. “You should come back early.”