Page 31

TWENTY-SIX

DAYNA

I keep a hand on my stomach as Dash shows me around each room in his apartment like a tour guide in denim and leather.

The last room he shows me is the bedroom. His bedroom. My gaze lingers on the bed. His covers are pooled on one side. It’s the side he usually sleeps on when he stays with me.

There’re a pair of boots, scuffed and worn, at the side of the door, like he kicked them off in a hurry.

And everything smells like him.

I try not to inhale that scent like a serial killer.

He hovers behind me, his hand rubbing his nape. “We can get your stuff when you’re ready. There’s loads of space in the walk-in closet for whatever you want to bring.”

My heart skips before it flutters wildly against my rib cage.

Clearing my throat, which suddenly feels tight, I step into the closet and a light automatically comes on overhead. His clothes hang on the rails on one side. The other racks and shelves are empty, as if he was just waiting for someone to fill them.

My eyes light up when I see a stack of folded hoodies. “Ohh! You’ve been holding out on me. Look at all these.” I pull the top one off. It’s a forest green colour, and the fabric is so soft.

I lift it to my face, rubbing my cheek over it. “I’m keeping this one.”

I pull it over my head, and when it’s finally settled on my shoulders, I let out a small squeal. It’s huge, billowing out at the front, plenty of room for my belly to grow inside it, but it’s comfortable.

I pull the sleeves down over my hands and snuggle into it.

Then I remember Dash.

He’s leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded, watching me with a devastatingly soft look in his eyes.

I probably should have asked before I raided his clothes.

“You want me to take it off?”

“You think I can take that off you after that performance?”

“I really like hoodies. Maybe I should just start buying bigger sizes or men’s hoodies.” I thumb through the rest of the pile.

He comes up behind me, his hands sliding around my stomach. There’s nothing to feel there, not yet, but he holds my belly as if he can feel the swell of our baby beneath his hands. “I like you wearing my shit.” His nose goes to my neck, trailing down to the dip between my shoulder.

He turns me around, and I tip my chin up as he kisses me. His hand wraps around my throat, his thumb swiping over my pulse as he deepens the kiss. I melt into him. I can’t help it. I’m a wanton bitch because I would drop to my knees right now and take whatever scraps he offers me.

Unfortunately, the kiss ends too soon and leaves my thighs clenching around air.

“What do you want to do now?” he asks.

I wiggle my eyebrows at him, and he shakes his head. “You need to rest.”

“What I need is for my deliciously hot boyfriend to lick my pussy.”

He snorts. “You only just got out of the hospital. You were drooling in the taxi less than ten minutes ago.”

“Exactly. I had a nap, and now, I feel fine.”

His brow raises, and I roll my eyes. “Okay, I don’t feel like I could run a marathon. I’m nauseous, everything aches, and I’ll probably fall asleep midway through whatever we do, but I’ve been feeling like this for weeks, Dash, and we’ve had plenty of kitty activity.”

“I didn’t know you were pregnant then.”

I fist my fingers into his shirt. “No. No . You do not get to withhold the only thing that brings me joy right now. I can’t eat the things I love, and I can’t make it through a full episode of anything without falling asleep.

I’m already sacrificing everything, including my body, so you don’t get to take sex away from me as well. ”

I’m pretty sure I sound deranged, but I also don’t care because there is an ache between my legs that I really want taken care of.

I peer up at him, giving him a pitiful look.

“Hospitals make me twitchy. You know what makes me less twitchy? Orgasms.” I rest my hands on his chest. “Do you want me to beg, because I will?”

He lifts me into his arms, and my mouth latches over his, kissing him like I can tether him to me just with my body.

His hands are under me as he walks us out the closet and carefully lowers me onto the bed. I spread my arms wide across the mattress, letting my thighs flop open.

“If nothing else, you owe me this because the last thing that was up there was a doctor and a probe.”

He grabs my chin, not hard but enough to get my attention. “Then let me erase all of that for you.”

He drags my leggings and underwear down my legs, and he kisses a trail along my thighs, every touch almost sacrosanct.

My fingers fist into his sheets as he gets close to the apex between my thighs and then moves to my stomach.

Every touch is holy and beautiful, and when he slides his fingers through my heat, a gasp slips out of me.

“You’re always so wet for me. Are you thinking about my tongue inside your pretty cunt?”

My lips twitch. His touch might be worship, but his mouth is pure filth.

I fucking love it. “Less talk, more licking.”

He taps my pussy in warning, and my hips instantly lift off the bed. “Less bossing.”

I don’t want him to stop, so I close my mouth while his latches over my clit. He pulls my thighs wider, his head buried between my legs.

My thoughts slow, my skin warms, and my eyes grow heavy.

Don’t you dare fucking fall asleep with this beautiful man between your legs…

But it’s like someone pulled the plug out of me. My energy levels are dipping quickly, and even though my body is responding to his tongue, my brain is on a different frequency. That bitch is in shutdown mode.

This isn’t fair. I want an orgasm. Maybe two. Knowing Dash, probably more than that.

Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a second and then I’ll be okay.

“Dayna?”

His mouth moves off me, and I try to prise my lids apart. I manage slits, and all I can see is his head lifted slightly, his brow raised.

“Hmm, don’t stop.”

“Babe, you’re asleep.”

“No, I’m not.” I try to come up on my elbows, but my body is so tired. “Maybe just five minutes and then I’ll be ready.”

I hope he doesn’t stop loving me because I fell asleep with his tongue inside me. That’s gotta be some kind of gut punch to a man’s ego, right?

His hand drifts to my hip, and then he’s pulling my underwear back on. “Dash.” My protest sounds weak.

He scoops me up me so I’m in the bed and not just flopped on the end. My eyes are closed when he wraps the covers around my body and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Go to sleep.”

“I want… an orgasm.”

“After you sleep.”

“Okay.”

The next morning, I’m hugging his toilet like it’s a lifeline. My stomach is in knots, aching from vomiting for the last half-hour, and all I can taste is acid burning my tongue.

He’s sitting behind me, rubbing circles on my back, murmuring soft words of assurance. I don’t know how he can stand the smell. It’s making me feel more nauseous.

“You doing alright down there?” he asks.

I let out a groan, leaning into his touch. “Considering I was doing this on my own last week this is a major improvement.”

His hand stills on my back before he continues rubbing circles. “You shouldn’t have had to do that. I would have been there.”

I reach behind me, patting whatever part of him my fingers ghost over. “I know. I’m sorry.” My stomach contracts again, and anything else I was going to say gets lost in another round of projectile puke.

When it finally feels like it’s over, he helps me stand on trembling legs, puts me in front of the sink, and loads my toothbrush with enough mint I’ll be able to breathe ice.

He watches while I scrub my teeth.

“You know you’re not supposed to brush your teeth right after vomiting,” I say, spitting into the sink and swirling water around my mouth before going for another round of cleaning. “All I’m doing is brushing the acid around the enamel.”

“So, you’re just supposed to sit there with puke breath?” His tone is light, his stance is not. He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded, legs crossed, every part of him tight as he waits for something to break in me.

So, I do what I always do—I deflect.

I breathe in his direction. “Come kiss me.”

“Do you think I’m bothered by a little puke?”

“You should be. It’s disgusting.”

I step away from the sink, and my head swims. I wobble. Instantly, his hands are on my hips, holding me up. He’s always holding me up.

“Sit down.” His smiles, his banter fades under a cloud of worry.

“I’m fine. I’m actually kind of hungry now.”

“Then let’s get you fed,” he says achingly soft.

He takes me into the kitchen and sits me at the table in front of the window overlooking the city.

“Do you want toast or toast or I could probably stretch to toast with a side of toast?”

“Let me think about it… toast sounds fine.”

He smirks. “I’ll go shopping later.”

Watching him move around the kitchen makes me smile. It’s so domesticated, so normal, so heartbreakingly real.

It’s so simple, so sweet, so beautiful in its promise, but even something this good can be fragile.

There’s still someone out there who wants Dash dead, and no matter how safe this moment feels, it won’t matter if he’s taken from me.

I’m not scared because I doubt him—not anymore—but because now, I have something to lose.