Page 10 of Katie 3 (Desires #6)

Chapter ten

Katie

M y legs won’t stop trembling, the last bit of strength disappeared by their touch.

And yet, I put on my favorite pair of lingerie before slipping under the covers.

I’ve waited, tried to lure him closer. But Henry is focused on the problems Brad and I have caused.

And I know that his mind should be there but when I saw Carter’s stare flick to Henry’s office, I knew my thoughts and patience might be misguided. And I should do something about it.

I miss him, his touch, his presence. He makes our twisted family complete and I don’t want to lose him.

Or perhaps he doesn’t want me anymore now that I’m pregnant?

My throat closes at the thought and my hand drops to my stomach. I haven’t thought about what he wanted, what he would think about this…

I shake my head and toss the covers aside. I can’t go to sleep with these questions, I have to know.

I should have prepared a speech, but instead, I just reach for my robe and step into the hall. I tiptoe down the stairs where Henry’s office light glows faintly under the door. I hear the gruff, controlled baritone of his voice, then a pause, then the clink of glass.

The plan is to walk in, say nothing, and make him look at me.

Instead, I freeze outside, counting to ten, then twenty, my heart racing.

I’m not even sure why I’m scared. He’s never made me feel that way—never once—but something in the way he’s avoided me since the doctor has a fable’s worth of warnings in it.

I knock, weakly, then turn the knob before he can answer.

Henry’s at the desk, sleeves rolled, tie hanging loose, papers everywhere.

The instant he sees me, he straightens, but the fatigue in his face makes him almost gentle.

There’s a bottle of something brown beside the monitor, and the room smells like citrus and old wood.

He closes a file and moves his drink aside.

“You’re up late.” His voice is tired, but he tries to smile.

“So are you.” I fidget with the sash of my robe. “I just… I couldn’t sleep.”

He waits, watching me, then leans back, the chair groaning under his weight. He’s lost some color; there are traces of silver at his temples that weren’t there before last winter.

“Can we talk?” I ask.

He exhales and pinches the bridge of his nose, the act gripping my lungs tight. “About what?”

“About us,” I say. “I miss you.”

He looks away, jaw tight, and I can see him cataloging every reason he shouldn’t.

“Please, Henry, talk to me,” I add as he remains silent.

He meets my eyes at that, and it’s like being hit by lightning. “You’re pregnant, Katie,” he says quietly. “Everything changed.”

I grip my robe tighter, suddenly cold, and I feel smaller than I have in months. “Yeah.” I force a smile, but my mouth twitches.

He blinks and rubs his forehead, as if he can knead the thought away. “Katie, there’s just a lot to handle. And I don’t want to—” He stops, doesn’t finish.

“What? Hurt me?” The words come out too sharp, too broken. “I’m not glass. I can take it. If you want to yell at me, or tell me I’m ruining your life, I can handle it. But don’t pretend I’m not here.”

He stands so abruptly the chair nearly topples over. He paces a line behind the desk, then stops and looks at me, something wild in his gaze. “You think I hate you for it?”

I shrug, but my throat is so tight I can barely swallow.

He comes forward, never breaking eye contact. “I don’t.”

“Then why do you treat me like a stranger?” It comes out harsher than I meant, and I instantly regret it.

“Because this is a mess,” he admits, voice low. “It’s a situation I should have prevented. I was supposed to protect you, and instead—” He gestures to the space between us as if it’s something rotten. “I failed.”

“You didn’t fail,” I say, desperate now, pleading. “You can’t control everything. I…” I can’t finish. I’m crying, and I don’t want him to see. I close my eyes, swiping at my face, but he’s already in front of me.

He doesn’t touch me and the small distance between us feels like too much.

I bite my lip, searching his face for proof I haven’t ruined everything. “If you don’t want it …” I say, quietly. “If you can’t stand the thought of it, I can—”

“Stop.” His voice is sudden and hard. He reaches for my hand and grips it, tight. “Don’t say that. Not ever.”

“But you’re not the same,” I whisper. “You don’t even look at me.”

He shakes his head, his jaw tensing.

“If you want me to get rid of it…” The line hangs between us. “Just tell me you can’t do this.”

He staggers back as if I hit him. “No. No. You don’t…” He drags his hands through his hair. “Katie. I didn’t think that, not for a second. Christ.” His arms fold around himself. “I would never ask you to do that.”

“Then tell me what to do,” I plead, my voice breaking. “Don’t let me drown.”

“Angel,” he whispers and steps closer. “I was angry, but not at you. I was angry at myself. I kept thinking if I’d…

if I’d kept the family together, maybe all this—” The words grind out, rough and honest. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.

” He gazes down at me, and it’s so much like how it used to be, before everything got complicated, before I realized I was in love with all of them, not just one.

I can see he remembers too. His eyes soften, the lines around them easing.

“I missed you,” I say, then instantly blush at how transparently needy I sound.

He smiles. “I missed you too.”

“I want you,” I say, voice barely audible. “I want you to want me.”

He doesn’t move, but something in his face shifts. “Katie,” he warns, but I see the conflict. He’s battling himself. I know that look—it’s the same one from before, when I was his stepdaughter, when he thought any desire was a sin and not inevitable.

I edge closer, until I sense the heat radiating off him. I rest my forehead on his chest, breathing him in. The tang of his aftershave, the salt of stress sweat, the truth of him.

He tenses, but he doesn’t move away. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says into my hair.

“You won’t.”

I tip my chin up and press my mouth to his. It’s not soft or sweet. It’s bruising, desperate, and he answers it with a groan that’s half-anguish, half-relief. He cages me in his arms, and when I tremble, he steadies me with his hands on my hips.

He kisses me harder, his tongue hot and insistent.

He lifts me onto the desk, sweeping aside a stack of files. The glass of bourbon tips, and the liquid spreads across a manila folder. I don’t care. I only care about the way his hands run up my legs, spreading my thighs, tugging the robe aside so I’m exposed to him.

He falters, lips barely brushing mine, and his voice is dark and low. “Angel…”

“Please,” I whisper. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He releases a breath that shakes his whole body. Then he’s on me, devouring my mouth, my throat, the hollow at my collarbone. He peels open the robe and stares at me, wide-eyed and reverent. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and I sob a little, the sound caught in my throat.

He cups my breast, thumb circling the nipple, and I arch into his touch. He’s so careful, so gentle at first, it undoes me. When his mouth closes over me, suckling and biting, I gasp and clench his shoulders.

He finds the band of my panties and slides them off, finger dragging a line up my thigh as he goes. He barely has them over my knees before I’m trembling for him. He kisses the inside of my knee, then higher, and god, I swear I see him smile at the way I shake for him.

His hands are strong and rough, fingertips tracing streaks up my hips, down to my core, and I’m already wet for him.

The desk creaks as I shift, opening myself wider, hungry for his touch.

“You’re shaking,” he notes, and his fingers sweep a slow, teasing circle around my entrance. I shudder, grabbing the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles ache.

He grins, a slow, wicked thing. “You need me, angel?”

I nod, but he doesn’t move, just holds me open with two fingers, brushing so softly I might scream. “I missed this,” he confesses, eyes glittering. “Missed making you beg.”

“Daddy,” I gasp, desperate, and the word wrings a groan from deep in his chest.

“Say that again,” he orders, his hand still torturously slow as he drops to his knees, all the way to the rug.

“Daddy,” I repeat, voice ragged. “Please.”

He looks at me like he’s starved, and then his mouth is on me, tongue flat and hot, circling and teasing. He doesn’t go straight for it, not at first. He drags it out, savoring every flick, every gasp. He holds my hips so I can’t squirm away, and I realize he’s smiling into my skin.

I arch off the desk, a sound tearing from my throat. His mouth is softer than I remember, but his stubble is rough, and it burns. It’s perfect.

I peek down and he’s watching me, eyes dark, mouth slick. I bite my lip, but I can’t muffle the noises, not when he works two fingers into me, curling them expertly, finding the spot that makes me come.

“That’s it, angel. Let go for me.” He’s relentless, and I do. I shatter around his hand, crying out, thighs clamping his head, and he just keeps going, licking me through the aftershocks until I’m limp and gasping.

He stands, eyes eager, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I’m still quivering as he lifts me—just lifts me, like I weigh nothing—turns me, and bends me over the desk. His hands splay firm on my ass; he spanks me once and kneads the burn away.

“You’re my little needy whore,” he says, low in my ear.

“Yes,” I whimper, rocking back into him. “Yes, I am.”

He doesn’t make me wait. He’s already undone his belt, already hard and thick and pressing into me, and I moan as he slides inside, inch by inch, until he bottoms out. He pauses, holding me there, letting me feel the weight of him, stretching me, filling me.

“God, you’re so tight,” he grits.