Page 83 of Ivory Oath

She whimpers. “Mikhail… you’re making this hard.”

“Hard… like this?” I lower her against my jutting erection, sliding along her perfect ass until she buries her fingers in my back. Finally, she’s warm and languid in my arms. “I’m going to fuck you just like this if you don’t stop me, Viviana.”

She nuzzles her face into my neck, breathing heavily. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn't need to. The way her body sinks against me says more than enough.

“Good girl.” I shift her panties to the side. “It’s better we do this before your shower, anyway. I don’t want the doctor to see the mess I’m going to make of you.”

All at once, she’s rigid again. She jerks back, falling on her ass on the mattress and staring up at me with wide eyes. “What doctor?”

She’s so close to the bulge in the front of my sweats that I can’t look at her without imagining her mouth wrapped around me. Maybe that’s why I initially miss how pale she is. The dark circles under her eyes. The fear burning just under the surface.

I fist her hair and tip her head back. “I made you an appointment with the best OB-GYN in the state.”

I’m seeing the world through a sex-crazed haze. It’s the only explanation for how Viviana is able to dart away from me and make it to the bathroom before my now-empty hand even falls to my side.

She streaks across the room, and there isn't enough blood going to my brain for me to do anything other than follow her stupidly.

Viviana is leaning over the sink. Her knuckles are white on the edge of the countertop and she’s taking deep, slow breaths.

“Is the morning sickness back?” I grab the trashcan under the sink and place it next to her.

“No.”

“But you’re sick,” I guess. That's the only thing that makes sense. The only reason she'd throw herself out of bed rather than let me touch her.

“No.” Her voice wavers. Dimples appear in her chin as her lower lip wobbles.

She’s about to cry and I’m standing here with a fucking erection. I ignore the throbbing below my waist and grab Viviana’s chin. I gently tilt her face so she’s looking at me. “Talk to me.”

“I’m not pregnant,” she blurts.

The words bounce off my brain and skitter away. They’re there and then gone again, impossible to grasp. I don’t even try. I’m still holding Viviana’s face in my hands, staring down at her blankly.

She turns towards me, reaching for me for the first time since she woke up. Her cold fingers loop around my wrists. “I’m so sorry, Mikhail. I should have told you?—”

“Told me what?” I ask.

I misunderstood.

She misspoke.

That’s all. Something here is wrong and I’m going to figure out what it is.

Her face falls. As she pulls away—dropping my wrists, turning her face away from my grip—some of the initial rush of words come rolling back.

“You’re not pregnant.” It’s not a question or a statement; it’s some in-between thing I can’t name just yet.

Everything in my life is up in the air at the moment. The only thing that makes any fucking sense to me is this woman and our son and the family we’re building.

And now…?

“I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know how.” Tears roll down her cheeks, but I don’t even know if they’re real.

Viviana lied to me. Again.

She kept something from me. Again.

And I didn't notice.

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