Page 41 of Stolen Sin

I grind my jaw. “There’s no until, it’s not happening.” Which is a massive lie. I can see myself begging him to tease me late at night, but if I don’t speak it, maybe it’ll never come to pass.

Wishful thinking. I’m going to ride this guy’s palm like it’s a fucking horse.

“What else do you need?” he asks, and I like the sound of that word on his lips, need.

“Just no touching. I think that’s reasonable. And I want you to start coming home for dinner most nights.” I tack on that last request on a whim. I like the idea of sitting down for meals together. Again, as a way to build intimacy. Not because I enjoy his company. No, never that.

“I’ll try my best,” he says and sounds sincere. “I can’t promise every night, but I’ll make it a priority.”

I bite my lip, trying to think of some other demand, but his hand still hovers between us, and his fingers look so damn inviting, and I just can’t help myself.

I reach out and put my palm in his.

He laces his fingers through mine. They’re so big, so long and thick. I shiver and close my eyes, and I hope he doesn’t see the ecstasy on my face.

“Tonight then,” he says. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

Absolutely fucking not.

Not even a little bit.

“We’ll find out,” I say and manage a smile.

Chapter 23

Emily

His bed is big and comfortable.

It actually kind of pisses me off. The bed in the guest room was fine, if a little firm, but this one is fantastic. It’s got the right sink, the perfect amount of bounce, and I feel like I’m wrapped in a comfortable cocoon when I roll into his Egyptian cotton sheets with some ungodly high thread count.

“It feels like shoving myself into lotion,” I moan, writhing my legs up and down.

He laughs and clicks off the light. It’s a little past midnight and I’m guessing he’d normally stay up later, but we decided to get this over with.

“I’m glad you appreciate the small luxuries,” he says, and his voice is a low purr in the near blackness of the room. I stretch my legs and can almost feel his breath blowing across my neck, even though I know he’s lying on his side of the king-sized mattress.

I never really shared a bed with any of my boyfriends. For obvious reasons when I was younger—my father was always a little overprotective of me, but he meant well—and when I got older because I was always busy working. Even before my dad got scammed, I’ve had multiple jobs, though usually I didn’t try to work myself to death. I had a decent apartment, at least compared to the little efficiency I was living in before moving into Simon’s house, but I never moved in with any of my boyfriends.

There were sleepovers. Sure, there were nights here and there. But never a sustained, consistent, night-after-night sleeping partner. And now I’m in Simon’s bed staring down the barrel of five years of this, and I’m starting to think I made a huge mistake.

“You said something earlier that I keep thinking about.” I turn my head and he’s looking at me. I can make out his eyes and his mouth in the darkness now that my eyes have adjusted. He sleeps in a pair of boxer shorts and no shirt, just his bare, naked chest, which is almost rude. He’s supposed to keep himself covered so I can more easily control myself.

“Yeah? What part? I did a lot of rambling.” The wine’s making me happy and sleepy as I curl up onto my side and tuck an arm under my head.

“About being the mother of my child.” He’s lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. “I guess I was being a little naive about your relationship to our child. I imagined you wouldn’t want to be involved, but that wouldn’t be easy for you, would it?”

I close my eyes. I can picture giving birth in an abstract way, but it’s hard to really know how it’ll feel. I can imagine having a baby, a little boy or girl, and all the emotions that come with it. I can picture these things but I know it’s like a pale shadow of the actual experience, and he’s right—if I get pregnant three months from now and have a child nine months later, that means I’ll be around for the first few years of their life.

How could I not be their mother? How could I bring life into this world and live in the same house without being there for them? Without falling in love?

“It’s a little more complicated than I realized,” I admit and bury my face in the pillow. “I mean, it’s not like the baby’s going to disappear after it’s born, right? I’ll be here, and so will the baby, and?—”

He shifts toward me. I squeeze my eyes closed tighter.

“I won’t force you to be in this child’s life,” he says and sounds surprisingly gentle. “But if you want to be, I won’t stop you, either. I know that I’m asking a lot of you, and I’m willing to be flexible. I’m willing to give you what you need.”

The only problem being I don’t know what that is.

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