Page 7 of Ink

I know I shouldn’t like all this bossiness, but I do. My heart is warm, my panties are wet, and though I’m telling him to stop, I want him to keep going. I want him to work me until I’m fixed. I want to see myself through his eyes and believe that I’m worthy of love. Real love.

God, I’m delusional.

What’s wrong with me? I’m having a child. I should be able to figure all this out on my own without the help of anyone.

I sip the warm tea and stare toward the fireplace that’s surrounded in stone. I wonder if he’s redone that as well. It looks new. “Is this why you’re alone? You’re so controlling.”

He nods. “It’s for your own good.”

I feel like an ass after I’ve said it. I’ve had controlling. Dillon was controlling. He wanted things done his way because it made him happy. This is completely different. Ink wants things done a certain way because he’s looking out for me. He wants me to feel good. I’ve never had that before.

Hell, I don’t have that now. This isn’t permanent. This is a dude feeling sorry for me because I’m thirty-five years old, poor, pregnant, and falling the fuck apart.

I blow out a heavy breath and take a sip of tea, letting the warmth settle in my throat before swallowing it down. The soothing bergamot scent and warmth combined makes my eyes heavy. It’s been a long ass day.

“You’re tired,” Ink says, standing from the chair he’s only just settled into. “Let’s get you in bed.”

I know I should fight him. I should tell him again how wrong he is for forcing me out here. I should kick, scream, and beg him to take me home until he drives me back to my little one bedroom in the woods that I’ve grown to hate. Instead, I sink my hand into his and close my eyes as the rough edges brush against my skin.

I let him take over from here without an ounce of fight. I say nothing as he guides me down the hall. I don’t ask a question as he pulls back the covers to his bed. I stand perfectly still as he tugs off my dress and slides on his t-shirt. I relax as he guides me down against the mattress, and I let him turn out the light and close the door without comment.

What is happening? Everything all at once, that’s for sure. The better question is why am I letting it? Am I that exhausted? I think I am.

My eyes are heavy, and my body is aching everywhere. I know I’ll be asleep in five minutes, but right now, I stare up at the ceiling fan whirring above me as I drag in Ink’s scent. It’s surrounding me. Pine, spice, and warmth. I imagine he’s lying next to me with his big, heavy body and his rough hands.

He undressed me a moment ago, but he didn’t even look. He closed his eyes as the shirt dragged over my chest. Maybe he doesn’t think of me like I think of him. Maybe that’s why this isn’t weird for him. He’s helping a broken person.

Clearly… I’m broken.

My hand lands on my stomach and I circle the bump that’s only just begun to grow. I know I’m about to raise this baby alone, but for a second, I let myself think about raising her with Ink. I imagine he’d be attentive to both of us, he’d care, he’d take the time to see us in a way no one else could. And when the baby was down for the night, he’d come back to this bed, climb in beside me, and hold me in his arms until we both fell asleep. That or… until something else happened.

I try not to let my mind go to that place because I’m not sure of the consequences. I’m already so low. If I start having feelings for Ink too, that’ll only lead to more disappointment. Besides that, whatever attraction I’m feeling is probably hormonal. I read somewhere that pregnancy hormones are the worst. So much so that there’s a spike in affairs in the third trimester.

Who’d have thought it? A big pregnant lady waddling around with her panties dripping wet? Not me.

I roll over and try not to drag in the scent of Ink’s pillow, there’s already enough of him in this bed, but it’s impossible. The pillow smells like the spicy oil he puts in his beard.

I’m done for.

My clit throbs and my thighs ache. I think about rubbing one out, just to get these thoughts of him out of my head, but my phone buzzes in my jeans on the floor before I get a chance. It’s my friend Mabel. She works on her dad’s farm and spends most of her days milking cows or cleaning stalls. I know she’s bored with it. It’s all she’s talked about lately. Tonight, she was supposed to go out with some guy. I should at least check and see if she had fun.

Mabel: Hey! Where are you? Your car was still at the hardware store when I drove by. Please tell me I won’t see you on the news in the morning.

Me: LOL. I don’t think so. I went home with a friend.

I hesitate to tell her who exactly, mostly because I can’t take the judgment right now.

Mabel: So, you went home with a dude? Which dude?

Okay, that didn’t work.

Me: You know that big, inked up guy… the hot one in the MC I’ve mentioned?

Mabel: Shut up! No, you didn’t.

Me: I’m in his bed right now.

Mabel: Why are you talking to me then? Go fuck him.

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