Page 91 of Oathbreaker

“Lord Jesus, today,” she says with a groan, putting her head into her hands. I laugh as I walk away a little, keeping the door to the water closet open. When I hear her pull toilet paper off the roll and flush, I reach for my toothbrush.

Winter is hypersensitive to morning breath—usually her own.

She washes her hands and then reaches for the spare toothbrush she keeps in my bathroom. She’s been reluctant to move all her stuff over to my room, but piece by piece, things migrate into my suite.

Give her time.

I’m done brushing right when she starts, so I give her a few moments before I take the opportunity to talk.

“You’re not on birth control right now,” I say. She coughs and sputters, spitting the toothpaste into the sink. Rinsing her mouth, she says, “How do you know that?”

I don’t respond.

She sighs. “No, I’m not. But I’ll schedule an appointment with Dr.Greene immediately, if not sooner.”

I mull that over for a moment. “Do you have to?” I ask.

She looks bewildered. It’s cute. “Um, yes? Because you and I don’t need to go making babies in the midst of all this.” She waves her arms around the room, seeming to indicate the entire world—the shit with my father, the process of her healing, hell, even the entirety of society—in her movements.

My head tips from side to side as I nod. “The timing isn’t ideal, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” she responds, dumbfounded.

“But I don’t want to wait. I want curly-haired kids that look like you running around this place.” She looks like she’s about to choke. Or run. Instead, she spins to the shower, twisting the nobs with jerky movements to turn it on before stepping inside.

“We’ve already fucked several times without protection, baby. You’re probably pregnant right now,” I say to her through the shower door. She fumbles the bottle of body wash.

“This isn’t a joke, H,” she says, her voice hard.

“Who said I was joking?” I reply, opening the door and stepping into the shower behind her.

I rub her shoulders, and her head drops to her chin. “And I’m very likely not pregnant. It’s not the right week,” she says.

I hum in response. “Got it. So if I bend you over this bench right now and fuck you until I blow deep inside your pussy, it probably won’t stick, right?”

She whirls around, her eyes wide. She opens and closes her mouth. “You are certifiable, Hunter Brigham,” she says. Then her eyes flick to the bench as if it were an involuntary movement, before returning to my gaze.

I smile slowly.

“Is that your professional opinion, Sunbeam?”

She shakes her head in a circle—both yes and no. So I haul her to me, pressing her body to mine with my hand behind her head.

“We can call it testing the theory. Let me make you more messy. At least we’re in the right place to clean you up.” And then I give her a kiss so dirty, it has me on the edge of blowing outside her.

Once we’re out of the shower, Winter wants to talk.

So after we’re both dry and dressed, I grab her hand and steer her toward the rose garden. March has been kind to us, bringing more sunny days and snow-free weeks. The gardeners started revitalizing the blooms for the spring, and the colors are starting to come back.

It smells incredible out here.

Winter decides to take us to the pavilion off to the side of the garden.

She rubs her hands together several times. Then she speaks.

“I had a realization this morning.” She swallows thickly, and I can tell by the set of her shoulders that it’s something serious. Heavy.

“Adam—” She clears her throat. “Adam only got twenty years for what he did to me as a kid. He was young himself when he went in, so it’s unlikely he would have died in prison. So even if he never got parole, if he were determined to have me—to end me—he would have done it anyway.”

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