Page 83 of Forking the Billionaire

“The cat who got killed by curiosity?”

“No.” I rolled my eyes and kept prying at the stupid lock that wouldn’t budge.

“The cat who kept dying to prove he had nine lives?”

“No.” I sighed because this stupid lock was impossible and I wouldnotask for help. “I always land on my feet.”

“If you say so. But I can recall more than once that you?—”

“Shut. It.” I snapped my fingers and glared at him, then magically, the lock gave way. I pushed open the window.

How many times had I shushed him since we entered this bathroom? More times than I had in the rest of the last fifteen years we’d known each other, probably.

A set of big, strong hands wrapped around my thighs, startling me, and I bumped my head on the glass.

“What are you doing?” I growled.

“Helping.”

“More like molesting. That’s not what I need right now.” Except maybe some extra molestation wouldn’t be so bad. I was still capable of standing, so maybe I could handle another delicious Jasper-delivered orgasm.

No. No thoughts like that. Stupid insatiable hormones.

I looked through the window for signs of Chester, but he didn’t seem to be anywhere around, which was good, because I should have thought about that before saying words likemolestingin front of the open window.

Since the coast was clear, there was no reason to delay this whole escape thing.

It wasn’t too far down, just a few feet. I’d twist on my way out and land on my feet like the cat I’d proclaimed myself to be. Easy peasy.

I propped my elbows on the sill and tried to pull myself up a bit, testing the frame.

Jasper lifted along with me, supporting my weight, his thumbs curled between my thighs just inches from my aching pussy. And I didn’t want to think about that. I wanted to escape.

But my already sore boobs squished against the wall and even though I’d only lifted my feet an inch off the toilet seat, stupid tears of defeat threatened to rise up and out of my face.

I would never admit it out loud, but Jasper was right.

This was a dumb idea, and I could squish my stomach too hard while I squirmed like a fat sea cucumber through the too-small opening. Or I could make it through, fall wrong, and break my neck or my uterus. Maybe both. That was a thing that could happen…possibly?

I’d spent too much effort trying to prove to myself that I wasn’t pregnant that I hadn’t learned yet what to do now that I’d admitted that I was actually pregnant. I’d have to make another appointment with Dr. Squailly. I would read the books or blogs or whatever publications I was supposed read to get my info. I’d do all the right things as soon as I survived my brother’s wedding and everyone left me alone exactly like I wanted them to.

A knot formed in my stomach, and I wasn’t sure if it was a stress knot or a precursor-to-vomit knot.

Either way, I couldn’t do this window escape.

“Change of plans,” I said. “Stop fondling me. And you go out first.”

“I told you I can’t fit through the window.”

Was he teasing me? His stupidly pretty sparkling eyes suggested maybe.

“Through the door.” I pointed.

“Okay.”

He gave me a small shrug and a bit of a grin that could have been smug, or maybe just amused. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t charming, no matter what he thought. It was frustrating.

I waited until he was gone, then I deflated.

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