Page 22 of Dangerous Devotion

“We didn’t use protection…again.”

I nodded. “I’m clean, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She shook her head, then circled one of my scars—one of the many reminders of how my father’s favored form of keeping me in check, or “educating” me—as he used to call it—was complete public humiliation—this particular scar and many more I got when I came home for the summer at age sixteen.

That was the summer he forced me to step into the ring against grown-ass men in illegal dog fights to promote his newly established underground fighting ring. I’d barely made it out of there alive. But it sure as hell had stoked my hatred against my father.

“Do you really mean it?” she said and pulled me back into the present.

“Do I mean what?”

“The starting-a-family-right-away? Or do you just not want to use protection?”

Her question hung in the air between us, heavy with implications.

Heat flushed through my body, and I ground my teeth. Did she really think that I would say something like that because I wanted to fuck her bare? Did she really think so little ofme? And did she really think I would do that to her out of pure egotism? Well, maybe I did, but not the kind looking for a quick bareback fuck.

Goddammit.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I want a family with you.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I paused. Images flashed through my mind—Jemma glaring at me, her belly swollen with our child, her skin glowing. The thought sent a jolt of desire through me, so intense it floored me.

I hadn’t realized how much I wanted that image to be real. Why now, all of a sudden? What had changed? I’d never had the desire to procreate. My siblings had always given me enough of a headache growing up, so I never, ever wanted to take on that kind of responsibility again. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.

Until now.

But imagining her carrying our baby, nurturing a new life we’d created together—it was primal, possessive—and incredibly appealing. I splayed my hand across her flat stomach, picturing it rounded and full…and sexy.

Then, my thoughts shifted. I saw myself holding a tiny bundle, a miniature person with Jemma’s eyes and my dark hair, teaching them to walk, to read, to navigate this complicated world we live in.

A deep longing welled up inside me and caught me off guard with its force. I wanted that future—desperately. To be a father, to have a family of my own to come home to. To give a child the love and security I’d never had growing up.

“I want it with you,” I admitted softly. “The idea of you carrying our child, of us raising a family together…it’s everything I never knew I wanted.”

I trapped her hand against my chest. “I really think you’re perfect for me, Punk. But we have time. It will happen when you’re ready. When we’re both ready.”

She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge my words at all.

I put a finger under her chin and lifted her face so I could see her eyes.

She looked conflicted as if she wasn’t sure.

“Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” I said.

“It’s not the right time,” she whispered, with so much pain in her voice, it hit me like a high-speed train.

Everything that had happened in the last couple of hours ran through my mind, and the warmth of our intimate moment, of dreaming about starting a family with her, gave way to the cold, hard facts of our situation.

It was not the right time.

She tensed slightly in my arms, sensing the shift in me.

“You’re right. As much as I want this,” I said, my voice low and serious. “Now’s not the right time.”

She nodded.

“We’re in the middle of a shitstorm right now,” I continued, running a hand through my hair. “And I don’t even know where the wind is coming from.”

She nodded again. “There are people out there who want to hurt us. And we don’t even know who’s behind the attack on the rooftop, yet.”

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