Page 6 of Love Without Demands

“I don’t want your money,” I insisted, humiliation thrumming through me.

“Trust me, you’re going to need it.My husbandand I decided it would be best if you left New York altogether.” It wasn’t lost on me that she kept emphasizing themy husbandpart. Chloe took another step forward until I could feel her breath on my face. Her voice was low and dangerous. “Otherwise, immigration services might receive an anonymous phone call.” Her smile could have belonged to Satan himself.

Panic rose up in my throat even as I lifted my chin. “I was born in this country.”

The horrible woman tilted her head to the side and smiled smugly. “But your sister wasn’t, was she?” She proceeded to rattle off my sister’s name and date of birth before her smile turned into a feral baring of straight white teeth. “Be gone by Monday night, or I’ll have your sister deported. And trust me, I can do it. Power and money can buy pretty much anything.”

Except a soul.

“I want to speak with Pa—with Mr. Bouvier,” I corrected, and her brows narrowed.

“Paul. Does. Not. Want. You. Maybe he enjoyed getting between your legs for a bit, but now, with our new addition, he wants to make our marriage work for the sake of our children.” To drive the point home, she rubbed her belly. “You will not contact him, now or ever. Am I understood?”

Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I started to protest, but she grabbed my chin in a harsh grip, pure evil glowing in her eyes.

“I want you gone, you little slut.” She shoved, and I stumbled back a few steps, catching myself on the counter behind me. Picking up my purse, Chloe crammed it into my hands. “I thinkmy husband has been more than generous. I would have sent you packing with absolutely nothing, but he’s too goddamn soft for his own good. There’s plenty of money here for you and your illegal sister to go back to Texas to be with your family. If you ever contact my husband again, having your sister deported will be the least of your worries.”

The ferocity on her face put a fear into me like I’d never known, and I clutched my purse to my chest and backed away, never turning my back on her until I was in the foyer.

And then I ran.

Four days later, the unending tears were still streaming down my face as we passed through Houston and headed south on Interstate 45 to Galveston.

“I’m sorry, Estrella,” Maya said for about the millionth time, clutching my hand in hers. To her credit, she hadn’t saidI told you soa single time.

My heart was shattered. I missed little Auburn and Evie. I loved them so much, and god help me, I still loved Paul, despite his betrayal.

We arrived at my parents’ small home, where Maya and I would live until we found a place of our own. I stayed holed up in my bedroom, not speaking and barely eating. I’d never felt more broken.

And two months after that, I stood in the bathroom and stared down at the stick that informed me I was pregnant with Paul Bouvier’s baby.

A baby he could never know about.

Chapter 1

If vaginas had emotions,mine would currently be… disappointed.

Attempting to find a better angle, I pulled my knees back and shifted my hips upward.Almost… if he would just…

“That’s it, Lehra. You like Dwight’s big man stick in your lady hole, don’t you?”

And that’s when I lost it.

For the record, I don’t mean I lost it in terms of falling over the cliff of pure bliss and directly into a pool filled with orgasms and twitching thighs. No, as an off-key Tom Cruise once crooned, I lost that lovin’ feeling.

Because my boyfriend was officially the worst dirty talker in the history of sex.Sigh.

He tried; he really did. But since I’d told him a few months ago that I wanted him to talk dirty to me during intimate times, he’d taken that to mean I wanted him to discover more and more creative ways of referring to his manhood.

Gone was all thecockanddicktalk I’d hoped for, only to be replaced with things like man stick, trouser snake, and my personal favorite: skin flute.

Yeah.

And don’t even get me started on the whole talking in third person situation. I’m not sure how I expected to get off when he moaned things like,Dwight loves poking his pepperoni peen into your beaver box.

In case you were wondering, my beaver box was not all aflutter the night he said that.

Rotating my hips in little circles to get the stimulation I craved, I buried my fingers in Dwight’s blond hair. “Baby, do you like how my pussy feels around your cock?” I purred, hoping that would give him some inspiration as to the kind of naughty things I wanted to hear.

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