Page 104 of Things We Burn

He kept pounding into me, and that, in conjunction with his fingers at my nipple, was enough to send me over the edge again.

He let out a roar as I took his release from him.

I didn’t remember much after that, not him pulling out of me. Because the release had taken it all from me. Everything. It had uncoiled things in me that had been wound tight for months. It was the cure to the sickness invading my body. My eyes were drooping, and I lapsed into unconsciousness while he was still inside me, but not before realizing that though he’d had sex with me, he hadn’t kissed me.

That felt important, somehow.

Before I could process it, I was gone, lost to a dreamless slumber.

Seventeen

When I wokein the morning, it was to my sheets, my bed, the room that had been mine for the past five months.

For a second, I was sure I’d dreamed it, all of it. Even though some of it was a nightmare. The past five months had been a nightmare. And then Kane turning up in the rain, during a storm, dripping wet with anger and blame emanating from him… That had been both a dream and a nightmare.

But the sheets smelled of him. My body ached in a delicious way from what he’d done to me last night. I heard signs of life downstairs, the opening and closing of the back door, dog nails on the hardwood floor.

I slumped down onto my bed.

Kanewashere.

Though our bodies had joined last night, a closeness that I’d never had with anyone else, there was still distance between us. Kane had left the bed before I woke. I slept like the dead these days and hadn’t even stirred. In our life before, he never left the bedroom without waking me. Yet another glaring and painful reminder of how things were different.

Steeling myself, I held on to the headboard in order to get out of bed. Now that I was larger, my center of balance was way off.

He’d claimed me back last night. Without question, he’d made me his all over again. Even without kissing me. That was purposeful, I thought, not giving me that.

Yet in the harsh light of day, things were different. I was his, but somehow, I wasn’t.

I felt self-conscious. Awkward. I sorely regretted throwing on the tee he’d been wearing yesterday. I hadn’t been able to help myself. It was soft and it smelled like him. It strained over my stomach, showing all of my leg and the boyshorts underwear I’d pulled on.

I’d forgone a robe because I was suddenly not icy-cold anymore, and I’d been anxious to run down to the kitchen. I was desperate to ensure that this wasn’t a dream.

It hadn’t been.

Kane was here. In my kitchen. The picture of masculine perfection.

He was dressed in running clothes and covered in sweat. He’d obviously brought in a bag of clothes at some point. My eyes traveled over the ridges in his abs, visible as his tee clung to his torso. I licked my lips at the memory of the feel of him, his sculpted abs, his weight, his warmth, the fullness of my body with him inside me.

But he wasn’t here. Not entirely.

My step stuttered as his eyes fell on me. They did a slow sweep of my body, again lingering for a long time on my stomach.

Suddenly putting on his tee felt like a mistake. It was too presumptuous.

Yes, I was carrying his child, and yes, we’d had sex last night. But that didn’t mean we weretogether.

He’d been in prison for five months. He said he came straight here. He hadn’t been with a woman in almost half a year. It must’ve just been a physical thing; he’d needed a release. Nothing was fixed between us. It wasn’t that simple.

“I, um, should probably get dressed.” I started retreating from the kitchen.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growled.

I froze at his tone.

But inside of my body I didn’t.

My insides responded. Viscerally.

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