Page 79 of The Devil Gets His Due

I want to open my eyes but his fingers areperfect. “No, but I assume you are.”

He pulls my hand to his cock, which is already hard again. “What do you think?”

“I think you must be subbing out with an identical twin because there’s no way you got hard again that fast.” I grip him tight, the way he likes, and air hisses between his teeth.

“You clearly have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this. I want to come inside you. Is that okay?”

The question alone has me clenching around his fingers.

“Nothing you haven’t done before, apparently.” I glance down at my stomach. “Though I’m not sure how we do this, under the circumstances.”

He gently pushes me onto the bed, his mouth curving on one side. “Believe me…I’ve given this way too much thought.”

He crawls between my spread thighs, leaning over me to grab a pillow. “Raise up,” he commands before wedging it beneath me.

He grasps himself, staying on his knees as he lines up with my entrance. If he hadn’t just made me come, I think the fit would be too tight. But he slides in slowly, inch by inch, bracing himself over me with his eyes squeezed shut.

It’s exquisite.

It’s too much.

I want more.

“You don’t have to go slow for me,” I whisper breathlessly. “I’m okay. I’m not going to come again.”

His laugh sounds pained. “Keeley, you’re definitely coming again, but I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this so I don’t lose it way too fast. I just want it to last.”

I hold his gaze as he pushes in again, more quickly. And again. I clench around him as my muscles tighten.

“Fuck,” he gasps. His eyes fall closed. “I’m going to come so fucking hard, Keeley.”

OhGod.

There is nothing more thrilling to me than watching Graham fight for control. His thrusts take on a rhythm now, faster, as if involuntary. And he was right; I am going to come again. Like a car without brakes, there’s only one outcome left for us both. I become distantly aware of my own voice whispering to him, urging him on. Breathy, desperate.Yes, God, just like that. Oh, God, don’t stop, Graham I’m close and—

I fall apart with a sharp, sudden cry, and he gasps again, grunting as he lets go at last.

He’s still inside me when my eyes open, his eyes studying my face as if I’m a favorite photograph he’s saying goodbye to. As if he can’t stand to look away.

My heart squeezes tight. Were it up to Graham, we might happily stay like this for the foreseeable future. Andoh my God,I can picture that, all too easily: the two of us continuing on the way we have, making dinner, watching TV, and taking care of a baby while having endless, increasingly athletic sex. It’s more delicious, more compelling, than any dream I’ve ever had. But that would just make it all harder in the end; if we break up or if I succumb to the O’Keefe curse, it’ll just make it all harder.

“You need to stop thinking,” he says, his hand pressing to my cheek, commanding me to look at him. “Which is something I never thought I’d have to ask of you.”

I laugh, biting down on the words I want to say:“Do you promise not to hate me now that this has happened? Can we make things go back to normal?”

He pulls out at last and falls to the other side of me, his palm on my stomach. The baby kicks, right beneath his hand, a tiny fluttering like a butterfly edging along the sides of a hedge.

“Was that her?” he asks. He’s felt this before, but never just…spontaneously. And not when I’m this far along. He pulls himself up onto his elbow, staring at my stomach.

“Little Kalamity does not like being woken from her slumber, I guess.”

He laughs. “You’renotnaming her that.”

I wish I could stay here and suggest increasingly outlandish names, names—I’ve been keeping a list on my phone for just such a moment. I wish I could doze off with his hand on my stomach and wake to find him still asleep, face sweet in repose. I’d just stare at him, the way I did the night I climbed into his bed with Lola, and marvel at the perfection of his nose, how boyish a face as angular as his can look at rest.

I’d like to wake in the morning to find us tucked together like two spoons so I could rub up against him until he couldn’t stand not to slide back inside me. Afterward, he’d want me to eat something gross, and I’d whine until he went to the bakery and got me a muffin.

But that’s the life of a different kind of girl—the kind who stays around—and it would hurt one or both of us so fucking much when I couldn’t do it.

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