Page 61 of The Devil Gets His Due

I know I’ll be ridiculed for my answer but I’m beyond caring at this point. “I haven’t had sex in six months, Graham. That’s the problem. Even when I’m not pregnant I…I want it more than other people do. And now that Iampregnant…”

He winces and leans forward, burying his face in his hands. “More than other people,” he repeats flatly.

“I knew you were going to make me feel bad about this.”

“I’m not.” His jaw locks. “I’m just trying to understand.” He raises his head to look at me. “What do you mean bymore? How much?”

I hitch a shoulder. “Ideally, uh…several times a day.”

“Jesus,” he whispers.

“I knew—”

“I’m not complaining,” he hisses. “You have no idea how hot I find it that you…fuck. Never mind.”

“How hot you find it that Iwhat?”

He glares at me. “What do you think, Keeley? The idea of you, spending your entire day wanting to get laid…what sane man isn’t going to hear that and be tortured by it?”

I freeze, wondering if he’s joking. Based on how pissed he is, he’s probably not. “Lotsof men aren’t into that,” I reply. “And with the way I look now, I think the odds of me ever attracting anyone again are painfully slim anyway.”

He laughs, but the sound is rueful and unhappy. “With the way you look now? What’s wrong with the way you look?”

I stand and flip my shirt up. “Look at my stomach, Graham! Look at my stretch marks!” I let my shirt fall. “I’ve gotveins.”

“Any man would give up a year of his life to fuck you, Keeley. Supposed veins or not.”

My breath stills. I’m good at equations, and this is a simple one:

Any man would with sleep me+Graham is a man=Graham would sleep with me.

“Youcould,” I suggest.

He blinks. “What?”

“You heard me.”

His eyes fall closed. “Keeley…I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

It’s not like I thought he’d bethrilledwith the offer, but I wasn’t prepared for outright rejection either.

“Of course you don’t want to,” I reply. My voice grows quiet. “I can’t even blame you. I wouldn’t want to fuck me either.”

He laughs—the sound low and menacing—as his hand wraps around my wrist. “You can’t be serious,” he says, and then he rises, too, stepping close to me—the heat of him along my chest, his breath against my forehead.

I swallow.Pull it together, Keeley.“Yes, I’m serious. I—”

He presses my hand to his cock. “Does it feel like I don’t want to?”

Beneath my hand he is thick and long, and very, very hard.

And I remember this: standing close to him, just the way I am now, and feeling the sharp edges of his hunger, and being simultaneously terrified and compelled by the depth of it. He seemed safe from a distance, but now I realize how wrong I was; there’s nothing safe about him. He’s been like a feral animal kept on a leash, and I just suggested removing it.

He lets my hand go, but it remains anyway, instinct urging me to try to wrap my palm around him through his shorts.

“Keeley, stop,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to—”

I keep my hand right where it is. “You don’t want my hand here?”

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