Page 57 of His Property

“Okay…”

“Mari was pregnant. She… didn’t want anyone to know until it took. You know how it goes.”

“Ellis… you poor man. Oh, Jesus…”

“I didn’t have the heart to tell her parents—or mine. They’d already lost enough. They didn’t need to know they’d lost a grandchild, too. That was… my burden to bear, I guess. Alone.” Then I looked up at her. Tears were pouring down her face, and I reached up to touch her cheek. “Get down here, girl.”

She flew off the desk, landing in my lap, straddling me. I held her close, tucking her head under my chin. I could feel the quick beat of her heart against mine.

I said the last against her hair. “I was so angry, so lost. And I told myself I could never endure that kind of pain again. It would kill me, if I did. So… I decided I wouldn’t ever risk it. No close relationships. One night stands, or limited time… arrangements. Those were safe. Those couldn’t hurt me, not really.” I gritted my teeth, willing my voice not to break. “Until I realized I was slowly dying inside without that connection, knowing that if I didn’t ever take that chance… there would come a day when the opportunity to take that chance would be taken from me. For good. Time has no friends, and is an enemy to all. And just in case you hadn’t noticed… I’m not getting any younger.”

“You don’t say,” she said, giggling against my chest between her sniffles.

I touched her chin, forcing her to look up at me. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks slick with tears. “I was ready to accept that… until something happened. Until the day I saw the impossibly round and juicy ass of some girlmuchtoo young for me. A girl who’d have been better off never meeting a man like me. But she did, the poor thing.” I swallowed hard. “And now… all my plans are fucked. Because that chance I never wanted to take? I’ve already taken it, without even knowing it. Because I fell in love with that girl.” I kissed her swollen, reddened lips then, savoring the taste of them, the salt of her tears, the essence of her surrender. I murmured the last against her cheek. “I love you, Lola. God help me, but I do.”

Then her big, fathomless eyes looked me over until I thought I might fall right into them.

“Thank you. Thank you for telling me… for everything.” A fresh pair of tears dashed down either cheek, but her radiant smile outshined them. Then she drew close, kissing my ear, and she whispered the sweet words. “I love you too, Mr. Winters.”

EPILOGUE

One year later

It was on the back deck that I found her, tending to the huge forest of potted evergreens, flowers, and herbs she’d taken to installing all about the formerly barren stained wood expanse behind the house.

I slipped out through the sliding glass, fresh from a shower, wearing only my jeans, my towel still slung over my shoulder. The afternoon was humid and warm, cicadas buzzing incessantly. I just wanted to watch her for the moment, so I stayed silent. I wondered if she’d note the scent of soap on me, her sense of smell growing so acute since she’d gotten pregnant, it was much more a curse than a blessing.

She wore the impossibly diaphanous sundress I’d laid out for her that morning, the yellows, oranges, and reds of the gentle floral pattern rendered into a ghostly pattern of hues where the daytime light shown against it. In the background, the sun was low in the western sky, but still brilliant, revealing the clear outline of her body below the fabric, in all its mouthwatering glory.

The burgeoning, generous breasts, grown even larger so late in her term, the profile of the prominent, seemingly perpetually hard nipples, becoming dark and swollen over the past few months. The swell of her belly, quite large now, was perfectly counterbalanced by the enhanced, luscious curves of her hips, the bouncy, soft rounds of her buttocks calling out to me with a power I could never hope—nor want—to resist. But now I was even more helpless against her magnetic allure, the woman I loved now heavy with my child, carrying the promise, the prospect of something I feared I’d never have a chance at again.

As she lifted the battered metal of the watering can high, I snuck up behind her, clasping the exaggerated curves of her hips in a proprietary grip. Her body tensed, a breath catching in her throat. Glancing back at me, her eyes locked with mine, for the briefest of moments. But I merely stared, wondering what she might do. Her mouth dropped open, a momentary surprised O, then those plump, pink lips closed, her nostrils flaring the slightest bit.

She understood what I was after.

The trembling of her body as she slowly lowered the can told me everything I needed to know, my swelling cock already beginning to press insistently at the constriction of my zipper. I rubbed my crotch against the soft buttocks, so pleasingly hinted at under the thin fabric of the dress. The subtle, but unmistakable, push back against me confirmed what I already knew.

Insatiable.

Though her first trimester had been a pure misery for Lola, morning sickness regularly laying her low, her libido, indeed her absolute ravenous hunger for sex, grew and grew thereafter, becoming a raging fire over the past few weeks. Her lust had grown so intense, she’d actually asked her OB about it at the last checkup, asking—a dark flush suffusing her cheeks—if it was normal to be sointerested, if there was something wrong that would cause her to be swollen and sensitive ‘down there.’

Ever the professional, especially considering I had been sitting there next to Lola at that moment, her doctor had explained that not only was it normal, but that it was quite healthy, and that she needed to appreciate and embrace it—and enjoy it.

And Lola did. We both did.

She made as if to turn to me, but I held her in place, facing away, her breath coming faster now.

Without a word, I took the can from her hand, dropping it to the deck boards with a loudthunk. A drop of water splashed out, landing on the top of my bare foot, then running down between my toes.

Then I hooked a finger under the strap of the dress at her left shoulder, drawing it off and leaving it hanging down her arm. The bodice of her dress sagged down, exposing the provocative curve of her naked breast—I’d very purposefully not included a bra in the clothing I’d set out for her in the morning—revealing the hormone-darkened areola, the hard, swollen nipple. I flicked the tip, wishing I could do so much more to it. The doctor had advised refraining from stimulating her nipples too much, as it might spark Braxton-Hicks—and possibly even labor itself.

I plunged my hand under the fabric, cupping that heavy breast, lifting it fully from the concealment of the dress. She moaned, her head dropping back against my shoulder, as I gave the soft globe a long, firm squeeze, loving the feel of her in my hand.

Her ass pressed more insistently against my erection.

Letting go of her breast, leaving it exposed, vulnerable, her dress in disarray just the way I wanted her, I took hold of her left wrist, wrapping my right hand firmly about the nape of her neck.

Ushering her along in that heated silence, I loved the way her breath caught as I marched her back inside like that, holding her as if she were a prisoner, a captive of my dark lusts. I luxuriated in the languid bounce and sway of her breast as we moved down the hallway to the dark coolness of the bedroom. It was an inner sanctum, blanketed in shadow, the buzz of the cicadas muted, the beat of my own heart rushing in my ears.

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