Page 70 of Size Doesn't Matter

“When you what, angel?”

Coming back to her senses, she licked her lips and rocked her hips, eliciting a satisfying moan from her lover. A confidence boosting moan that encouraged her to be brave. To be vulnerable. “When I tell you, sir, Jack… I love you.”

“Sophie.” Jack whispered her name through smiling lips. She’d made him happy, and she hadn’t done it just to spare his feelings, but because she had finally taken charge of her own.

Gripping her arse in one hand and her throat in the other, Jack took control and did as promised. He fucked her into submission.

Sophie rode out her first orgasm within minutes, the position she was in and the angle of their bodies ensuring Jack’s cock filled her to the point of being almost painful. A delicious pain that fuelled her pleasure and took her higher, carried her away on wave after wave of ecstasy. And his clever fingers worked her clit like no man ever had, adding another layer to the blissful sensations crashing through her body and mind.

Honestly, if she ever found out who taught him how to do that, she was sending them a well earned thank you card.

Her second orgasm was slower to arrive. Jack rocked their bodies together, like the roll of the ocean, serene and constant and full of unfathomable depths. He pulled her closer, pulled her down to his chest and wrapped his arms around her.

“I love my girl,” he whispered in her ear. “My beautiful brat. My angel.”

“And I love my sir,” she whispered back. “I love you, Jack.”

When they came, they came together, and Sophie felt a fullness of body, mind and soul, a sense of togetherness and rightness. A love she’d never experienced before, but one she was already addicted to.

One she craved more of.

More than was probably healthy.

Jack held her afterwards, cradled her against his chest and stroked her hair, soothed her with gentle, constant touches, but it didn’t last.

Her nausea was back.

Sitting up, she pressed her hands against his chest and lifted herself off him. But she didn’t go far before realising something was very wrong.

A sharp, gut-wrenching pain sliced through her abdomen.

She gasped at the sensation, realising it was one she was all too familiar with. But no, that couldn’t be right. She was pregnant. She shouldn’t be having those pains.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

In an instant Jack was out of bed and helping her to stand, holding her up as she doubled over in agony. “Jack.” His name was barely even a whisper.

Fear had stolen her voice.

Rushing to the bathroom, she grabbed a hand towel and stuffed it between her legs. A moment later she heard Jack speak, but not to her.

“I need an ambulance,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “I think my girlfriend is having a miscarriage.”

Locking eyes with Jack, she saw the tears tracking down his face, and when she pulled the towel away, she knew he was right. Her dream was shattering apart.

The towel was soaked in blood.

27

Jack paced beside Sophie’s hospital bed, a thin blue curtain the only thing shielding them from the noise and the chaos of the emergency room.

A nurse had ushered them in there over thirty minutes earlier but they were yet to see a doctor.

“Jack,” Sophie’s strained voice made him stop.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, before another onslaught of tears flooded down her cheeks.

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