Sweet Possession Page 8

  Reese closes his eyes, keeping his hands on my breasts. I see his nostrils flare, and the veins in his neck become taut like tight coils. He takes five deep, calming breaths and I move my hands to his chest, flattening them out. His heart hammers against my palm as he slides his hands down and grips my hips tightly. “You should’ve slapped the shit out of him for saying that to you.”

  I lift my gaze off his chest and see his eyes beaming at me. “Your eyes are so green right now.” I hold his face, studying the brightness. I’ve never seen anything like the color of Reese’s eyes. Close to emerald, but not quite. “And you’re right, I should’ve. But I couldn’t because he’s a little bitch who would either like it or call the cops on me. Bryce isn’t a man, and he’d never take a slap like one.”

  “He won’t be taking a slap from me.”

  And this is what I was worried about. “Reese, you can’t. What about the account? And if you hit him, he could have you arrested.”

  He grabs my wrists, pulling my hands off his face. “I’m going to hurt him, Dylan. It’s going to happen.” He pauses, blinking heavily. “This shit better work,” he all but whispers, dropping his gaze away from mine.

  “Please,” I beg through a strained voice, ignoring his last comment and only focusing on his threat. “Please, don’t do anything. Beating the shit out of him isn’t worth losing your job or going to jail over.” My lip begins to tremble and the tears come again. “Please, Reese. I can’t have anything happen to you.” We can’t have anything happen to you. I drop my head to his shoulder, feeling his arms wrap around me as I place a protective hand over my belly. Something would happen. This gut feeling I have isn’t going away.

  “Shhh. I don’t want you to worry about this, okay? Dylan, I’m a smart guy. You need to trust me. I’m not going to do anything that’s going to get me put in jail. Hey, look at me.”

  I keep my head down. “No. I’m ugly-crying right now.”

  He laughs into my hair before forcing my head back, tucking my hair behind my ears. “You don’t ugly anything.” I see his eyes drop down to my stomach. My hand is still there and he places his on top of mine and studies it for several seconds. I hear my breathing quicken as his brows furrow. And then he looks back up at me, lips partying slightly, and I see it. The moment it hits him. His free hand cups my face. “Love, are you…”

  I place a finger to his lips and smile. “I don’t know. I was thinking maybe I could be. It would explain why I got so sick this morning. Juls put the thought into my head. She thinks she’s pregnant, too.” He shifts me off his lap and gets to his feet, stepping into his shoes. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to the store to get you a test. You’re taking one tonight.”

  I sit on my knees and stare up at him. “What? No, I’m not. I’m taking one with Juls. We made a pact.”

  He glares at me. “Fuck that. I’m not going to be able to fall asleep tonight unless I know.” He places a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll be back.” He goes to walk toward the door but halts mid-step. Turning around, he bends down and places a kiss to my belly.

  I giggle. “Reese. You could just be kissing the pretzels I ate on the plane.”

  He hits me with a wink before grabbing his keys off the counter and walking out the door.

  “How many did you buy?” I hover my finger over the boxes Reese has just dumped onto the bed, counting them out. All my Bryce anxieties vanished the moment Reese assured me he’d be smart about things. And now the only thing I’m concerned with is how much money my fiancé just spent at the local drug store. “Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen? You bought seventeen pregnancy tests? These things are like twenty bucks a piece.”

  He looks over at me curiously. “How the hell do you know?”

  I wave him off. “Please. Every girl knows how much these things cost.” I pick up the one that has a smiling mother-to-be on the front. “Well, I guess this one looks good.” I take the box with me out of his bedroom and step into the hallway bath. Turning around, I see him at the door. “Um, what are you doing?”

  He shakes his head, seemingly in a trance. “I don’t know. Should I come in with you?”

  I scrunch up my face. “You want to watch me pee?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  I lean into him and kiss his cheek. “Relax. I’ll be out in a second.”

  Closing the door behind me, I begin to open the box and hear a faint whooshing sound. I place my ear to the door. “Reese?”

  “Yeah?” he answers immediately.

  “Are you sitting outside the door?” I hear movement and smile, followed by a faint “no” in the distance a few seconds later. I pull out the instructions and read them over quickly, trying to calm the anxiousness building rapidly within me.

  He’s pacing in front of the bed, hands raking through his hair and down his face in a continual pattern. He looks up just as I step into the room. “Well?”

  “Three minutes.”

  He sighs heavily, gripping the back of his neck with one hand. I sit on the edge of the bed and watch him burn a hole into the carpet. Back and forth, each step more purposeful than the last. His hair is a right mess and he’s chewing nervously on his bottom lip. I see his eyes routinely go to the clock on the nightstand. I’m not even taking note of the time. I know he’ll let me know when the three minutes are up. He glances once more at the clock and stops, turning toward me.

  “Ready?” I ask, holding my hand out to him. He hesitates before forcing a nod and grabbing my hand. I stop at the doorway to the bathroom and look up into his glazed-over eyes. I’ve never seen Reese nervous before but right now, he’s definitely nervous. I’m trying to keep my apprehension hidden, but it’s there. “Can you check? I’d rather you tell me.”

  He drops all hint of uneasiness and steps into the bathroom, placing one hand on either side of the test and hovering over it. He leans in closer, studying it before grabbing the instructions I left out on the counter. I watch him for what feels like hours, his eyes going from the test to the instructions and back again. I see his shoulders sag, and my stomach drops. He places the test down and walks over to me, grabbing both my hands.

  He shakes his head. “It’s negative. Two lines mean you’re pregnant, right?”

  I nod, swallowing the huge lump that formed at hearing the results.

  “There’s only one line.” I drop my head against his chest, and he immediately picks me up and carries me down the hallway. “I’m sorry, love. Are you sad?”

  I nod as he places me down on the bed. He settles on top of me as I lay back on the pillow. “I really thought I was pregnant, but I guess I’m just losing my edge when it comes to drinking. How depressing is that?” I look up at him and run my fingers through his hair, taming the wild mess. “Are you sad?”

  He shrugs once, his finger tracing my jaw. “A little. But I think I’d be really fucking worried if you were pregnant and went out drinking like that last night. Did you stop taking your birth control?”

  I shake my head and bring my hands down to his shoulders. “I got my last shot almost three months ago. If you wanted to start trying now, I just wouldn’t get it again.”

  He smiles, dropping his head and kissing my lips. His tongue trails along my bottom one before he nips it. I whimper and he moans softly. “I want to start trying. Right now.” He sits back between my legs and removes his shirt. “How effective is that shot?”

  I furrow my brows, confused by his questioning. “Umm, like 98% I think. Why?” He sits me up and pulls at the hem of my tank top, his boastful smile growing. “Oh, you think your super sperm can get through my defenses, huh? Is that it?”

  He tosses my shirt and crawls on top of me, pressing his lips to my stomach. “Nothing stands in my way, love. Modern medicine included.” His fingers work at my jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them. “And I’m always up for a challenge. Fuck that 98%.”

  I giggle as he slides my jeans and panties off. “Reese?”

&nb
sp; “Yeah?” He keeps his head down as he unbuttons his shorts. When I don’t answer immediately, he lifts his gaze to me and his smile fades.

  I bite the inside of my cheek, straining to keep the serious face I have on. “You know we can’t have sex when I’m pregnant, right?”

  Oh, I’m devious.

  He freezes after dropping his shorts and boxers. “I can’t fuck you for nine months? Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. It’s not good for the baby. You could poke it and stuff.”

  He strokes his jaw, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Why haven’t I heard about this?” he asks himself. He drops his hand, slapping his thigh and lifts his head. “Well, can we do other stuff during that time? There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to keep my hands off you for that long. Not happening. We’d have to live separately.”

  My body begins to shake with my silent laughter as I cover my face with my hands. I feel the bed dip and slide my hands down, seeing his curious expression above me. I smile wide and continue laughing. “I’m sorry. That was too easy. You should’ve seen your face.”

  He looms over top of me, dark and dangerous, and my laughter quickly fades out. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that one, Sparks.”

  I reach up and grab his face, bringing his lips to mine. “Bring it on, Carroll.”

  He totally brings it.

  Reese wasn’t kidding when he said he was up for a challenge. I’m pretty sure some orgasm-giving record was broken last night by him. Every time I came, it seemed to drive his need to do it again and again. He was relentless, fucking me until he didn’t have anything left to give me. Literally. I’m fairly certain the man is out of viable baby-makers today. And he didn’t need time to recharge between sessions, either. While I was panting on the bed, the couch, and in the shower, trying to catch my breath and needing a moment to regroup, he was bouncing on his feet like a boxer, amped and ready for the next round. I’ve never seen him so geared-up for sex before, so I gotta give it to the man. When he sets his mind on something, he definitely goes for it.

  Hard.

  My vagina is screaming for an ice pack as I make my way down Fayette Street and toward the bakery to meet Joey for our daily run. Running always helps me keep my sanity, and I’m going to need it with the week I have prepared. Not only is my wedding in five days, but Brooke is also starting today, and besides that, I’m feeling bloated and terrified of the possibility of not squeezing into my lace masterpiece of a dress tonight at my final fitting. I’m not even sure alterations can be made this close to the big day. And it has to fit. I’m wearing that dress. It’s the dress. The one Juls made me try on all those months ago when we were shopping for her wedding gown. The one I desperately tried to not picture myself walking down the aisle toward Reese in. The one I was always meant to wear. So my injured vagina can hate me all she wants, but I’m pushing myself during this run.

  After parking Sam behind Joey’s Civic, I round the corner and see my dear assistant bouncing around on his feet in front of the bakery. He turns his head, smiling when he sees me, and flattens his palm against the glass window as he stretches his hamstrings.

  “Morning, cupcake. You look freshly-fucked.”

  I wince at his sentiment, mimicking his position and grabbing my ankle behind my back. “That’s an understatement. I think Reese broke my vaj.”

  He switches legs, raising an eyebrow. “I just pictured the weirdest image.” He seems to picture it again, blinking several times as he stares off past me. I laugh, prompting him to bring his focus back to me as he bends at the waist and reaches for his toes.

  “So, I’m going to assume he isn’t still pissed at you for keeping the whole Bryce incident from him?”

  I grab my other ankle, stretching out my sore muscle. My vagina isn’t the only thing recovering from my marathon sex.

  “Actually, he was more mad at himself than anything. He hates that he put me in that position in the first place, which is ridiculous. Like there isn’t a possibility of me running into that massive dickhead here. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t come into the shop since the last time.”

  Joey straightens quickly, averting his gaze toward the busy street. I notice his shifty behavior and drop my leg, stepping sideways and forcing him to look at me.

  “Joey, Bryce hasn’t set foot in my shop since his initial creepy visit, right?”

  He drops his head from side to side, stretching out his neck. “He may have stopped in a few times while you were in the back or on a delivery. I dealt with it.”

  Oh, that piece of shit. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He motions with his head for us to start running, setting the pace as we make our way down the sidewalk. “Because I dealt with it. The last time was weeks ago, and I told him to stay the hell away from you. He hasn’t been back since.”

  I jump over the jagged part of the sidewalk I’m sure to trip over one of these days. “I want to know if he comes in again, Joey. I’m not putting up with this.” That jerk has another thing coming if he thinks I’m okay with him coming into my shop. I don’t care if it’s for treats or not. He can get his baked goods elsewhere. He probably wouldn’t even eat my decadent creations anyway. He’d probably just use them to taunt children or something; lure them into his creepy van with cookies and non-existent puppies.

  I’m not sure when Bryce became a pedophile in my mind, but right now, that’s how I’m picturing him.

  Joey huffs loudly as we make our way up the hill. “Can you get a restraining order on somebody for just being a creeper? My cousin tried to get one a few years ago on this guy who kept asking her out but the cops said because he hadn’t threatened her in any way, she couldn’t get one.”

  I shake my head and push myself harder, picking up speed. “I don’t know. Slapping that asshead with a restraining order isn’t exactly the kind of violence I have in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of shoving his dumb ass into oncoming traffic.”

  “Preach,” Joey says through a laugh. He turns around, jogging backwards as I slow down a bit. “Let’s talk about something else. You’re getting all worked up, and this week needs to be relaxing for you.” He spins back around and blows out a loud breath. “What time is the fitting tonight?”

  I smile over at him, letting go of the anger causing me to clench my teeth. “6:30 p.m. Are you coming?”

  “Of course. The Man of Honor wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  We both chuckle at the title I gave Joey when I asked him to be in my wedding six months ago. I couldn’t pick between him and Juls for the highly-coveted Maid of Honor spot. They are both so special to me, so I decided to make Juls my Matron, since she’s married, and Joey my Man. It works out perfectly, and Joey couldn’t be happier about it. He even tossed around the idea of getting it sequined on the back of his tux for the big day. I wouldn’t expect anything less.

  “I can’t wait to see you in that dress. You’re going to look fabulous.”

  I take off running, hearing him yelp behind me. He catches up and gives me a flustered look. “If I’m going to look fabulous, I need to burn off the booze we drank this weekend.” I nudge against him and he laughs. “Come on. I’ll race ya around the block.”

  After my five-mile run, which leaves my legs feeling like over-cooked noodles, I dash upstairs and hop into my shower. Another reason why I love keeping the loft above my bakery is for this very reason; I don’t have to go back to the condo to get ready for my day after my daily runs. The space still looks the same, seeing as the only thing I moved out of here was half my wardrobe. I actually wouldn’t mind it if Reese agreed to just move in here after the wedding. I know it’s a small space, but I don’t need much. Of course, if we are to have kids, I’m not sure a one-bedroom loft will cut it. Especially if we have a lot of kids, which is what I’m leaning toward. I want a bakery filled with mini-Reeses’. Tons of green-eyed, messy-haired cuties who can taste test my creations all day. And if last night was any inclina
tion as to how he feels about the subject, I’m thinking he won’t be disagreeing to that idea.

  I hear my cell phone ring as I wrap a towel around my chest, prompting me to dart out of the bathroom and grab it off my bed before I miss the call. I don’t even register the name on my screen before I answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, sweetheart. And how is my bride-to-be?”

  My mom’s voice has me falling backwards onto the bed with an exhaustive grunt. Damn it to Hell. I should’ve looked at the name on the screen, or let this call go to voicemail entirely. There’s only one reason why she’s calling me. One topic she wants to discuss. I hear the sound of papers ruffling and know she’s got her trusted notepad ready, full of last-minute changes she’s about to suggest or insist I make. Because with five days until my wedding, we have all the time in the world to change shit around.

  I rub my free hand down the side of my face, bracing myself for this phone call that will surely end in her throwing that same notepad across the room.

  “I’m good, Mom. How are you?”

  “I’m wonderful, dear. Listen, I swung by this quaint little Italian restaurant yesterday in Printer’s Row, and it would be the perfect venue for the rehearsal dinner. And I already checked to make sure they’re available.”

  I feel my frustration level quickly rising. “Mom, Reese and I don’t want a rehearsal dinner. I’ve told you this already. We want to run through the ceremony and go out afterwards with our friends.”

  My mother gasps as if she’s just now hearing this information for the first time, which is definitely not the case. “Dylan, every wedding has an actual sit-down rehearsal dinner. You can’t skip that detail. It’s crucial.”