Chapter 4 Mia
FOUR
MIA
There’s a glorious ache between my thighs. I can still feel my husband’s presence inside my body. He stretched me so full I’ll be feeling him all day. And the words that spilled from his mouth like a prayer wrapped in sin?
Yeah, I’m sore and deliciously sated.
Not a bad way to start a Monday morning.
I shift in the seat, trying to get comfortable. Manhattan is always busy, but this morning it’s bumper to bumper and nonstop honking. Theo’s already cursed more times than I can count at drivers cutting in front of him.
I bounce my knee, already tense that Jensen’s escapades made me late, and now the five-minute drive to SoHo is dragging to almost double that.
I glance at my watch. It’s almost 10:30a.m.
Juno’s going to think I’ve been abducted.
“It’d be quicker to walk,” I mutter as the taxi in front of us inches forward, then blasts the horn.
We’re two blocks away. Two. I could be at the gallery in five minutes. Less if I take off my heels.
Theo cuts a glance at me in the rearview mirror, as unreadable as ever. Then returns his gaze to the windshield.
“Not without clearance.”
I roll my eyes. Of course not. It’s not like I’m not perfectly capable of walking on my own two feet. Heaven forbid I have to exist among other humans.
Clearance.
I sag back against the seat, biting back the argument sitting on my tongue. It’s not Theo’s fault my husband is an overbearing planner.
I usually don’t care that Jensen keeps my life tied up in security measures. I like being taken care of. I really do. I always feel safe in my life, but sometimes the cage Jensen builds around me chafes.
This is one of those times.
I could grab the handle. I could get out of the car and risk the walk. No one is holding a gun to my head, stopping me. Theo would follow, of course, but he wouldn’t drag me back to the car like I’m a prisoner.
And probably nothing would happen.
I’d walk. Get some air.
Reach the gallery before the day ends.
But Jensen? Theo would tell him. He always does. There wouldn’t be shouting or anger, but I’d see the betrayal in my husband’s eyes. I’d feel like I broke the unspoken contract between us regarding my safety.
He protects me, and I do what he says to stay that way.
I’m not stupid. I know what it means to be married to someone like Jensen, to have the money we have, and what it makes me to the wrong people.
Leverage.
His fear isn’t unfounded. I’m his weak link. He would give everything we’ve built in exchange for me.
So I don’t move. I don’t put that fear into Jensen, not for the sake of two blocks. I like my husband sleeping soundly at night, knowing I don’t take unnecessary risks.
Theo’s gaze lingers on me, like he thinks I’m planning to run. I shoot him a smile before I go back to brooding at the traffic.
By the time the car pulls up outside the gallery, I’m twitchy to get inside, but I wait for Theo to come to my door. He pauses for a second before he lets me out, and I know he’s sweeping the street, just in case.
I slide out, and smooth my dress down my thighs as soon as I’m standing. Theo stays close to me, guiding me inside like I am a presidential candidate and not an artist.
My shoulders relax the moment we’re inside. I love my gallery. The mix of glass and brick with the natural wood holding up the ceiling attracted me to the space. It’s bougie.
And it’s mine. My home away from home.
The room is filled with partitions, a maze of walls, each one displaying artwork from local creators, as well as some of my own pieces.
It’s impossible to tell if anyone is walking around from some angles, which stresses Theo and Jensen out.
Theo would prefer a clear line of sight, but I won that argument. I just had to make one tiny compromise.
The several cameras hanging from the rafters, covering every inch of floor space.
Juno glances up from the desk. She’s perched on a stool, one foot resting on the edge, her chin on her knee, the other dangling toward the floor. Her hair is in two little buns on either side of her head, tuffs of hot pink sticking out through the platinum.
“Hey.” She taps a pen between her fingers, staring at the page in front of her. “I took care of the delivery this morning.”
I wince. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do that.” I come around the back of the desk, shrugging my purse off my shoulder.
“It was a delivery—not a sacrifice to the art gods.” Juno lifts her gaze to Theo, who’s sitting at the little security desk near the entrance.
He has a monitor in front of him—a live feed of every camera in the gallery.
“Your favorite client is looking for a piece. Something understated for his estate in the Hamptons.” She doesn’t roll her eyes, but I feel it anyway.
Jacob Landry’s harmless, but he’s just… there. All the time.
“I’ll send him my latest portfolio.”
She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it as she takes me in. Her eyes narrow. “You got laid this morning.”
The accusation—and it is an accusation—has my cheeks burning. “I did not.”
How can she even tell that by looking at me? Do I have a sign on my head saying that my husband tied me down and bent me over our breakfast stools while telling me he was going to fill my womb with his—
“Liar!” She smirks, hugging her knee closer to her chest. “You totally have post-sex face.”
I blink. “You can’t know that just by looking at me.”
“Then deny it.”
I don’t. I grab the delivery book from under the desk and flip to today’s date. I know what’s coming in, but if I look at Juno, I’ll confess everything. And some things are better kept private.
“You’re unhinged.”
She slips off the stool, grabbing the takeout coffee on the desk and taking a sip. “I’m not the one standing here like butter wouldn’t melt after being defiled by her sex god billionaire husband. And do you know what? Good for you, girl. At least one of us is getting a happy ending.”
I place my palms on the book and steady my breath before I turn to her. “First, I wasn’t defiled. I was very much on board with what happened.”
Juno grins. “I knew it. At least tell me he rearranged your insides so good that you’ll never need to think about another man again.”
I roll my eyes, even as my lips twitch. He had done more than rearrange my insides. “And second,” I ignore her question, mostly because I know it’ll annoy her, “are we ready for the shipment coming in this afternoon?”
I flick the page over, just to give my hands something to do. My body aches for Jensen.
It always does.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” she grumbles, “but just so you know you’re stopping me from living vicariously through you. My love life is DOA.”
The rest of the week drags like I’m wading through molasses. Things at the gallery are steady. No surprise appointments, nothing that keeps my mind busy from the only thought consuming me.
My period.
I’m almost at the end of my cycle, and I’m desperate to know whether Jensen’s attempts to get me pregnant have worked. I’m hyperaware of every twinge in my belly, every ache of my hips.
Anything that could be a sign.
I feel… off. But my periods make me feel like crap.
I’m tired. Crampy. Grumpy.
And fucking hungry.
I could murder a bagel or one of those cream-filled pastries from the bakery down the block. I focus on the sketchpad resting on my knee instead of thinking obsessively about eating.
Charcoal stains my fingers, but the drawing is taking shape—the shape of Jensen’s hands. Hands that touch me with softness and heat. It’s the third time one I’ve done this week. Like I can’t stop tracing him onto the paper.
I sigh.
My hips ache and I blink the exhaustion back.
Between the gallery and my husband’s insatiable hunger, it feels like I’m dragging my body through wet cement.
If I’m not at work, I’m under him. Jensen’s still fucked me this week like he’s trying to mold conception to his will, despite the fact I’m not in my fertile window right now.
Not that mind. I like our sex life.
But he’s going to break my insides if he doesn’t calm down. Every time I limp around the gallery, Juno wiggles her eyebrows at me.
I think he broke my pussy with what he did to me this morning. And I must be crazy because I want him to do it again.
As soon as I get home.
My thoughts dive into the gutter.
Focus, Mia.
I slide the charcoal over the paper, adding some shade to the drawing I’m working on. Then pause.
What if I am already pregnant?
Would I know by now?
Do I feel different?
My boobs are sore, but it could be hormones. And of course my insides are sore and cramping. Jensen’s constantly in there, dicking me into a coma.
I huff a breath, but by lunchtime, I know something is wrong. That awareness of my body is screaming at me. There is a dull ache in my thighs that has nothing to do with Jensen bending me in half this morning.
But it’s the low dragging feeling in my belly that is the real clue.
I know it is.
I excuse myself, keeping my expression locked down. The last thing I need is to get upset at work.
Theo watches me as I head into the back area, and I know he’ll track me on the cameras. So I keep my emotions calm until I slip into the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
Fuck, I don’t want to pull my pants down. I know what I’m going to see. What it means.
Another month of trying. Disappointment in Jensen’s eyes.
I just stand there frozen, like I can deny it if I don’t see it.
But I know.
It’s early. I’m not due for another few days, but I know.
The breath feels like it’s trapped inside my chest as I sit on the toilet and grab a handful of tissue.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s not my period,
I press one hand to my stomach, as if I can will our baby into existence, and then I wipe.
I don’t expect the hollowed out feeling that settles inside me when I see the tiny smear of blood against the stark whiteness of the toilet paper.
Shit.
I close my eyes, as if that can make it disappear. Weight presses on my chest.
I grab a sanitary napkin from the shelf above the sink and stick it to my underwear on autopilot.
It’ll happen soon.
This isn’t the end.
It’s still early yet.
I’ve only just come off the pill.
I allow myself a moment to just breathe before I head back out onto the main floor. The desk is empty when I walk back to it, but Theo flicks his gaze up the moment I climb onto the stool. I flash him a smile I really don’t feel and pick my sketchbook back up.
By the time I get home, I’m a ball of nerves. I’m not scared Jensen will be angry at me, but I wanted to give him good news. How do I tell him that the thing he wants the most hasn’t happened this month?
I’m sitting on the couch with my sketchbook open, but I’m not drawing. I haven’t moved since I got home.
Anxiety crawls under my skin when I hear the front door open and then close. I fiddle with the hem of my hoodie—one I stole from his closet. The one I always wear when I feel bad.
As soon as he steps into the room, I feel his presence. I don’t look. I can’t.
“Hey, baby.”
Jensen sounds so happy to see me, and I’m going to ruin his mood. I turn my head away, swiping at a tear rolling down my cheek.
He rounds the couch and freezes. “Mia? Hey, sweetheart.” His broad chest fills my vision as he crouches in front of me, his hands going to my knees. His touch is warm, grounding, everything I need—usually. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I hate I even have to say the words, but I give them anyway. “I got my period.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I can’t look at him. I can’t bear to see his face. He gently grabs my chin, forcing my head toward him. His brows are heavy, drawn together. “You want me to run you a bath?”
I try to hold back my sob. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but it’s not that. “I’m sorry.”
He kisses the side of my face. “No, don’t do that. You have nothing to be sorry for.” His mouth moves along my jaw, like he’s proving his love with his touch.
“I really thought it would happen this time,” my voice wobbles, “and I know it’s only been a short time since I came off birth control, but I just thought it’d be easier than this.”
Especially considering how much sex we’re having.
“It just means another month of trying,” he says, calm and rational, “and fucking my beautiful wife is hardly a chore.” He stands slowly, holding his hands out to me. I let him pull me to my feet. “Bath first, and then I’ll order Thai from that place you like.”
I bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around him. “I wanted it to happen.”
His nose drags through my hair like he’s coating himself in my scent, like he’s trying to climb inside my smell. I burrow into his arms as they cocoon me in his love and safety.
“It will,” he promises, his voice low and rough.
“I’m not stopping until it does.” His hand spreads over my belly, bloated, tender, not yet holding what we both ache for.
“This body was made to carry me, Mia. To carry us.” He kisses me, slow and deep, moving with the same devotion he’s always shown me.
He doesn’t allow me a moment to feel like I failed him.
“I love you with every breath in my body. You’re my wife. My soul.”
I let out a trembling sigh. I didn’t know how much I need to hear that until he said it. “I love you too.”
His thumb traces possessive circles just beneath my naval.
Touching me like I’m already pregnant, like he’s seeing a future we haven’t yet written.
“I don’t care how long it takes. I’m going to get you pregnant.
I’ll fuck you every hour of every day until my seed takes.
I’ll fill you so full you’ll be bulging with it.
” His voice dips lower. “And then I’ll kiss every inch of you while you grow our future inside you. ”
My cheeks heat. What the hell do I say to that? I swallow, then steady myself against him. “Jensen.”
He brushes my hair behind my ear, so soft. So caring. “I don’t want you to worry about this, sweetheart. It’ll happen. Now, bath, then food.”
I let out a breath, because I believe him. Because Jensen Rivers gets what he wants, and so do I.