Chapter 22 – Keyshawn
Chapter Twenty-Two
Keyshawn
I don't know why Deacon went easy on me last week, but my suspicions are only growing the nicer he gets. He took me out on a real date. Yes, a date outside of the house. He picked a dress out for me, held the door open, and we went to a real restaurant. He encouraged me to get extra portions for us to take home so I wouldn't have to cook dinner for a day or two.
If I had any idea of what he could be planning, I would suspect him of planning something. But he never brings his work home and when we're together, he gets everything he wants. These days, I get everything I want too.
He goes down on me. Every day. It's almost enough to make me forget that he literally kidnapped me and trapped me in a basement for twelve days. Fresh wounds on my ass have a weird way of blocking out all previous memories of Deacon's behavior.
I tend to the wounds and soak up all the affection that pours out of my red-haired monster once he's done. The riding crop demolished my ass, but the experience softened Deacon up to me more than I expected .
Just when I let my guard down, Deacon wakes me up with the daily breakfast he turned into a regular thing and serves it to me on the same bamboo tray with a new addition to the spread…
"What's that?"
I pick up the cardboard box, answering my own question, but waiting for Deacon to say it out loud.
"It's a pregnancy test. Which you can read."
He climbs into bed next to me and steals a piece of bacon off my plate. It's his "tax" for making me breakfast in bed and I'm too stunned about the whole pregnancy test thing to respond to the bacon theft.
"Why would I need a pregnancy test?"
"I've been cumming inside you since I met you."
Why does he have to go and say things like that?
"That doesn't mean I'm pregnant. You have to time it right."
"I fuck you daily," he says, sounding offended, like I somehow cast doubt on his prowess. My ears burn, probably because I know I'm living in denial. I can't even remember the last time I took the pill. I had way bigger problems than the pill and if Deacon wants to kidnap a woman without her prescription medications…
My head swims and I don't know if it's morning sickness, but it's morning and I definitely feel sick.
"Can I enjoy my breakfast first at least?" I grumble, putting a salty piece of bacon into my mouth.
"Wait as long as you want. I know the answer already."
"Then why bother with the test?"
"You should have had your period by now," he says with far too much excitement for my liking. "I did the math."
My stomach sinks. Was this his plan all along? Here I was thinking that the date, the breakfast and all that other stuff was because Deacon and I were getting along, finding some way to make this fucked up situation work.
Now, I feel used. And less hungry.
"Eat," he commands.
"I'm not hungry anymore."
"Keyshawn," Deacon pleads, his voice growing soft and almost impossible for me to hate him for, even if the only reasonable response to Deacon's crazy fucking plans is to hate him from the bottom of my heart. "Eat."
I don't want to say anything pathetic or give Deacon any glimpse into how hurt I feel. He puts his hand on my thigh and I eat breakfast slowly, dreading that stupid pregnancy test and what it means.
Deacon clears my plate. I scurry into the bathroom with the pregnancy test and unbox the stupid thing. It looks like a device you shove up someone's butt to give them medicine or something. I've never been in a situation to need a pregnancy test and the thought of getting pregnant has honestly always freaked me out.
Before I can read the instructions, Deacon pounds his fist on the bathroom door.
"I want to watch."
"I have to pee on it," I say sternly, hoping the door between us allows me to get away with my tone. Deacon bangs on the door again.
"I don't care," he says. "I'll be there watching the baby come out, so I might as well–” I open the door before that disturbing sentence gets any worse.
"You are way too confident," I accuse him before reading through the stupid instructions, mostly so I can avoid looking at Deacon or talking to him. He snatches the instructions from my hands and throws them into the air .
"You don't need that. Piss on the stick. Cover it. Wait three minutes."
"Do you get a lot of women pregnant as part of your sick kink?" I snap at him, as if snapping at Deacon or showing defiance doesn't have consequences.
He doesn't appear even remotely knocked off his high, and that worries the fuck out of me.
"Do you have to watch me pee on this thing?"
"Yes," he says, steel eyes darkening ominously. "And you will do it now."
I almost want to ask "or what?", but I'm too close to Deacon's grasp to pick a fight with him. My ass still hurts from the riding crop situation and I have been on my best behavior to avoid another trip to Deacon's playroom for punishment.
I wouldn't mind a more gentle spanking, but if he's going to take my ass to another planet of pain, I need time to heal. I slip my sweatpants and underwear off. Heat flashes across my skin with the normal amount of embarrassment anyone would feel peeing in front of someone. I give Deacon a pleading look, hoping he continues along his path of pitying me, but his face doesn't budge from its stern, impossible facial expression.
I spread my legs over the toilet, even more disturbed by the rapt attention Deacon pays to my mound as I prepare to pee. I glare at him, my jaw clenched as I fight back the temptation to call him a freak.
"I hate you," I mouth for the sake of plausible deniability. He smirks, which means he definitely gets the message. Ugh. I close my eyes and pretend I can't hear his beastly heavy breathing while I start my stream.
Piss gushes out of me and I have to look down so I don't squirt that shit all over my hand. After a few seconds I remove the stick from the stream, holding it over some toilet paper so it doesn't drip. I have to finish once I get going, so I keep doing my thing.
Deacon lacks patience. He grabs the pregnancy test from me while I'm peeing and caps it, holding it up to the light as if he can use that to make it go faster.
"You are nasty."
He gives me a knowing smirk and I just hope he doesn't start adding pissing and other crazy kinks to our bedroom or playroom routine. When I finish, Deacon creepily watches me wipe and then I wash my hands dramatically in front of him, hoping he takes the hint.
He keeps clutching the pregnancy test, keeping the part with the pink lines out of my sight. It's impossible to hide my emotions from Deacon right now, mostly because I don't care if he knows how pissed off I am.
"You could wash your hands," I suggest.
"I could," he says. "I could also lick your piss off them and taste you in an entirely new way."
"You are such a sicko."
"Perhaps."
"Do you really think you want to bring a child into the world?" I ask him, appealing to this potential piss-licker with logic that I don't know he really applies to his choices.
"Yes," he says. "We could have a tall, dark-skinned son, like Kobe Bryant."
Okay, so not only does he want to lick my pee off his hands, he's also delusional. Has this man ever met a mixed kid who looks like Kobe Bryant?
"Uh huh. Or we could get a mixed kid like Jussee Smollett. "
"Who's that?" Deacon mutters. I don't even think he's really listening to me.
"Nevermind," I grumble. "Let me see the test."
"Why?" he says. "I thought you didn't care."
I surprise Deacon by snatching the pregnancy test from his grasp. Maybe he lets it happen. Who really knows. I almost regret snatching it from him when I do.
"You're crazy," I whisper to Deacon accusingly as I stare at the lines. I don't want to believe this is happening to me.
"Yes," he says. "A little bit."
"Deacon. You got me pregnant."
I have to say the words out loud to make myself believe this is real, but saying it out loud doesn't help. I feel like I'm reciting words from a script. Worse, I'm about to burst into tears and that part wasn't in the script. I drop the pregnancy test as those tears prickle the corners of my eyes.
Deacon wraps his arms around me. No. That just makes it worse. His large, strong biceps hold me tightly against his chest. My throat tightens and air can't get in. It's not the way he's holding me, it's the deep panic that Deacon's hug isn't making any better. I ball my hands into fists and shove them into his chest, trying to push him away.
It doesn't work and my body responds by emitting a sob of anguish and frustration blended together in a gigantic huff of breath.
"We're going to have a baby, Keyshawn. There's nothing to cry about. Nothing at all..."
He strokes my hair and I want to believe that Deacon is telling the truth, and that there's some chance in hell that the two of us having a baby is a good idea, but my body just feels cold and I'm so sick to my stomach that my breakfast threatens to come back up .
Is Deacon seriously happy about this? Or is this just another game that he doesn't have to take seriously because he isn't the one with the womb…