28. Cara
28
CARA
D eclan wasn’t back.
Every time I looked at the doors, I wondered if this would be the moment when he’d surprise me and return. Letting my hopes get up, I clung to the wish that I would have a chance to explain and apologize again.
Missing him was a full-body effort. I felt deprived of energy, all my willpower centralized on yearning for him to just come back.
Guilt ate at me, and I hated that I’d ever tried to hide my issues and worries from him for so long.
My phone died, and when Riley gave me a charger cord, I learned that it was just dead. It was an older model, all I could afford, and with it punking out on me and preventing me from checking in with Oscar or my mom, or to keep up with my attempts to figure out what was going on at the hospital, I was stuck and helpless.
I’d never felt so out of control like this, and it was nothing similar to the freeing liberation that Declan gave me when he pushed me to my limits sexually, with his strong body so good when it fit in and against mine.
I went to bed, frustrated and so sad, and I still stared at the doors.
I wasn’t sure at this rate whether my husband would ever return. It all seemed so hopeless. So ill-fated. And I hated that things could ever come apart with this sequence. That just as I learned of the miracle that I was pregnant, the father of my baby wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That as I realized the depth of my feelings for him, he’d turned away and was hurt by what I’d done and said.
The doorknob clicked, and I blinked away the slight drowsiness that had come. Sitting upright in the bed, I stared, shocked and so relieved, as Declan strode inside.
He kept his dark, intense gaze on me as he paused to reach back. Once more, the metal clicked. He locked the door behind him and approached me. Like a predator honing in on his prey.
I sat up, scrambling to get out of the covers and sheets to address him. I’d waited and stressed over this confrontation, but I wouldn’t shy away from making it happen now. I had so much to tell him, and he had to hear me out.
“Don’t say a word,” he ordered as he yanked his tie off.
I blinked, stepping back toward the bed. That sinister glint of violence in his eyes seemed so familiar, yet not. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized the depth of his hatred for me. How dark and severe his loathing could grow.
“Dec—”
He reached up, gagging me with his tie. His gaze locked on mine, and in his eyes I saw every bit of command and authority he held, all that he expected me to obey.
I breathed faster through my nose, panicked and worried. He was in a mood, and my chances of speaking—of explaining and apologizing again—wouldn’t be happening.
“On the bed,” he ordered, removing his shirt and then reaching in the drawers for a silky length of fabric.
I shook, trembling as I climbed back on the bed. By the time I was lying down, staring up at him, he was after me, binding my hands to the bedframe, quickly pulling my loose nightgown off my body. I hadn’t bothered with underwear, and his hungry, wicked glare remained there. Maybe I’d surprised him, but that wasn’t my intention.
“I’m going to fuck you, Wife ,” he promised as he shoved his fingers in my pussy.
I arched up at the instant stretch. My gasp was choked back with the gag over my mouth. But his rushed touch wasn’t completely rough. Just his look could make me aroused. Suspended between fear and desire, he found the evidence of my slippery juices.
“I’m going to pound into you so hard, and you'd better pray I’m in a better mood afterward,” he growled as he smeared my cream back to my ass.
I squeezed my eyes tight. It burned. His fingers felt so big there at this hole, and as he slowly inserted them, the intense sting turned to forbidden pleasure.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth.” He leaned down to suck at my tits until his lips would bruise my flesh. “I’m going to fuck this cunt.” He moved to pull my clit between his teeth and flick his tongue at the bundle of nerves. “And I’m going to claim this ass.” He added another finger, stretching me out as he watched me writhe and strain against the ties.
His legs straddled my right thigh, holding me down.
He’d trapped me, with bindings and his body. With the dark, twisted promise of so many filthy, rotten, but seductively perfect things he wanted to do.
I dripped for him. My pussy ached. My nipples stung. I wanted him, so damn badly, but I was too scared.
He wasn’t doing this out of love or to make me happy. He was mad. He was taking his anger out on me. While I still knew he’d make me come and see to it that I was pleasured, I feared it would be too much.
Too rough.
What about the baby?
It felt like such a ridiculous worry, that if my husband took me hard and fucked me ten ways to hell, he could hurt my baby.
But what did I know? I’d never considered being pregnant, and I didn’t care if I was overexaggerating my worries.
While I wasn’t sure if it was smart to be this rough sexually, I got stuck on an even more potent feeling of unease.
I didn’t want him to take me like this. All that he threatened sounded like heaven. I wanted him, all of him, and I wanted to give everything to him in return. But I didn’t want to be a body to fuck. I didn’t want to be a thing to him.
I wanted him to make love to me, to fuck me with that unrelenting love that I couldn’t stop myself from feeling for him.
I shook my head, staring at him with tears building in my eyes. Blinking and looking at him so scared, I prayed that he’d get the message.
No.
Wait.
Please. Wait.
He scowled, getting off the bed and glaring down at me. “What?” He shook his head, walking to the bathroom and grumbling to himself as he washed his hands and came back with a washcloth and a tube of lube.
“What?” he demanded, apparently taking my muted protests as a complaint that it stung too much.
He shoved my gag down and arched his brow at me.
“Don’t…” I panted, staring at him. “Don’t hurt me.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t hurt the baby.”
“What?”
I licked my lips. “Please. I’m sorry.”
“ What ?”
I lost the fight on my tears. One streaked free. “I didn’t feel well. When you stormed off, I was so sick with worry and stress. About you. About my mom. And when Riley brought me breakfast and said I might be suffering from morning sickness when the smell of food turned me off, I thought I’d humor her—and myself—and take a test.”
He frowned, staring at me so seriously that he seemed unable to believe me. “You’re pregnant?”
I nodded quickly, helpless to stop the small smile on my lips. “I took a test and I thought it was a mistake. Declan, I can’t. I don’t know how—I wasn’t—I’m not supposed to be able to conceive. That’s what I believed since I was a teenager. I didn’t believe it, but I took seven more tests just to make sure.”
“You’re pregnant.” It seemed like a question but sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that it was true.
“Yes. I’m pregnant. With your baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I ever married you thinking that I would remain childless. I truly don’t know how this happened.”
“How else would it happen?” he shot back.
I swallowed, so nervous that he would still be so mad. He got off the bed and paced, running his hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry, Declan. For everything. For ever lying and trying to manipulate the situation.”
I’d tell him a thousand times over if that was how long it would take for the truth to sink into his head. I would never stop professing my sorrow and regret there.
When he remained cool and pensive, not coming back to me, I reverted to that pit of dread. That feeling of being out of control and failing.
“Declan, this is what you wanted.”
“It’s kind of a surprise.” He shook his head, looking anywhere but at me as he struggled to comprehend this news. “You just told me that you couldn’t conceive, and now?—”
“I know. No one can be more surprised than me.”
Does he not believe me?
“The tests are in the bathroom. I was hoping and wishing you’d come home so I could tell you, so I could tell you first. But hopefully, I can find a doctor and have them confirm it. And I want to start prenatal care as soon as possible. Anything I can do to help this baby be healthy.” Deep down, I worried about any complications that might arise. I’d been under the assumption that I had reproductive issues, and I couldn’t help but be stressed that making this pregnancy a healthy and successful one would be my next challenge.
“Declan?” I licked my lips, breathless and anxious for him to reply and react in any other way than pacing and not meeting my eyes. “I know it’s a shock…”
Please don’t tell me I’ve been wrong about you. That you do care. And might love me.
He seemed so stuck in his mood, angry and surprised, that I lost all faith.
He’d gotten his heir. That was all he’d ever wanted. That was the end goal.
He no longer had to pretend that he cared about me. He no longer had to try to fuck me or resume any form of intimacy, especially the dark, rough kind that I’d come to need from him to let go.
All I was good for was giving him a baby, but I hated that I couldn’t hold any more value to him.
“Declan…” I sniffled, hating that tears fell so easily around him now.
He stopped, facing me with his hand raised, pausing as he raked his hair back.
“What?”
I also want you to know that… I love you.
No words could come.