13. Kill Me With Want
13
Kill Me With Want
Billy
C losing his eyes, Billy focused on the tiny movements beneath Breanna’s skin, and the way his whole hand curled so protectively around them both. He hadn’t lied – Breanna was strong and brave. He’d let her fight her own battles in the past because she’d been able to handle whatever his brothers threw her way, and there was nothing she couldn’t handle outside of herself. That was the problem, though. Now, she battled with her own body. The changes in her physical and emotional capabilities were forcing her to literally tear at the seams.
That deep, Neanderthal urge to protect and covet her grew stronger each day. Beside her in his bed, curled around her, where he belonged, he couldn’t help but stare.
She’d been asleep for hours, peaceful and sprawling. He, on the other hand, struggled to leash the energy that still buzzed through his system at her acknowledgement that their friendship had morphed into something more – something beyond a fling, beyond fantasy. Forever .
All night, pillows abandoned, he’d cocooned his big body around hers, Bre’s back plastered to his front, the fresh scent of her hair in his nose, and the fluttering baby in her belly communicating in its own language beneath his palm.
There was a good chance that he was the father of the child, but he wouldn’t force the truth. The baby could emerge as a blue-tentacled alien of seriously questionable paternity and Billy wouldn’t love or accept it any less. Now she’d started speaking to him again, the truth would come. He didn’t need to rush it, or push Breanna away again.
She was communicating. Open. Unrestrained. Perfect.
Since childhood, Breanna had always been straight up and down – a ‘beanpole’ many insisted. Now though, she had curves. Swelling breasts, hips that flared, and a tight, rounded belly that fascinated Billy. His eyes drifted to it frequently, the tight little ball that made Bre feel so much bigger than she truly appeared. He caressed her, wondering how it was all at once so solid and so soft. Bre, once hard lines, was all rounded fullness, and he wanted to fill her up more than ever before.
Gentle kisses woke her from sleep.
“Hi.” The word was muffled by pillow and red hair. Gorgeous.
“Good morning.” He smiled down at her, hair a mess across his pillow, gloriously nude beneath the towel and blanket he’d dragged over them both late last night. “Time to rise.”
“Where are we going?”
Fabric between his teeth, he tightened the first buckle of his plaid, speaking around the tartan fabric. “Edsel.”
She turned swiftly, her eyes wide. “Is everything okay with my baby? If Piers scratched Edsel I swear I’ll–” Her balled fists said exactly what she’d do, and while Revv Ryder probably needed a dose of Breanna’s brand of medicine, Billy couldn’t let the TV host take the blame for something he hadn’t done.
“Edsel’s fine, Bruce.” The look on her face said she wasn’t so sure. He managed the second buckle, quickly pulling on socks and boots. He didn’t bother with a shirt, the cool air a welcome caress against sleep-warmed skin. “Come.”
Wrapping herself in his crisp white sheet, she rapidly shoved her feet into her Docs and reached for her Shit Show Supervisor cap before flying down the stairs, foot tapping as she waited for him to descend. His feet simply wouldn’t work as fast as hers did; they couldn’t, with her looking like that – ridiculous and transcendently beautiful, all bare neck and shoulders, a thin sheet, boots, and that worn hat slapped on her head.
She snatched a slice of bread and threw it into her mouth, her one arched brow daring him to comment. Strolling past, Billy opened the door, holding it until she’d emerged into the early morning.
“This way.” Down more stairs, round the side, and into the trees.
“This feels a bit … murdery.” She laughed, breezing her way through the misty morning air. “Or maybe we’ve seen too many horror films for me to see mist as anything but evil, foreshadowing an untimely death.” The farm was bathed in hazy eucalypt greens, and she drew the sheet tighter, demanding, “Billy? Where’s Edsel?”
With a nod of his head, he indicated a bright red gleam through the trees. “He’s waiting.”
“For what?”
Billy only smiled down.
“For you!” Sharee’s voice sung, clear as a bell through the trees.
“Come now, we’ve got your breakfast ready.” Holly stepped from the pines, taking Bre’s hand. “You too, my little fournado.”
Dutifully, they followed Holly through the remaining trees, to where Nick, Edsel and Sharee waited. Nestled in a small clearing, surrounded by pines decorated in twinkling fairy lights, her vintage Ford Utility waited patiently. More decorations wound around the restored wooden side panels of the utility, outlining the vehicle in tiny, soft white lights and tinsel. Blankets and pillows filled the tray of the back.
“What’s going on?” Bre’s hand flew to her hip.
“A maternity shoot, of course!” Sharee grinned widely.
“I don’t even know what that is,” Bre said, turning to face Billy. “You did this?”
“We all did.” Holly beamed, siding her arm around her husband’s waist. “You’ll want some nice photos to remember this important time in your life. Trust me. Each of my four pregnancies was different and I’m so glad I captured those moments. Plus,” she drew Bre in close, whispering, “it’d make a lovely gift for your mother. It’s a special time, you know, becoming a nanna.”
Tears welled in Bre’s eyes, and Billy stepped forward, drawn to pull her to his chest, hold her there. But she shrugged him and Holly off, inhaling deeply.
“Let’s get this over with. I’m not used to having my cooch out in the breeze like this.”
Nick coughed, stepping closer to Billy in manly solidarity.
Snorting a laugh, Sharee clapped twice. “Great!” She assisted Bre into the back of her beloved 1943 Ford Utility, and arranged the white pillows for her comfort, despite Bre’s objections. “The sun’s risen just enough for some amazing natural lighting, and the fog is making it all misty and gorgeous. We’ll just zhuzh you a little …” Sharee whipped the cap from Bre’s head, tugging the hair tie from the bun and rearranging her hair in sultry red waves. Pinching her cheeks, Sharee forced a blush to spread among Bre’s freckles and repositioned the folds of the sheet.
“I feel as though I have stumbled upon nymphs in the wood,” Billy mumbled to his mother. “Secret women’s business.”
“I also feel like I’m intruding,” Nick said.
“Billy, you’re my biggest son, but you’re never an intruding presence.” She patted her husband’s cheek. “Neither are you, my dear.”
They watched in silence as the sun rose, glinting off the cherry red paint of Edsel, tinging Bre’s bare shoulders in gold and the top of her head with a brilliant ruby crown. His throat closed around the compliments he wished to say. Exquisite. Flawless .
His mother joined Sharee and Breanna, leaving Billy and his father alone.
“You know son,” Nick said, eyes on the women, “Having a family is a lot like building a house.” At Billy’s raised brow, he continued. “There are so many parts, all relying on another, holding each other up. Sometimes, things fall apart. Things crack and fences need mending. But in the end,” Nick sighed, patting his son on the back. “If the foundation is solid, son, then that’s all you really need.”
With a squeeze of Billy’s shoulder, Nick smiled, walking back toward the house. He barely registered his father’s absence, transfixed by the sight of Breanna.
“She really is one of a kind, isn’t she?”
Billy could only nod at his mother’s words.
Sharee wisely made quick work of the photo shoot, sensing Breanna’s unease. Fair enough, he thought. He hadn’t given her any warning, and she was mostly naked in a semi-public place right now, with a camera in her face. Still, she glowed, a goddess among the pines. He couldn’t help but stare.
“So many tattoos, Billy. I can’t keep up. Is this new?” Holly broke his trance by pressing a warm finger to the space above his heart. “A bee? No, two! It’s such intricate work.”
He nodded, unable to speak, transfixed by the rising sunlight that bathed Breanna in a veil of sheer exquisiteness. His whole body ached to touch her, just to ensure she was real and not a mirage his overactive imagination had conjured.
Billy felt the warmth in the encouraging squeeze his mother gave his arm, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the woman in the ute.
“How about you two together?” Sharee beamed, lowering the camera from her eye and waving him over with one perfectly manicured hand. “Billy and Bre – the two Bs!”
Holly squeezed his bicep, voice watery. “Oh, Billy.” Pride shone in her tone. “My son, and my daughter of choice. It would be so lovely to see you two together.” He heard the implication for what it was – the simple mirroring of his own desires. “Please, Billy? A few shots for the photo albums?”
He didn’t need convincing. His feet were already striding to Edsel, where his best friend perched precariously on the lovingly restored tray. Reaching up, he offered his hand.
Bre snorted, commenting about how she wasn’t a damsel, and she could climb down from her own vehicle, but took his offering anyway, tightening the sheet around her. Her hands, small and rough from work, closed around his. As she pitched forward, her hair tumbled down over her shoulders and he forced himself to blink, to attempt to look anywhere else but at her. He couldn’t. Gently, Billy guided her palm to one of his shoulders, her other hand finding its place on the opposite side. She leaned against him, eyes never leaving his, as his arm cupped her arse, lifting her from the tray.
Slowly, he lowered her to the ground. The air, already too warm, seemed to grow hotter, denser, in the remaining morning fog. Everything faded away, the world narrowing to the points where their warm bodies touched. Pressing his forehead to hers, his words came low and rough, “Honey, you are a fantasy. My fantasy.” Her eyes fluttered closed, lips parting, cheeks flushed.
“Billy, I …” For once, words seemed to fail her. For once, words weren’t needed. Perhaps they were beyond the need for that kind of communication. Her body against his, the way she held him, fingers digging deeper, the comfort they immediately slipped into, that electric charge that built slowly from a strong and ever-present foundation; it was all a response that didn’t require spoken language. Not anymore.
Holding her tighter, he could have sworn he felt the ghost of his right arm slid into her hair, pressing her closer. A thumb that was no longer there, save in his mind’s eye, stroked her neck gently in the growing dawn. Bre shivered against him, breath hot against his bare chest.
“These photos will be so beautiful,” Sharee said somewhere in the distance.
Billy vaguely registered his mother and their guest melting away as Bre tucked her head under his chin, inhaling deeply, holding him closer with a contented sigh, arms wrapping tight across his midsection.
A long while later, Bre blinked. “Oh, they’re gone.” She chuckled lightly, pulling back just enough to reveal the glint in her eyes. “I have to say, that photo shoot reminded me of a slightly more tasteful version of that time you took those pictures of me nak–” she paused. “You okay?”
Throat thick, heart full, he could only nod.
“What other plans did you have for me, now, Billy?” Her words came out sultry, followed by a sharply sarcastic, “because I doubt I’m allowed to complete many of my own pre-planned tasks today, am I right?”
Nodding, he said, “Doctor’s orders.”
“I’m guessing Edsel will stay here until the showboat arrives with Trudy and Jaxon?” Her eyes searched beyond, following the scorched line of earth back towards the house. “They mentioned filming interviews in natural light, with the trees in the background.” Closing her eyes, she melted deeper into his bare chest, so close to the ink over his heart. “I will need clothes, though. I refuse to be naked with Piers around. He’ll make some disgusting comment and force me to punch him in the dick, then where would I be? Not featured on Crank Shaft , that’s for certain. And Constable Kenneally wouldn’t be impressed.”
With every flippant comment, happy confirmation bloomed within him. Perhaps Piers really wasn’t the father of her baby. The thought grew ever more unlikely, and by now he’d eliminated the possibility of Elanor’s set-ups as potentials.
Billy forced his throat to work. “Bruce …”
Am I the father? He didn’t look at her, knowing she’d read it on his face.
“I …” He cleared his throat, forcing his features into neutrality. If she was ready … when she was ready … she’d let him know. “I anticipated that you may desire a quiet morning, before the inevitable hullabaloo Piers will bring to the day.” The words scratched out and he wondered again at how this woman, her closeness, made his heart swell into a chokehold.
“Reece-mandated rest and appearing on my favourite television show alongside its disappointingly cocky host don’t really correspond.” Bre sighed, searching his face. “And who says hullabaloo?” She chuckled, tightening her arms around his waist. “Thank you, Billy. Really. This is perfect. The only thing that would make this better is snacks. I’m starving! This baby –” she rolled her hands over her stomach lovingly, “eats like a horse.”
There were so many things he could say: comments, jokes, questions. She’d opened the door for the conversation, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for the clarification he needed. With a raised brow and a nod of his head, he drew her attention to the cab of the car. Ripping open the red door, Bre laughed, extracting a picnic basket stashed on the seat.
“You know me too well!”
Picking up the basket, she moved again to the back of the vehicle. “Help me back up? It was super comfortable in there, with all those pillows and throw rugs. Sharee really knows what she’s doing with this design photography stuff.” Placing the basket onto the flat bed of the ute, she added, “This is all so thoughtful.” Emotion gripped her voice, startling him. “Sorry,” she sniffed.
Rare as hen’s teeth, he deposited the apology in the vault in his memory. Somewhere along the way, he’d started collecting the words, as they spilled from her lips, hoarding them like treasure. Now, as she battled with tears she clearly didn’t want, he could only smile at the apology, letting it rumble from his chest as he repeated it back to her. “Sorry?”
“Hormones, you know? They’re crazy things. I’ve been sleeping so well but I’m still too tired to try and hold my shit together anymore. So this is what you get. Me. Unfiltered.”
“Unfiltered you is perfect,” Billy told her.
“You’re …” Whatever she’d been going to say was lost as he kissed her. Hot, slow, immediately deep. “Wow.”
He inclined his head. Thank you. He assisted her into the back of the utility, settling beside her among the pillows a moment later.
“Can you kiss me like that every time you call me perfect?” Bre teased, ignoring his raised eyebrow. She switched from sweet to silly in an instant. “Okay, Yogi, what’s in that pic-en-ick basket?” she said, giving him her best Boo-Boo Bear impression. “Soft cheeses? Deli meats? Sushi? All the fun food I can’t have while eating for two?”
“Correct.”
“Urgh. Good. This big lumberjack over here and me, your incubator,” she told her stomach, “we hate sushi. We think licking an armpit is probably tastier.”
We . Every time she said it, his damned heart skipped a beat.
“Wait, how do you know I’m not supposed to eat those things while pregnant? Oh! You read the book, didn’t you? No, wait, don’t even answer that. It’s rhetorical, obviously. Piers must be rubbing off on me.”
Here she was, the woman who didn’t let him get a word in edgeways. Smoothing a hand down his beard, he tried to hide his growing smile.
“So what did you pack?”
“Your favourites.”
“Really?”
“Rhetorical,” he warned, laying three foil-wrapped options beside her crossed legs.
“Fine! Don’t tell me! My senses are in overload at the moment, so I can probably guess with a quick whiff.”
Indulging her, he offered each of three parcels for her inspection.
“A fresh gherkin bagel from Friday’s Café! Yes! And …” she inhaled the second option deeply, “Granny May’s lamb and rosemary pie! Billy, you’re seriously the best!” Twisting a loose hair behind her ear, she eyed the third option.
Go ahead , he encouraged with a nod, hoping her ability to see right through him wasn’t fully operational right now. The scent of her shampoo clung in his nostrils, the warmth of having her so close, so damned naked and alone, was sending a deep sense of longing through his body.
“Is it …” She sniffed, brows drawn down. “Okay, I have no idea.”
Plopping the bundle into her hands, he gently tugged the foil until two triangles of sandwich revealed themselves.
“Your favourite,” he mumbled. “Banana and strawberry on multigrain. Sliced the strawberries thin and placed them evenly over the smashed banana. And there are gummy worms and a KitKat in the basket for later.”
“Billy!” Her eyes glistened. “What time did you wake up this morning? This is … You didn’t have to …”
“I’d do anything for you, Bre. You know that, and I mean it.” Cupping her cheek, he tried to soften the rough edges in his voice. To hold back the rumble of need that coursed through him, and the primal desire to show her that need, to possess her. Rolling into his touch, Bre kissed his palm, her lips soft, warm, and wet, tingling against his skin. Her breath was shaky, small puffs against his palm.
“Stop it.”
She grinned. “Stop what?”
“Reading me.”
“You have your books, Billy. I have you.”
“You do.”
Sliding his hand behind her neck, Billy drew her closer, tilting his head to one side. Their lips found each other perfectly, years of practice moulding every part of them into the other. Her tongue sought his as he shifted her into his lap. Wrapping her legs around him, Bre settled, pressed close. His forearm pressed down her spine, gently urging her closer.
Breathing heavily, he kissed down her neck, tugging at the sheet with his teeth until it fell slowly from her body.
“Do you remember,” she asked as his mouth moved over her body, “when I first entered that competition, and we spoke about me and Edsel trying to get onto Crank Shaft ?”
He did. Vividly. About seven months ago, they’d been lying on Billy’s worn brown lounge in his above-the-tavern apartment that, despite his best efforts, still smelled like the pub downstairs. Her head in his lap, she’d held a tattered copy of Motoring Monthly like a tiny paper shelter, rattling off her list of plans as they unwound from another long night tending the busy bar.
She struck each item off on her fingers, eventually moving to include his five, flicking each fingertip. Thinking back, that really should have been an early indication of how consumed she’d become in her planning.
“He’ll come to town, we’ll film the show, and Revv Ryder will fall madly in love with me because I’m the hottest piece of arse in this whole town.” She’d motioned to her dirty overalls with fingernails circled in black grease that never seemed to wash away, then her messy bun. Billy had made it even more nest-like with his fingers buried deep, scratching her skull.
He remembered the way she’d moaned for a massage, how hard his cock had become beneath the weight of her head, and how he’d tried to remain her very best friend – not a jealous occasional lover – as she salivated over the idea of Revv fricking Ryder.
“Fuck, he’s hot,” she’d said, all those months ago. “And not just because he’s a celebrity and probably spends thousands of dollars a month on facial products to smooth out every wrinkle and shrink every pore into non-existence. He doesn’t even have freckles!” She’d pulled the magazine millimetres from her nose, huffing. “I must have his share.”
“Close your eyes,” he’d told her then, as he did now. Both times she’d complied, completely trusting, and his heart swelled to bursting.
Pressing and circling, Billy’s fingertips massaged away her worries. Temples, forehead, beneath her tired eyes, he connected each dot on her face, drawing constellations across her cheeks. That night, and now, this morning, he quietly named them.
“Cassiopeia. Andromeda. Taurus.”
Billy had often heard himself described as a ‘man of few words’, but it had always been a bit easier with Bre. For Billy, speech was often the result of thought and reflection. He had never lost his words to anger, like his brothers, and he was not the impulsive speaker Breanna tended to be.
Perhaps their communication came easier than most because they’d grown up together, or because for the longest time, she’d been ‘one of the boys’, his Bruce … until suddenly she wasn’t. She’d become Breanna, then Honey, a term of endearment that meant so much more than Bre realised, the bee tattoos over his chest beating with his very heart. Now, there was no word for what she meant to him. Nothing seemed grand enough to express the way Billy felt – had always felt – around Breanna Henderson.
In the past, and the present, he found words, naming the stars scattered across her smooth, freckled skin.
“Sagittarius. Ophiuchus.”
“Such beautiful words.”
“For a beautiful woman.” The sentiment echoed from memory. Was there a reason she brought up that night they’d spent together? The words exchanged in the darkness as she’d moved his fingertips across her skin, begging him to explore the freckles and constellations that stretched across her whole body? Bathed in sunlight now, he traced Capricorn and Orion’s belt, his palm softly sliding over the peak of her exposed nipple.
As that night and this morning merged into one, he watched Bre’s chest rise and fall, each increasingly shallow breath mirroring his own. Her hand pressed to the bees, the space above his heart, he mirrored the motion. Eyes locked, they breathed, time stopping, folding in on itself, speeding up as her hand drifted lower, sliding beneath the hem of his hastily belted kilt.
Billy’s heart near jumped out of his throat, while other parts of his anatomy – much lower down – jumped hopefully towards her hand. Brow quirking, she offered a small smile.
Everything that existed and mattered to him had been right there on that lounge, and now, here she was again, the woman of his dreams, so firmly in his lap once more.
Swallowing roughly, he continued, “Cygnus,” like he had that night, fingertips tracing the constellations on her shoulders and chest.
“Fuck, you’re perfect, Bre.” His mouth explored her skin while her hands dug into his hair. Between kisses, he admitted, “I love it when you do that.”
I love you. The words hung, he knew it, but would he ruin this moment if he let that truth out into the world. He chose another tack, another admission.
“Woman, the things I want to do to you.”
When she’d first proposed an annual Christmas fling, Billy hadn’t quite believed his ears. The girl he’d known forever had become a woman he adored, and there she was offering the one thing he’d given up hope of, lest he hurt himself with his stupid desires.
He’d never known a moment where he didn’t love her, and he’d comply with whatever she proposed. Whatever she was offering with those big eyes and her soft touch, whatever she wanted, it wasn’t in his power to say no.
Then, several months ago, when she’d whispered her desires, her hair had been just a dark claret slash across the arm of his lounge. Now, she stole the words from his mouth, swiping them away with her tongue, swallowing them, her hair a blazing curtain that shifted around them, blocking out the rest of the world as he lay back, allowing her to lift the tartan of his family clan, and dispose of Mr Grumpy over Edsel’s tray edge.
“Bre.” It was too gruff, his voice. Too jagged. He hoped she didn’t hear the desperation in its depths, and the growling beast of his longing that had outgrown their festive friends-with-benefits arrangement.
“Is this your contingency plan?” he managed to ask as she slid down his body. “To kill me with want?”
“What do you want, Billy?” She paused, lips dangerously close to the hard length he desperately wished she’d suck into that warm, wet mouth. “Tell me.”
He did. Held nothing back. Gripped her hair and tugged, unable to stop, as she granted his wish and drew his cock into her mouth. She hummed with approval, pausing for a moment to encourage. “Keep talking.”
“Woman,” he growled, eyes rolling back in his head as his hand searched. “Bring that arse up here.” He dragged her hips closer to his mouth. “Sit.”
With a gleam in her eye, she positioned herself above him, an approving rumble rolling through his chest as she complied. He sent a quick thank you to heaven, relishing the feast she offered, before burying his face between her legs. Nipping and licking, he basked in the way her body responded to his mouth, seeking more.
He’d tasted her before, but never so publicly. In fact, neither of them enjoyed public displays of affection. The thrill of being seen – truly seen – by Bre, and possibly anyone else on the farm, was an aphrodisiac. Giving and taking, they rose higher and higher, in perfect rhythm.
A breeze slid like silk across his hips and he realised Bre had removed his kilt altogether, the Carmichael tartan fabric flung open.
Completely nude, they writhed together beneath the wide blue sky.
Very few girlfriends had marked his otherwise sterling public reputation as a stoic bachelor, and none had seemed completely comfortable with his nudity.
He’d assumed it was something to do with his stump of a right arm, a part of him more easily forgotten when he was clothed, but starkly different to other men when exposed. It was the only place he’d never considered covering in tattoos. Unlike the rest of him, the upper half of his amputated arm was white-skinned and bare.
Regular exercise and physiotherapy kept his muscles impressive, his shoulders broad and defined, but the arm itself … he wished he had it now, despite the fact that Bre wasn’t afraid to touch herself when she needed to, or when he commanded.
Breanna had always been different. She was completely, blissfully comfortable with his nakedness; wasn’t afraid to explore his body. She didn’t shy away from any part of him, whether there, or noticeably absent, and had a knack for accepting his bookish, quiescent public nature alongside the louder, more commanding way he couldn’t help but conduct himself when naked and alone with her.
Her body shuddered and rolled, the curve of her stomach pressing into his chest.
“Alright, honey?”
“Better than,” she told him, eyes over her shoulder. “But …” She spun, adjusting their position, a wicked grin growing as she prowled, feline, over him.
“Billy.” She demanded his eyes on her as she straddled him. Positioning his hand on her hip, she held her breath and locked eyes as she slid down his slick cock. Inch by inch, he slid home.
She always did that, filled her lungs as he filled her pussy, holding the air and him within her, tight, for a long while. Seated around him, she was warm and wet and so blissfully perfect.
“Fuck, Bre. Push pause, honey. Hold still.”
“I need to make up for lost time,” she told him, her breasts and belly a brilliant sight atop him, bouncing, curves so delicious he wanted to nip at her skin, swallow her into himself. Hinging at the waist, he attempted to rise and do just that, but she shoved him back to the tray of the Ute, rocking, chin tilted to the sky. Perfect. A fantasy. Mine.
“Slow it down, Bre. Or I’ll ... honey, I’m going to …”
“Come?” She laughed, the sound clear as a bell through the clearing, her muscles clenching deliciously as he drove up and into her. “Come, Billy.” The tension inside him built with every word from her lips. He liked this new Bre, the one who kept talking, speaking her needs as he drove up into her. “Fill me up. Ruin me. What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll get pregnant?” She contracted her inner muscles, making his entire body jerk.
“Fuck, honey.” Gripping her hair, he dragged her head down, meeting her mouth with deep kisses, pounding home, wondering just how much she could take.
“You won’t hurt me,” she said, panting, grasping her own breasts as his hand dipped lower down, stroking, just the way she liked it. “You won’t hurt the baby.”
He slowed, braving the curve of her abdomen. She held her breath again as the weight of his palm rested against her belly. It was hard, so much harder than he’d thought, the skin pulled too tight over a solid bowling ball.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
He didn’t believe her. Once, when they’d first been trusted with the chainsaws on the farm, she’d almost cut her finger off. Even then, with mangled skin and blood, white as a sheet, she’d refused to admit to any pain.
“I’m fine,” she said, smoothing the tension in his brow. “Better than fine.” She held his gaze until he nodded, acknowledging, moving inside her once more.
His thrusts became more sporadic, eyesight glossing over until there was only her – his red-headed little spitfire who’d fought her whole life to be heard. The girl called too ‘boyish’ and headstrong, who took no shit and lived by her own rules. Her lips pressed tight, fingers digging into his hair as she let go, losing herself as he sought her out, over and over again.
For Billy, there had only ever been Bre. She had been constant as the stars and shone just as brightly. The whole Friends-With-Festive-Benefits Plan had been her invention and his undoing. He’d never been more grateful in his life than the day she proposed that idea, complete with a list of rules, pitching it as though to a boardroom of CEOs. Breanna Henderson was the most well-prepared and planned person he’d ever met, with the exception of that night on the lounge, when he’d been so overcome, so unable to control himself that he’d become a man possessed, unable to stop, unwilling to leave her until she was boneless, and until the supply of condoms they kept in his bedside drawer hadn’t been enough. The phrase ‘fuck it’ had changed everything, their recklessness overshadowed by exquisite pleasure.
Her nails scraped at his skin, and with one more push, they came undone, messy, sweating, unrestrained, all tongues and teeth and heavy breaths mingling in the early morning. Red hair fell over his face as Bre snuggled down atop him, curling around his body, mumbling apologies about her weight that he could only shake his head at, lost for words. When she continued to shiver, he asked, “Cold?”
“Just incredibly aware that I’m arse-up to the sky, mooning the birds right now, while your cock is still inside me. Seems a bit … exhibitionist, maybe? Like we’re throwing amazing sex in nature’s face or something.”
With a deep chuckle, he brought the tartan up over the point where they were still connected, asking her to help with the task on the other side.
As their hearts resumed a normal pace, breathing slowing, he remained in her, his body humming beneath hers. The baby in her stomach kicked against his belly.
“That’s amazing.” He slid his hand between them, feeling for the flutters, completely smitten with this woman and her child.
“You feel that?”
“I do.”
Her slow, luxurious kiss melted into something deeper for a long time.
“Do you hate me, Billy?”
“Impossible,” he replied in earnest. “How could I possibly despise you?”
“Let me list it out,” she said, readying her fingers to tally alleged reasons.
Gripping her fingers, he brought each one to his lips. “No more lists. No plans. Doctor’s orders.”
“Fucking Reece.”
“I hope not.” He growled. Mine.
She gave him a pointed look. “You know what I mean.”
He waited for her to elaborate, thumb swiping back and forth. Releasing her hands, she reached for the buckles of his kilt, fastening it over his hips.
“I never understood why you insisted on buckles and buttons,” she mumbled, securing the fabric. “I know you struggle to do them one-handed.”
“You know why,” he said quietly, pushing her hair back.
“You don’t want anyone to think you’re different, or lesser. You don’t want people’s perception of you to change … I understand that.” With one hand on her stomach and the other gently resting on the scarred nub at his elbow, she said, “You’re not less, Billy. You are so much more than anyone knows. So much more than I’ve given you credit for.”
He felt the words lodge in his throat. I see you, too. You’re perfect. I love you.
“I see you, Billy. I see the things you’re not saying.”
Does it scare you?
Her long-held gaze said boldly, I’m not afraid, as her hands worked their way down, through the hair on his chest, to the twin bees.
“I’m not going anywhere, honey.”