9. Severed Vows
Chapter nine
Severed Vows
Asingle bedside lamp cast a warm, amber glow across Hayes’s bedroom.
The room was simple and lived-in. A dark wood bedframe dominated the center of the floor, covered in a rumpled charcoal-gray duvet.
A massive dresser stood against the far wall.
There were no decorative throw pillows. There was nothing sterile or curated about the space.
I stopped a few feet inside the door.
The amber light illuminated the harsh reality of my physical form. I caught a glimpse of myself in the wide mirror hanging above his dresser. My maternity dress stretched tightly across my six-month belly. My breasts were swollen and heavy. My hair was a chaotic, tangled mess around my shoulders.
The memory of Marcus’s voice played back in my head. Elena is a fucking whale right now.
A hot flush of humiliation burned the back of my neck, and I took a sharp step backward. What had I been thinking? I’d practically thrown myself at Hayes, offering him a body my own husband found repulsive.
I pulled my hand out of his grip and wrapped both of my arms defensively across my pregnant bump, shielding the curve of my stomach from his view. I dropped my gaze to the worn floorboards beneath my feet.
“I look ridiculous,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. This isn’t… I’m not…”
The sentence fractured. I couldn’t say the rest aloud.
Hayes reached out. He placed his calloused index finger and thumb gently under my chin, lifting my head until my eyes locked onto his.
“Stop,” he said quietly. “Don’t put his words in your head. There is absolutely nothing ridiculous about you.”
My breath hitched. Hayes stepped closer, his hands moving to the hem of my maternity dress.
He slowly pushed the soft fabric upward, gathering the material until it bunched securely around my waist. He didn’t stop there.
He pulled the dress entirely over my head and tossed it onto the floor, leaving me standing in the amber light in just my pale pink cotton underwear and a soft maternity bra.
I tensed instinctively, bracing myself for the flinch of disgust I now knew Marcus secretly felt.
Hayes just looked at me. His gray eyes swept over the swell of my stomach, the pale skin of my thighs, and the heavy curve of my breasts.
He reached around my back and unhooked the clasp of my bra. The straps fell away. The cotton slipped off my shoulders and dropped to the hardwood.
My breasts felt full and aching, the skin pulled taut and sensitive. In the quiet warmth of the room, a pale drop of fluid beaded at the tip of my left nipple.
A spike of pure shame hit the pit of my stomach. My hands flew up to cover my chest. “I’m sorry,” I gasped, my face burning. “I can’t control it yet, it just—”
Hayes caught my wrists. His grip was firm and radiating heat. He didn’t say it was fine. He simply pulled my hands away, gently pinning my arms to my sides so I was completely open to him.
He lowered his head. He pressed his warm, open mouth directly over my breast, his tongue sweeping the drop of fluid away in a reverent slide.
A quiet gasp slipped past my lips. My knees threatened to buckle.
Hayes lingered there, his lips hot against my sensitive skin. He pressed a soft kiss to the underside of my breast before lifting his head. His eyes were dark, burning with quiet devotion.
“Don’t apologize for this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing a stray curl away from my cheek. “Your body is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do. It’s beautiful.”
He wasn’t avoiding the very shape my mother had laughed at. He was worshiping the exact reality my husband had discarded.
The simple weight of the gesture made the tight ache in my chest break. Tears prickled the corners of my eyes—not from grief, but from a profound relief.
Hayes shifted his weight, his large hands sliding down to grip the back of my thighs. He guided me backward with deliberate steps until the backs of my knees hit the edge of his mattress.
He reached down and swept back the heavy charcoal duvet. I kicked off my damp flats and sank downward, the cotton sheets absorbing my weight. I leaned back, bracing my elbows against the mattress to support my upper body. The position left my hips completely open to him.
Hayes stepped between my parted knees. He reached down, his fingers hooking the waistband of my cotton underwear. He dragged the fabric down my legs and tossed it onto the floor.
The cool air of the bedroom rushed over my bare skin. My pulse beat a heavy rhythm in my ears. He knelt on the edge of the mattress, his jeans scraping against the cotton sheets.
He placed his hands flat against the insides of my thighs. His calloused palms grounded me, keeping me anchored to a reality that was quickly dissipating. He gently pushed my knees further apart, opening me completely to his gaze.
He looked at the wetness already slicking my folds. I almost couldn’t bear the mounting tension between us.
“Hayes,” I murmured, my voice a tight, quiet demand.
He didn’t make me wait any longer. Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth against my center.
My spine arched off the mattress instantly. A breathy moan escaped my lips. I dropped my head back, exposing my throat to the dim ceiling.
Hayes didn’t fumble or rush. He parted my swollen folds, finding my clit with the wet flat of his tongue. He started with a slow drag, tasting me with deep, consuming focus. The heavy glide of his mouth already threatened to shatter my sanity.
He shifted his angle, his lips closing entirely over my clit, sucking gently. He wasn’t trying to finish a chore. He was just taking his time, drinking me in with a hungry rhythm.
Marcus had always treated sex like a stage play. He knew what buttons to push, executing a perfectly choreographed routine to maintain his image as the attentive husband. But Hayes wasn’t performing for an audience. He just wanted me.
The tension coiled hot and low in my pelvis. My fingers dug deep into the sheets, twisting the fabric into tight knots. The physical reality of his mouth, his heat, and his hands cut right through the fog of my tangled emotions. Every sweep of his tongue washed away another layer of the betrayal.
I couldn’t hold back. The heavy ache between my legs built into a sharp pressure. “Please,” I gasped, my hips instinctively lifting off the mattress, pushing up into his mouth.
Hayes gripped my hips tightly, holding me securely in place against his face. He deepened the suction, working the swollen bundle of nerves until my lungs forgot how to pull in air.
The climax hit hard, and I screamed as my entire body locked rigid. A shuddering warmth radiated outward from my core, traveling all the way down to my toes. The muscles of my thighs trembled violently, shaking under his hands.
Hayes kept his mouth firmly planted, swallowing my cries, continuing to stroke me until the aftershocks finally began to subside.
I slumped backward, my shoulders hitting the pillows. My chest heaved. A thin sheen of sweat coated my skin.
He pulled back slowly. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gray eyes blown wide and entirely dark, he didn’t give me time to recover.
Hayes stood up. He grabbed the hem of his black t-shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it onto the floor. His chest was broad, covered in a light dusting of dark hair. He undid his belt, stripped off his jeans and boxers, and kicked them aside.
As he climbed onto the mattress, he reached across my body, his hands gripping my waist. He gently rolled me onto my left side, pulling my knees slightly upward toward my chest. The position perfectly accommodated my pregnant belly, keeping the weight safely supported by the mattress.
Hayes shifted his massive frame, sliding directly in behind me.
His solid chest pressed flush against my back. The physical contact grounded me instantly. He wrapped his left arm entirely around my waist, his large hand splaying protectively over the tight curve of my stomach.
“I’ve got you,” Hayes murmured, his warm breath fanning against the side of my neck.
He shifted his hips forward, the thick length of his cock pressing against my wet folds. Then, he entered me with a slow thrust.
I gasped, my fingernails biting into the back of his hand resting on my stomach. It felt so good, messy and undeniably real. It was everything I’d ever wanted and more.
Hayes established a slow, deliberate rhythm. He pulled almost entirely out, his hips sliding against the sheets, before driving deep inside me again. The wet slap of his body against my thighs echoed in the quiet room.
His chest never left my back. His arm remained locked securely around my waist. He buried his face into the crook of my neck, his scruff scraping against my skin as he bit softly at my shoulder.
“You’re perfect,” Hayes whispered hoarsely against my pulse point. His hips snapped forward as he buried himself to the hilt. “You feel absolutely perfect.”
The degrading label Marcus had assigned to me completely disintegrated. I wasn’t a waterbed. I wasn’t a whale. I was a woman, entirely present, entirely wanted.
I pushed backward against his thighs, meeting his thrusts. My pussy clenched tightly around his thick cock, drawing a low, guttural groan from deep inside his chest.
He increased the pace, and the wooden bedframe started creaking in protest beneath us. His hand flexed over my stomach, his fingers spreading wide, his grip tightening as his breathing turned ragged and harsh against my ear.
The second climax built faster than the first. It started as a low, throbbing ache and rapidly expanded outward, tightening my chest.
I tilted my head back against his shoulder. My body tensed, perfectly attuned to the impending break.
Hayes let out a sharp, breathless curse. He drove his hips forward one final time and held himself completely still inside me. “Elena… Hell, yes!”
His massive frame shuddered violently against my back as he pumped me full of his seed. My own release triggered a second later, sending a rush of liquid warmth down my spine.
We lay perfectly still in the dimly lit room. Hayes didn’t pull away. He carefully adjusted his weight, sinking fully onto the mattress beside me, keeping me tucked firmly against his chest. He pulled the charcoal duvet up over our shoulders, sealing us inside a pocket of absolute warmth.
The silence stretched, thick and incredibly peaceful.
I rested my head against his bicep and reached my right hand out from beneath the covers. My index finger dragged lightly across his warm skin, tracing a slow, mindless path.
Hayes shifted his left hand, bringing it up from my stomach to brush the tangled, sweaty hair away from my face. His rough fingertips stroked my temple.
I stared at the dark wood of his dresser across the room.
A few months ago, I’d have never even considered looking at a man other than Marcus. But there was absolutely no guilt in my chest.
Marcus had abandoned the marriage the second he unzipped my mother’s dress. He had severed the vows. I was merely surviving the wreckage. And what I had with Hayes… I could already tell it would thrive.
After my marriage was dust, after Marcus and Sylvia were destroyed, Hayes and I would still have this.
I wanted to close my eyes and sleep in this bed until the baby arrived. I wanted to completely abandon the toxic nightmare waiting for me fifty yards away.
But I couldn’t. “I have to go back,” I whispered, staring into the shadows of the bedroom. “I have to play the part.”
Hayes’s fingers stopped moving against my temple. The protective tension instantly returned to his frame. He didn’t argue with my logic. He understood the tactical reality of the situation better than anyone.
“Okay,” Hayes agreed. He pressed a firm kiss against the back of my neck. “But remember, I’m here. Always, for you.”
“I won’t forget,” I whispered.
I closed my eyes, letting the safety of his arms give me a few more minutes of quiet.
I needed the strength. Soon, I’d have to look my mother in the eye and smile.
I’d have to accept her and my husband’s lies.
But for now, I still had the truth of a good man, and that was worth more than anything in the world.