Operation Dominatrix was a success. It was fun being all bossy and having Declan eager to please me, but I still miss him being in charge.
There’s nothing hotter than a demanding, dirty-talking Declan.
I’m confident we’ll get back to that. If we “practice” enough by playing dominatrix, I think he’ll get comfortable with the idea of taking the reins again. After all, he was more than happy to oblige when I told him to lick my pussy after I sucked him off.
He didn’t hesitate. Just dove right in.
It was glorious, and something that damn sure wouldn’t have happened yesterday, so that’s progress. I’ll gladly take it.
Naked and sated, we lie in bed together, spooning. My boobs are still kind of sticky from where he came on them, even though I wiped them off.
I kind of like it. It’s like a little reminder that I won this battle.
Declan’s hand settles on my stomach. I feel his breath on my shoulder as he kisses me and says, “I was so scared when I got home and didn’t find you in my bed. I thought— I thought maybe you guys had left me.”
Damn. Right in the feels.
I roll over so I can face him. “Declan, I would never keep you from your child. Even if—”
“No,” he says, frowning. “No fucking way is ‘even if’ an option. This is a ‘till death do we part, for better or worse, in sickness and health’ kinda thing.”
“Is it?” I ask, smiling. I love how seriously he’s taking his commitment to me. It’s fucking hot. And I’m just as committed to his crazy ass, but since he’s been giving me such a hard time with fake-out proposals for weeks, I think he’s due for a little payback. So I glance down and tap my bare ring finger, saying, “That’s funny. My finger and I don’t remember taking those vows.”
The look on his face is about what I expect. What I don’t expect is for him to get up and leave.
I sit up and call after him, but he doesn’t answer. Just when I’ve thrown off the covers to go after him, he reappears in my doorway with a suitcase in his hand.
Setting it on the bed next to me, he says, “Start packing, Kitten. We’re on the next flight to Vegas.”
My jaw drops. I don’t think I heard him right. “Vegas?”
He picks his clothes up from the floor and starts to put them on. “I’m marrying you tonight. No more waiting, no more bullshit.”
Shocked laughter splutters out of me. “Declan, are you even listening to yourself? This is insane! We can’t get married tonight.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Well, for starters, you haven’t even asked me yet.”
He takes a step forward and I hold my hand up. “I swear to God if you ask me to marry you right now, I will say no.” I rub my forehead, suddenly exhausted. This day has been an endless rollercoaster and I want off. “I shouldn’t have said the thing about the vows, all right? But you’re panicking. That’s all this is. We’re not running off to Vegas and getting married tonight.” I sigh, giving him a weary smile. “Our wedding day can’t coincide with the day I punched you in the face. That’s got to be bad luck.”
“You’re all the luck I need.” He climbs back into bed and wraps his arms around my middle. “You and I? We’re permanent, Kitten. Please tell me you know that.”
“I do,” I say, stroking his arm.
He sits up and cocks a brow at my choice of words.
I roll my eyes and push his shoulder. “I mean it. Don’t. You shouldn’t propose after a fight.”
Declan falls back onto the bed, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Then it’ll never happen.”
“Ha-ha.” I swat his leg when he grins. “Besides, we can’t leave. I have my first doctor’s appointment tomorrow afternoon.”
“Shit. I forgot about that.”
I try to act like I’m not disappointed. “It’s okay. I can go by myself.”
“You’re not going by yourself.” Declan scowls at me, like I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing. “I’ll get Marcus to cover the gym.” His eyes grow wide as he bolts upright, startling me.
Why is he looking at me all squinty-eyed?
“I almost forgot about that little stunt you pulled today. I suspended you, remember? That means your beautiful ass stays out of my gym.”
I roll my eyes.
Oh, yeah. That.
Declan’s face turns serious. “I mean it, Savannah. You’re done working there. All those chemicals you use to clean with can’t be good for the baby.”
Shit. He’s got me there. “All right, fine. I’ll. . .” I’ll what? “What do I do if I’m not working?”
He shrugs. “Sleep in. Watch TV. Shop.”
“And what would I be shopping for?”
“Handcuffs?” he asks, his tone hopeful. This is like the third time he’s brought it up since I suggested tying him up. Apparently he’s really interested.
Who knew?
“Okay, after I buy handcuffs. Then what?”
“I don’t know. New clothes, a new car—”
“Whoa.” I hold a hand up to stop him from going any further. Now I’m the one looking like he just said something ridiculous.
He takes my hand and kisses my palm. “It’s gonna happen. You can’t be driving around that rusty piece of shit with a baby in tow, and you’ll need your own car.”
“Declan—”
“Savannah,” he says, mocking my warning. “Just accept it and pick one out, or I will.”
“Fine,” I say, sighing. I’m quickly learning to pick my battles with him, and this is not one worth fighting over. He wants to buy me a car? Fine. Have at it. “But it’s going to be used, and we’re sticking to a budget.”
“We’ll see.”
My eyes roll. Why doesn’t he just say no? That’s what he means.
“You know what else you could start shopping for?”
“What?” I ask, watching him play with the ends of my hair.
“A crib. I know it’s early, but I think this room would make a pretty good nursery.”
“It would.” I smile and lean in to give him a quick kiss.
It doesn’t feel real yet. Other than feeling like I’ve been tit-punched by a gorilla, I don’t feel pregnant. I’m not puking. I’m not glowing. I’m definitely not showing.
Like Declan can read my mind, his hand moves down to my stomach. “I can’t wait till you get all big and round.” He smiles, like he’s honestly excited about me becoming as big as a house.
What the hell is wrong with him?
“I can.” My mouth turns down as I think about all the unpleasant side effects of pregnancy. “I’m gonna get stretch marks. And knowing you, we’re going to end up having a ten-pound baby. My poor vagina’s going to get ripped to shreds.”
At Declan’s horrified look, I pat his cheek. “Don’t worry, they’ll sew it back together.”
His look of horror only grows. “I’ll have to start calling you Frankenpussy instead of Kitten.”
He laughs as I smack his chest. “That’s it, I’m having a C-section.”
I know this place.
My brows pull tight as I scan the darkened living room. The curtains are drawn, creating a halo of light from the sunlight trying to peek its way in. It’s enough to see that I don’t recognize the room—not off the top of my head—but I’m still getting the weirdest sense of déjà vu.
I’ve definitely been here before, even if I can’t remember when or why.
Stale beer and cigarette smoke lingers in the air, but I smell other things too. There’s a hint of cheap perfume, and something. . .bad.
I look around, trying to find the culprit. Maybe a garbage can, or some dirty dishes—
Dread fills my stomach when I spot the sleeping woman on the couch. How did I miss her?
She seems familiar too, even though her back is to me. Is it something she’s wearing? Or maybe her hair?
It’s long and sandy-colored. My fingers twitch with the inexplicable urge to braid it. How do I know how soft it is, or how good it smells?
Alarm bells are starting to ring in my head, but I ignore them and take a step toward her. I have to talk to her. I have to find out how I know her and why I can’t seem to place her.
“Ma’am? Hello?”
She remains motionless on the couch, so I tentatively reach out and shake her shoulder. She rolls onto her back and her eyes meet mine, but they’re not the right color. They’re lifeless, and glazed over with the milky coating of death.
They’re supposed to be blue.
My eyes pop open so fast it’s disorienting. It takes me a good second before I realize I’m in my old bed with Declan sleeping next to me, and that something is very wrong.
I’m sweating bullets. My stomach is churning like I’m on a tilt-a-whirl. And I have approximately five seconds before the spaghetti I had for dinner makes an unwanted cameo. Slapping my hand over my mouth, I scramble out of bed and race toward the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before everything comes up in a hot, sour rush.
Well, so much for not puking.