I get lost in going through my box of books. The heroes on the covers are all handsome but not as intense or soul-burning hot like Dad. Still, I’m eager to read them. There isn’t much to do out here for fun. Reading is fun and I can’t wait to pass that down to our child. I’m a little saddened I don’t have any books for the little thing. Perhaps I’ll write my baby some stories.
I pick up my notebook and write a children’s tale about a fierce man who battles scary bears. The man’s name is Reed and he saves the princess in the end. I’m smiling as I scribble down the story. That is until I hear it.
Voices.
Panic clutches my throat and I whimper. It’s too dangerous to climb onto the table to look out the small window in my very pregnant state. Dad’s voice is one of them and he doesn’t seem alarmed or afraid. Still, I am worried. Quickly, I pull on my yoga pants I have to wear low on my hips—they’re one of the few pieces of clothing I can wear—and then hunt for one of Dad’s shirts. Everything of mine is too tight. Once I’m dressed and have my boots and coat on, I snatch up the shotgun and then I slowly open the door. With the quietness of a mouse, I creep around the side of the house. Dad stands with his back to the cabin talking to a man.
The man has wild golden brown hair and smiles as he talks to my father. He’s not holding any weapons. I’m still afraid because he’s taller and wider shouldered than Dad. If he wanted to hurt him, I’m afraid he could.
Chick-chuck!
I load the slug into the shotgun, ready to fire.
Dad jerks around and the guy gapes at me.
“Wh-What do you want?” I demand, my voice wobbling with fear.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” the man says, his palms up. “I came to see if you needed any supplies.”
“This is Atticus Knox. The fella I bought the land from,” Dad says in a soothing tone. It calms me marginally so. But the fact Dad still has the knife in his tight grip doesn’t chase away my fear completely.
“Supplies?”
“Anything you need. I can fetch it and be back in another week or two,” Atticus assures me.
“Why would you help us?” I question, anger and distrust dripping in my voice. “What do you get out of it?”
“Money,” Dad answers for him. “I have some in the safe that survived the crash in the trailer.”
“If I get you a list, you’ll get me what I need?” My mind begins to whir about all the things we’ll need for the baby. So maybe I shouldn’t shoot this man. He doesn’t look like the rapists from before. I shudder and meet his gaze with a feral one of my own.
He swallows. “Anything. Devon, right?”
My nod is clipped. “If you try to hurt us, I’ll shoot you,” I threaten.
Atticus smiles and it’s warm. “I understand. I only want to help.”
Despite the warmer temps, it’s not completely spring yet. A cool breeze from the north whips at us. The sun will set soon and I know it’ll be cold tonight.
“Are you staying for dinner?”
Both he and Dad nod.
Then, Atticus speaks again. “I thought I’d stay for a few days. Show you both some things about surviving out here that will be useful. Then I’ll be on my way.”
I finally lower the gun. “Okay.”
Dad winks at me and my heart warms. I beam back at him.
Atticus is impressed with the inside of our cabin and the fact that we utilized the cave as well. He marvels over the fireplace we made and the furniture. The bloodstains on the quilts make him look away though. For me, they’re a constant reminder of Peach, who I refuse to forget.
I stay bundled up in my big coat despite the warmth. My baby is safe from his leering eyes. But eventually I start to sweat. He and Dad chat easily sharing a bottle of whiskey Atticus brought with him. Every so often, Atticus regards me with soft, sad eyes. I don’t want his gaze on me.
“You hardly touched your stew,” Dad observes, a frown marring his handsome face.
“I’m not hungry.”
His jaw ticks but he says no more on the matter. I continue to write down my list of things I need while they chat and laugh. It irritates me that this man is in our home. I don’t want any man besides Dad here.
“There’s one can left of the mixed fruit you love so much with the extra maraschino cherries,” Dad says, his face still frowning. The worry is written all over his features. He wants me to eat for the baby.
With a sigh, I toss down my notebook and shed the hot coat. When I stand to go fetch the fruit—because just talking about it has my stomach growling—I catch Atticus staring at my pregnant belly.
Horror.
That is the only way to describe the look on his face.
I clutch it protectively as I pass by him to the cave. I can feel his unwanted eyes on me as I grab my fruit. When I pass back by him, he’s frowning.
“I’ll need stuff for the baby,” I tell him pointedly.
He swallows and nods. “Write down what you need.”
I burrow under the covers to hide and eat my fruit in peace as I scribble down items. Eventually, I fall asleep because Dad won’t let that man hurt me. But just in case, I clutch onto the shotgun behind me.
I wake with my heart in my throat as someone kisses my bare stomach. My body relaxes to find Dad’s warm brown eyes staring down at me. He helps me pull off my shirt and then removes the rest of my clothing. His mouth finds mine for a chaste kiss and I can taste the whiskey on him. I want to suck it off his tongue.
“Did he leave?”
My eyes dart to the door and I relax seeing our lock in place.
“Camping in his tent outside just inside the fence,” he tells me, his mouth kissing down to my much larger breasts.
Desire pools in my core and I whimper when he sucks my nipple hard. My belly is large and in the way but it never stops him from getting what he wants. Me. He’s clever about positioning me in ways that aren’t awkward or hurtful.
His palms rub over the swell of my stomach in a possessive, reverent way. He kisses the flesh and whispers to our baby. My heart melts each time he does it. By the time his mouth latches onto my clit, I’m so horny I can’t think straight. Being pregnant means I want sex all the time. Dad is happy to oblige.
He sucks and nibbles and teases until I’m thrashing with need. I grip his hair and beg for more.
“Please…” My moan is loud. “I need you.”
“Come for me, baby. I’ll fuck you as soon as you come.”
His words have their intended affect because I start trembling. When he sucks one last hard time, I lose myself to a glorious orgasm. I’ve barely quit shaking when he sits back on his heels. He grabs my hips and hauls me closer.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his palm rubbing over my stomach. “I love you.”
I smile, ready to return the sentiment, but then he’s driving into me at this odd angle that only seems to work well when pregnant. His cock hits me deep and shudders wrack through me.
“Oh, God.” I’m helpless as he holds my hips up and bucks against me. All I can do is sit up on my elbows and watch him. I can’t see where he’s entering me because of my large stomach but I can see the way his chest muscles flex with each movement. I lick my lips and practically drool over the way his biceps bulge as he holds me up. His dark hair hangs in his eyes, dripping with sweat, and his full lips are parted as he fucks.
He’s my beast.
Delicious and gorgeous and wild.
At this angle, I lose control and orgasm without warning. This causes him to grunt out my name before draining his own release inside of me. He pulls out and stares at me with a domineering glint in his eyes.
I am his.
He owns me.
And I’d never argue that because I love being his.
I’m safe with him.
Always.
The next morning is awkward. Atticus is no longer looking at me in a sad way but instead with pity. I watch him, his jaw tightening, as if he’s physically keeping words in. It makes me curious. Why the sudden change?
Since the weather is nice, we all three go down to the river. Atticus has a net and he’s convinced he can catch us some fish. The water is icy-cold but it’s Dad who wants to use the net. We stand on the river banks watching my father wade out into the chilly river cursing about how cold it is.
“You’re pregnant.” Atticus’s words are clipped and low.
I frown and look over at him. “I am.”
“How old are you?”
Glaring, I huff. “Seventeen. How old are you?”
“Thirty-six. Can I ask you something?”
Nervously, I twist my wedding band around my finger. Something tells me I won’t like his line of questioning. His jade-green eyes dart to my fingers and he curses under his breath.
“Is Reed the father?” he asks, his voice husky and disgusted.
“He is. Do you have a problem with that?” I challenge.
Our eyes meet and he frowns. “That’s incest, sweetheart.”
My lip curls up. “It’s none of your business.”
He grumbles and crosses his giant arms over his chest. “It is my business if I think you were coerced. I think you’re a little brainwashed, Devon. Last night, I heard you two. Fucking like wild animals. That’s not normal.” He swallows and shakes his head. “Sleeping with your father is not normal. Not to mention, it’s highly fucking illegal in the state of Alaska.”
Dad hoots that he almost caught a fish. I beam at him and hold my thumb up before regarding Atticus.
“The laws don’t matter here. We love each other. This is our home.” I clutch my stomach and smile. “This is our baby. We’re happy.”
“You’ll be happy until the moment that baby comes out,” he tells me in a low voice. “Don’t you know what incest does to people?”
My blood runs cold because I don’t know what it does to people. “What do you mean?” I hate that I’m entertaining him by asking questions on the matter.
He scrubs at his cheek. “Birth defects.”
Panic nearly stops my heart in my chest. “Wh-What?”
“Blood relatives who reproduce are extremely likely to give birth to a child with issues. Most of them mental issues but some can be physical. I’ve lived out here in the wilderness long enough to see firsthand what incest does to families.” He pauses and looks at me with sadness flickering in his eyes. “The squatters who hurt you, did they seem normal?”
I shiver and stare down at the rocks at my feet. They were wild and lost. No humanity in their eyes. Madness lived within them.
Will my baby be mad too?
Bile rises in my throat and the world seems to spin. Atticus clutches my elbow.
“Are you okay?” he demands, concern in his tone.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
I’ve barely spilled the words out before Dad comes splashing back. With cold, wet arms, he scoops me into his grip. Tears burn in my eyes as he carries me back to the cabin. Atticus stays outside as Dad helps me undress and puts me under the covers.
“What can I do to make you feel better?” he questions as he strokes away the hair from my clammy forehead.
Tell me everything is going to be okay.
Pinky promise that we’re not going to have a baby with problems.
A sob catches in my throat but I swallow it down. I don’t want him to see me upset about our baby. Despite the worry niggling at me, I still want our baby. We made this baby together out of love.
“Get some rest, Pip,” he says, a soft smile on his lips.
Two long weeks pass by with Atticus overstaying his welcome. Sure, he’s great at teaching Dad some new survival techniques and they’re quite chummy which warms my heart to see Dad happy, but I’m unnerved. I can’t stop obsessing over my child. As Dad chops firewood, Atticus takes the moment to talk to me again. I’ve been avoiding him so the fact that we’re alone stresses me out.
“What?” I snap.
He sits at the table and reads through my list. “Do you want me to bring a book about inbreeding?”
A choked sound escapes me. “No.”
“Look, Devon. If you want to leave, I can get you out of here. All you have to do is say the words. I’ll go back to town and get the police involved. You’re underage. They call that statutory rape. Are you familiar with that term?”
I scoff. “He did not rape me!”
He holds his hands up in defense. “I understand how you, having gone through what you did, would see it that way. But he did take advantage of you in the wilderness. He shouldn’t be having sex with you every goddamn night.” He grits his teeth together as if he’s disgusted. “He shouldn’t have gotten you pregnant.”
“Just leave us alone,” I beg. “Don’t get anyone involved. It’s our business. We’re happy.”
He frowns. “I’ll be back in about two weeks with the supplies. I’ll bring you some reading material on the subject. When I come back, all you have to do is give me the word. We’ll leave and I’ll get you the help you need. There are therapists who can help and—”
“Get me my stuff but I don’t need the other things you speak of. If my baby has problems, I’ll deal with it then. You’re overstepping, Atticus. Now please back the hell away from us.” My gaze is venom-filled.
He sighs and nods. “It’s never too late to change your mind.”
“Duly noted,” I seethe.