The lollipop is a burst of sour—sour something—on my tongue. “Oh, my God.”

Dayton rolls over in bed, his face creased from the pillow, and pushes himself halfway up. “Are you okay?”

I brandish the lollipop in his face. “What is this?”

He reaches over me to grab for the box on the bedside table and consults it, dark eyes lit up with an amusement that makes me feel a warm blush of pleasure, despite the disgusting puke feeling threatening from the edge of the bed. “Looks like sour raspberry.”

“Yikes.”

Still, I take another lick of it.

Dayton tosses the box back onto the bedside table and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He hops for the bathroom. Water runs.

I lick the lollipop again. It’s not terrible, but it is really sour. They’re not kidding about that part. And the rocking, seasick feeling in my gut is subsiding, at least a little. It’s worst when I’ve just woken up.

I need to get more of it in my mouth.

“Christ.” Dayton leans against the doorway of the master bath, his dark eyes on me.

I raise a hand to my hair. “That bad, huh?”

He grins, a half-smile that has warmth going other places, and leaps for the bed. “That bad.” Under the covers, he runs one hand over the curve of my belly, lifting beneath the tank top. I look more food baby than actual baby, but my tank top doesn’t care about the difference. It was a little small when I bought it. Now we’re over the line. “Your tongue on that thing—”

“You bought this for me. One-day shipping!” I shake my head. The box showed up yesterday afternoon and Dayton tore into it, lifting out each item one at a time, convinced it would cure me.

So far, he’s been right.

He kisses my neck and his hand slides down, finding the elastic of my panties and slipping beneath. “I didn’t think it would be so sexy to watch you eat them.”

“Day—” The last blurry edges of the nausea dissipate when he strokes my clit with the pads of two fingers. “I can’t—” I should brush my teeth. It’s time for my workout. If I don’t get my workout in early, I end up napping instead. Pregnancy is a bitch that way.

Everything else? Not a bitch.

Especially Dayton’s fingers against my clit, his lips teasing the line of my jaw, his voice in my ear. “You can.”

I relax against the pillow, my eyes fluttering shut. He plucks the lollipop out of my hand and I hear the stick clatter against my empty water glass. “My workout—” It’s a weak protest, and he knows it. In fact, by taking off my tank top, he’s only helping me toward my goal.

“I’ll make your heart beat faster, if that’s what you want.” His fingers move lower, playing at my entrance. “Look—you’re already wet.” He presses them inside, taunting me, and takes them away.

“You can’t do that.” It’s not a whine, but it’s a near thing.

“I can.”

He moves over me and I open my eyes to follow the lines of his tattoos. Day’s arms work—there go my panties—and then his big hands are on my thighs, spreading me open beneath him.

His eyes rake over me, possessive of every naked, exposed inch of my skin. The heat in his eyes is enough to make me come.

He must sense it, because he looks at me and strokes the inside of one thigh. “You’re panting.”

Desire spikes through my core. I’m getting slicker by the second. There’s that grin again. Dayton commenting on my body this way turns me on like nothing else in the world.

“I want you.” It’s a raw whisper.

“I can see that.”

I tilt my hips upward in his hands. “Please—”

He moves backward on the bed and bends his head. The first stroke of his tongue against my slit has my fists curling into the pillowcases. The second has me trembling against his lips.

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” His breath is hot between my legs, and then he can’t say anything more.

* * *

I sprawl back against the pillows, freshly fucked and glowing.

Dayton nudges one arm. “Aren’t you going to work out?”

“No. I’m going to stay in bed the rest of the day. That was—” I’m at a loss for words. Transcendent seems almost enough, but not quite. “That was incredible.”

“Hmm.” His voice is full of faux disappointment. “I’ll do better next time.”

I push myself up on one elbow. “Better than incredible?”

“If it was that incredible, you’d be on your knees, begging for more.” He works his face into something resembling a hard look.

My laughter is interrupted by my cell phone, ringing on the bedside table. I snatch it up while Day falls back against his own pillow, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

The name on the caller ID makes my stomach turn over.

It’s Wes.

I haven’t breathed a word of moving in with Dayton. I haven’t told anyone. I like the feeling of this secret, happy bubble we’re in too much to shatter it by opening my big mouth.

But I do answer the call.

“Hey, Wes. What’s up?”

“Sunny,” he says, his voice ringing with confidence. “I’m coming to the city next weekend. Can I take you out to lunch?”

Dayton has perked up at the sound of Wes’s voice, and my heart pounds. It’s not right to keep this to myself forever. It’ll hurt Wes—it’ll hurt everyone—if the first news they hear is of the birth. I owe my family some notice. I might as well start with Wes. “You know what?” I say the words slowly, choosing them one by one. “I have a new place.”

“You do?” There’s a rustling sound on the other end of the line like he’s transferring his phone from one shoulder to the other. “I didn’t know you moved.”

“I did. A few weeks ago. Why don’t you come over for dinner?”

I raise my eyebrows at Dayton, asking his permission. Begging his forgiveness, really. His eyes flash, but he nods, one motion. Crisp. Accepting.

“I’ll be there,” Wes says. “Two o’clock on Saturday?”

“Sounds perfect.” I give him the address.

“See you then.”

I drop the phone back onto the bedside table and look at Dayton, who’s staring back up at the ceiling. “Are you okay with this?”

He lets out a long breath, then rolls toward me, his hand coming down softly on my lower back. Day leans in and kisses me on the temple. “You should get your workout in before you get tired.”

* * *

It’s the first day of April, sunny and warm for once, and my capris still fit. I’m ten days into my second trimester. Tank, bra, hoodie, I’m good to go.

I head out in front of our apartment. It’s a two-bedroom in Bed-Stuy, which means a longer commute, but the neighborhood has more trees. I like how the spring sunlight filters through them.

I feel so good in this moment that I could jog. I put in one of my headphones, leaving the other one out for safety, and run down the block, slow but steady. It feels amazing to move. This pregnancy thing has made it very touch and go when it comes to exercise, but in my limited Googling, I learned that working out is essential to a healthy pregnancy, so I’m going to do it, damn it.

Four blocks down, during my first walking break, a car pulls up to the curb alongside me.

I dismiss it as a cab at first, but it continues rolling along next to me.

The window comes down.

“Summer Sullivan. Hey! Summer Sullivan. I see you.”

It’s not a voice I know. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The earphone closest to the car is the one that’s in, so I pretend not to hear.

“Where’s Dayton these days?” It’s a rough voice, tinged with an accent so faint I can’t place it. I’m four blocks from home. The car is here beside me. Dayton’s not. “I know you know where he is.”

I risk a glance at the car, but I can’t see the person inside—the sun’s too bright, the windows darkened, and the interior too shadowy.

I break into a run. There’s a park half a block up the street. If I can get there, I’ll double back. Behind me, the car screeches out into the street and the engine revs as it speeds up to stay with me. Someone behind him honks. I get to the intersection, look once, and go across against the sign. Shit, shit, shit. What’s happening?

There’s a young couple on the far side of the park, and I veer in the front entrance, blood singing in my ears. Is he going to get out and follow me in? The sidewalk is rough, pieces jutting up from the ground, and my heart is beating out of control. I wrench my head around—how much time do I have?—and my toe catches on a piece of concrete.

I trip and fall awkwardly to the side, landing against a concrete planter that connects with my pregnant belly. It lurches with pain. I sit down hard on the grass, nausea rising, and throw up next to the planter. I don’t see anyone coming after me, and the couple is gone.

Oh God. Oh God, oh God.