Beast: Learning to Breathe (Devil's Blaze MC #5)

“You’re pregnant,” he interrupts me, and I feel myself blush.

I can feel the heat rise, and I kind of wish the floor would swallow me up. My hand goes to my stomach. I might be embarrassed, but I don’t regret Maggie. Even with everything that has happened, I’ve never once blamed Maggie. She didn’t ask to be brought into this world and she can’t help that her father is the spawn of Satan. I pray she’ll never know exactly who or what he is. I pray for that every day. Every. Day.

“It’s not like I’ve hidden that, Michael. I wouldn’t try, even if I could. I even reminded you of that when you took my shirt off. I really think it might be best if you just leave. I’m suddenly really tired.”

“Why would I want you to hide that you’re pregnant?”

“It obviously bothers you,” I tell him, needing out of the bedroom. I go to walk around him to go back to the kitchen when he grabs me by the upper arm. His touch is warm and feels so good. I ignore that feeling. I need him to leave—I need to get some distance here.

“Did it seem like it bothered me when you were riding my cock?”

“It’s obviously bothering you now,” I tell him, avoiding his eyes and wishing I could call him a liar.

“The hell it is. I think it’s fucking hot.”

“You think it’s hot I’m pregnant?” I ask, my body filled with heat and I don’t know if it’s from mortification, desire, or fear…It could be all three.

“Fuck, yes. You’re beautiful pregnant. I told you that already. Your breasts are full, the curve of your stomach, the softness you get in your eyes when you think of your daughter, and the way you hold your stomach without even realizing you’re doing it. It’s a fucking turn on,” Michael answers, and I’m at a loss on how to respond to that.

“Then why did you say we had to stop?” I ask, totally ignoring the fact that he thinks I’m hot because I’m pregnant. I’ll have to think about that later.

“I don’t know what’s gone on with you Hayden, but I know something has. I know the Dweller’s enough to know that whatever it is, has to be bad, and I’ve seen your damn panic attacks. The last thing you need is me making demands of you that you aren’t ready for.”

There’s a lot I should say—a lot I could say to him. Not to mention the fact that bringing up the Dwellers should jerk me back to reality enough that I do not say what I’m thinking. It should stop me cold. It doesn’t.

“What demands?” I ask, unable to stop myself, wondering why it feels like I’m on the edge of a cliff getting ready to jump.





65





Beast





Will Hayden ever do what I expect of her? I’m starting to think the answer to that is definitely no. Because whatever I expected from her just now it wasn’t her standing in front of me asking what demands, sounding interested, sounding anxious, with her eyes wide with shock, and her fucking nipples hard. She fixed her bra before when I let her go, but I’m sure she’s forgotten that she’s doesn’t have a top on. The last thing I want to do is remind her, but there’s only so much torture a man can take.

“Put a shirt on,” I grumble, adjusting my fucking cock through my sweatpants. This woman is driving me nuts. I just came and I’m already hard again. Hard and in need of a damned shower, because she made me fucking come in my pants.

I watch as her blush deepens. She walks carefully over to her dresser and pulls out a gray t-shirt, pulling it over her head and hiding her body from me. I’m grateful, but hate it at the same time. The woman is driving me crazy mad.

“Your hot and cold makes me dizzy,” she grumbles under her breath, but I can hear her plainly. If she wasn’t pregnant, I’d be tempted to show her what happens when you back talk a real man. “Better?” she huffs, turning around to look at me. Her hair is rumpled from the way I held it earlier and from her putting on a shirt. Her face is blushed with a pink hue and her eyes are still glittering with emotion.

I want her naked. Naked, laid out in front of me, and I want to use her fucking body until I stop aching, until the rage inside of me lessens and most of all until my damned cock is limp.

“Not by a long shot,” I answer, instead of giving her the full truth. It’s time I steer this conversation in a different direction, before my handprint is on her ass, and I forget I need to handle her with care. “How are you like this with me?” I ask instead.

“Like this?”

“Mouthy, full of fire, there’s no way you can tell me that you’re afraid right now. How can you be like that alone with me, but have the panic attacks that I’ve seen you have around others?”

She studies me and the mood in the room changes. I sit on the bed and wait, sensing this conversation may take a while.

“Are you going to tell me how you got your scars?” she asks, and it’s then I realize that with my shirt off, I’m hiding nothing from her. It didn’t even cross my mind earlier. I was worried about her uncovering my face. Why the fuck didn’t I stop to think before I took my shirt off?

“No.”

“You expect me to answer your questions and give you my secrets, but you’re going to tell me nothing about what happened to you?” In response, I nod my head yes. Her mouth opens, shock clear on her face. “Do you think that’s fair?”

“No.”

“Then you agree you should tell me more about your scars. It’s only fair.”

“No,” I tell her again, starting to enjoy this damned conversation, or maybe just the frustration that is coming off her in waves.

“You’re unbelievable,” she sulks.

I reach out to grab her and pull her to me, before I can think twice about it. I see the fear in her eyes. She might be hiding behind being pissed at me, but I see the fear.

“I don’t want in your lap again,” she complains, but I gently maneuver her so that she’s sitting cross-ways on my lap. It feels good. It feels right having her in my arms, and that’s something that should make me panic, but for some unknown reason, it doesn’t.

“Talk to me, Beauty,” I urge her, the nickname yet again, rolling off my tongue with ease. I feel her body shudder and a second later, she relaxes against me.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she tells me, and those words soothe me. I don’t want her to fear me. Ever. “I like…I mean…Well…It’s different with you…” she rattles, and I can feel the tension starting to return in her body and that’s the last thing I want. I squeeze her encouragingly, even kissing the top of her head. “I like when you touch me, Michael. I like when you are around,” she finally whispers.

My heart literally stutter-steps in my chest. I lean down and take her lips gently; this kiss has nothing to do with sex and more to do with gratitude. Whatever she’s been through, it wasn’t pretty and yet, she trusts me enough to let her guard down. It’s misplaced. I don’t deserve anyone’s trust—least of all hers, but I like that she is giving it to me. I break away from her lips slowly, savoring her taste on mine.