Page 70 of Requiem & Reverie

“Fuck!” He continues to hammer into me from behind, until his fingers dig into my nape and his body seizes up. Another shudder, and he pulls out of me, the trickle of warmth down my thighs evidence of his release.

I open my mouth to draw in a breath and chuckle. “I … forgot my safe word.”

Head resting against my back, Voss snorts, and the mattress dips as he pushes up off it, taking my arm to pull me against him, where he stands beside the bed.

“You never forget your safe word, Star Wars.” Fingers threaded through my hair, he tugs my face to his, and groans as he kisses me with the kind of aggression that makes me wonder if he’s eaten anything today. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve jacked off to this very scenario, these past couple of weeks?”

“Not nearly enough, it seems.” I glance down at the fluids still running out of me. “Thought your flight didn’t come in until eleven.”

“How do I take you by surprise, if you know I’m coming?” Swiping my legs out from beneath me, he lifts me up into his arms and carries me to the bathroom. The slightest limp marks the after effects of the bullet shot into the back of his thigh. “I cannot believe I get you for a whole fucking weekend to myself. Did Jonah take Oli up to the cabin already?”

“He did.”

“Good. Still on his shit-list, aren’t I?”

“You are. But he’ll come around, eventually. In the meantime …” Wrapping my arms around him, I smile and kiss him. “What do you plan to do this weekend, Mister Voss?”

“Eat. Sleep. Fuck. Repeat. Not necessarily in that order.” Setting me down inside the bathroom, he flips on the shower and removes his shirt. His muscled body is riddled with scars, but the one at his flank is healing nicely, no longer red and puffy, like it was the last time I saw him, a few weeks back.

I run my fingers over it, and he nabs my hand, kissing my palm, before he pulls me in for another kiss. “You ate dinner, right?” I ask against his lips and chuckle.

“I’m starving for whiskey and pussy right now. Or wine.” He smiles back, and I take the opportunity to wrap my arms around him again, as he lifts me into the shower with him.

“I’ll pass on the wine.”

“You sure about that? As I recall, you enjoyed a bit too much last time.”

Trying to hide my sudden trepidation is useless. It’s evident I’m failing, when Voss tips his head.

“Everything okay?”

I wanted this to be clever and humorous, to make light of it, so that if it’s not welcomed news, it won’t feel awkward, but everything about the moment is awkward. Mostly because Voss is so damn hard to read. “Wine isn’t good for the baby.”

His body goes stiff. Like, board stiff.

Not a good sign.

I stare up at him, and the look on his face, pale and blank, leaves me to wonder if it’s possible for a person to go comatose after hearing news like this. “Voss? Do you need to sit down?”

Face still expressionless, he nods and slides down the tiled wall onto the floor of the shower, staring off. Water beats against his chest, and the errant sprays have him flinching, but he doesn’t divert his gaze from whatever he’s looking at right now.

Probably a visual of some post-apocalyptic future, where I’m the face of oppression.

Not that I expected him to break into tears of joy, or anything, but this reaction is a bit more extreme. Christ, not even Denny turned this level of zombie, when I told him about Oliver. Crouching down in front of Voss, I tip my head to guide his eyes to mine, and I suddenly feel the urge to fight back tears. Like I did this alone, or something.

“Look, it’s not confirmed. I’m just late. Might be nothing, but if it is … you can walk away. I don’t need—”

“No.” His brows pinch to a frown as he grabs the back of my nape, and for the first time in the last few minutes, there’s lucidity in them again.

I’m thoroughly fucking confused as to what this news means to him.

“This baby is mine.”

I lower my gaze from his and shake my head. “You sure about that? Because I can raise a baby alone. I’m perfectly—”

Wet lips cut me off, and when he releases me from the kiss, his eyes are swirling with disappointment, as if I’ve wounded him by suggesting such a thing. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’m not walking away from what’s mine.”

A chill runs down my spine at the sound of possession in his voice. Mine.