Page 73 of Dissonance

My father’s wrong. I’m not on my own.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lockie

Thea’s quiet most of the way home, one arm folded across her middle, fingers playing with the fabric of her dress. Her phone lights up on her knee three times before she turns it face-down and leaves it there. And by the time we’re walking into her apartment, the tightness in her shoulders hasn’t gone anywhere. When she gets like this, she needs time to come down from whatever’s circulating inside her head.

Heels kicked off at the door, bag on the sideboard, she walks straight to the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge, then turning to the window, both hands curling around the edge of the worktop.

“Dinner with my family isn’t usually quite that…hostile. But I’ve been avoiding him because I didn’t know how to tell him about the baby, and I just know him well enough that we’d probably end up fighting about my company, and I…” she trails off, exhausted. She’s quiet for a moment, fingers flexing on the counter.

“Is he the one who’s been trying to reach you?”

She shakes her head. “My mom. I’ll call her back tomorrow.” She glances toward her bag on the sideboard. “I’m just sorry you had to see that.”

She reaches up to the cabinet for a glass, filling it with water and taking a quick sip. Her dress shifts around her legs as she moves, the soft yellow fabric glowing against her skin, hair cascading down her back in loose curls slightly messy from the day.

“Stop apologizing,” I say, pushing away from the wall and stepping behind her, arms wrapping around her waist, both hands resting on her stomach, fingers spread wide. She stills completely, then lets herself relax into me. Kissing the back of her head, I murmur, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hands coming to cover mine, we stay like that, her dress shifting under my palms, the slight curve of her just detectable beneath it.

“One of these days, I swear I’m going to learn not to rise to the bait,” she says, voice sounding smaller than before.

“You didn’t rise to anything.”

She looks softer like this, not the fierce, unapologetic woman who stood toe-to-toe with her father, refusing to back down. My hands slide out from under hers, reaching up to move her hair over one shoulder, fingertips trailing lightly along her skin. I lean forward, pressing a hint of a kiss just under her ear. She inhales deeply, a barely audible sound coming from her throat, and I kiss her again, lower, my mouth lingering against the curve of her neck.

I want this woman. Not just tonight, not just like this. Always.

“Lockie,” she breathes, the last of that coiled tension unwinding.

She turns in my arms, fingers ghosting over my shirt, those pretty eyes searching mine, pupils blown wide.

“What are we doing?”

“Ssh.” My hands move to her waist, her body warm under my touch as I pull her a step closer. “Let me take care of you.”

I kiss along her neck, her jaw before reaching her mouth. It’s slower this time, unhurried, my tongue tracing her lips, wanting in, wanting to taste her. The moan she makes vibrates through me, her delicate fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt as it deepens.

The second she gives in, leaning into me, I know she needs this. Maybe more than I do. My hands find the backs of her thighs and I lift, carrying her down the hallway, mouth at her throat, the curve of her shoulder, nipping, sucking, kissing as I go.

When we reach the bedroom, her mouth’s back on mine, her smile curving against my lips, the one she only ever let out when it’s just us two. The one that’s just mine. I kick the door shut with my heel and set her back on her feet in the middle of the room. She sways a little, hands flat on my chest, a whimper slipping from her that makes my cock ache.

Fingers bunching in the skirt of her dress, I slowly drag it upward, the fabric rising inch by inch and exposing soft, creamy skin. Her arms lift, letting me pull it free, her hair spilling in waves around her shoulders as I drop it to the floor.

I take her in. Bra, panties, bare skin already flushed, chest rising and falling as she breathes. The new shape of her, the slight rounding that wasn’t there before, the fullness of her breasts, all of it mine to look at. A deep, primal satisfaction runs through me, the caveman inside my head puffing out his chest, beating it like a war drum. She’s carrying my child. There’s no version of me that doesn’t feel that.

“Jesus, Thea,” I mutter, voice dropping, rougher now. “Look at you.”

I reach for her again, hands settling on her hips, grazing just below her ribs, watching reverently as wee goosebumps scatter across her flesh as I trace the curve of her stomach and commit it to memory.

“Lockie…” she says, my name sounding somehow different, always different when she says it like this.

I guide her toward the bed, each step slow, eyes never leaving hers, until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She exhales, sinking down without being told, sliding backward as I follow her down, one knee pressing between her thighs. I trail my knuckles across the full curves of her tits straining against the lace of her bra.

“Relax,” I murmur, watching her hips roll in a way I don’t think she’s aware she’s doing. My thumb drags across her lower lip—those lips I’m half-obsessed with since the first time she let me kiss her—and her breath stutters in response. “You’ve been holding everything together for so long, baby. You don’t have to do that with me.”

My fingers hook into the waistband of her panties, and she lifts her hips, letting me pull them down her legs. A shiver racks her body when I slip them over her ankles, tossing them aside. My hands slow are they slide back up, tracing the curve of her calves, her knees, the inside of her thighs.