And the depressing thing is, it’s working.
“How does it look?” Tristian asks.
I avert my gaze from the mirror. “Like I swallowed a beach ball.”
His sigh is audible and a moment later, I see his head peeking around the edge of the curtain. He makes a frustrated sound, gesturing to me. “What are you talking about? You look gorgeous.”
“You don’t need to lie,” I insist, blinking back a hot wave of tears. “I’m not blind, Tristian. You fell in love with this young, sexy girl who could get on her knees anytime you snapped your fingers. Now I’d need help to get up and down.” I glance at the foreign woman in the mirror, wondering what happened to the hot college co-ed who brought three Lords to their knees. “I know you don’t think this is sexy. No one could.”
He steps into the room, letting the curtain fall behind him, and slides his hand behind my neck. “You seriously think I’m not into this?”
“I know you’re into the baby,” I say, eyes rolling. God, do I know. With the way he fusses over me so obsessively, sometimes it seems like the only thing I’m good for. “I know you’ll support us. We’re solid,” I say, even through the prick of anxiety in my chest. My mom’s voice still rings in my memory, unbidden and unwelcome.
“A man like that wants a woman who looks good on his arm and better in his bed… He won’t want you if he thinks you’re cheap and all used up…”
“But I know I’m gross, Tristian. My ankles are swollen, and I can’t wear my rings on my fingers. I fall asleep in the middle of the day, and the food… I know my diet repulses you.” A hot tear rolls down my cheek as I wonder what he could possibly see in me anymore. “I wouldn’t blame you if you found some side-piece down at the Hideaway. It would hurt, but I wouldn’t blame you. This is not what you agreed to.” That’s exactly what he should do. Find some sexy woman he doesn’t have to dote over all the time. A woman who isn’t a job. A woman who can ride him without fearing for the integrity of his pelvic bone.
He stares at me for a long moment, the clink and clatter of hangers sounding from the rooms around us. It’s not the right place to make this kind of insecure confession, but that’s who I am right now. A hot fucking mess.
Autumn looked so annoyingly fucking slender.
Tristian’s fingers twist in the hair at the nape of my neck. “Are you done?”
“I’m uh…” The question throws me off, but my lack of answer seems to satisfy him.
“Good.” He directs me to the chair. “Sit.”
“I’ll wrinkle the dress,” I whine, not wanting to pay half a grand for a dress that doesn’t even look good on me.
“Fuck the dress.” He pushes my shoulders, guiding me down, and then he crouches there, fixing me with a long, meaningful look. “I’m not going to discount your feelings here, or lie and say your body hasn’t changed, or that your tits aren’t the size of cantaloupes and don’t taste as sweet.” His hands spread over my belly. “I won’t pretend this little one doesn’t sometimes get in the way when Rath and I want to bury our cocks in you at the same time. But, sweetheart…” He reaches up to stroke the tear from my cheek, eyes blazing. “None of that would ever, ever send me or the guys to someone else. Ever.” His eyes search mine, pinging back and forth. “I don’t need you on your knees, Story. That’s not where a Queen belongs.”
Bracing himself on the arms of the chair, he kisses my jaw first, seeming to savor the little gasp I make in response. Then his lips travel down my neck to my chest. My heart pounds, basking in his attention, the diligent way he sucks and licks my skin. Running my hands through his hair, I force his eyes to mine. “Thank you, for always making me feel wanted.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, lowering to his knees, “but I’m not done yet.”
My eyes dart to the curtain behind him, realizing he’s got me right where he wants me, that cheeky grin spreading as he pulls aside the cups of the dress and my bra. My tits fall out—they were halfway there anyway—and he thumbs my nipple. “God, these are driving me wild. All I think about is kissing them, licking them, fucking them.” His motions follow his words, tongue toying with the hard pebble of my nipple, face buried between them. He’s gentle, and thank god for that, because they’re sensitive as fuck. Knowing Tristian, he’s done his homework, researching how to make a pregnant woman fall apart.