“I came to stop you.”
“Stop me?” I raise one eyebrow at her. Does she think I can stay in New York, living under the same roof as her and my father? I’m not a fucking masochist, thank you very much. I’d jump out of the fucking building before I let that happen.
“You can’t leave,” she insists, an expression of desperation taking over her face. Her beautiful face. Fuck, I just want to take her into my arms right now. Okay, be fucking strong, Lance. You can do this.
“I sure can. I’m leaving in the morning. And before you ask, I didn’t buy a return ticket. One way only.”
“You can’t,” she repeats, a sense of urgency in her words. She’s desperate. Why? She takes two steps toward me, looking me in the eyes. “I love you, Lance. Please don’t go.”
Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is going on? Where the fuck is this coming from? I look into her eyes, trying to decipher if she’s fucking playing me, tugging on my rope just to string me along. But what I see there has nothing to do with that—there’s only truth there.
“But--”
“I know,” she says, cutting me short. “I said awful things. Terrible things. I meant none of it. And I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Lance. I wish I could take it all back.”
“Then why the fuck would you say those things?” I ask her softly, still not sure where the conversation is going. Even if she loves me… She’s fucking carrying my brother in her belly, for fuck’s sake. And if she loves me, that makes it all even more fucking depressing. Because now there’s no fucking way we’ll be able to be together.
“Because… I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do. When I found out that I was pregnant, I… I told your father and… I had no choice, Lance. He was so mad over it…”
Mad? He was fucking beaming during the pregnancy announcement. The old bastard was over joyous, telling the whole fucking world he was going to have another heir. The fucking prick hates it that I’m his only fucking son, a burden to his political aspirations. Unless… Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking fuck. It can’t be.
“Don’t tell me that…?” I ask her, my heart fucking racing. Jesus Christ, I think I’m going to be fucking sick. She simply nods, hesitant. Holy fuck, am I dreaming? Please tell me that I’m not fucking dreaming. “I’m going to be a father?”
“You’re going to be a father, Lance,” she tells me, a tender smile lighting her face up. Suddenly, the whole world stops spinning. I’m going to be a fucking father! My heart is ready to burst. Happiness floods me and I smile, going up to my feet. I grab her by the waist and pick her up, spinning her across the room.
“I’m going to be a father!” I laugh, overjoyed. Can you imagine it? A little Lance running around, peeking under the girl’s skirts! Or maybe a little Jocelyn, ready to dazzle the whole fucking world with her looks and smarts! Fuck, this started as the worst day of my life—and it be
came the very best one.
“I love you. I love you so fucking much,” I tell her, placing my hands on her cheeks as I put her on the floor.
“I love you too,” she whispers into me, that desperation no longer on his face. There’s only happiness there, making her even more fucking beautiful, as if that could be fucking possible. I press my mouth against hers, the touch of her lips marking the best day of my life.
I’m going to be a fucking dad!
Jocelyn
“I love you. I love you so fucking much!” Lance says, his words like honey and wine. They’re curt and perfect, and above all, they are everything I need to hear. After everything that I told him, after trying to drive him away… That’s the thing with love, I think. He can’t be driven away when it really exists.
“I love you too,” I tell him, my heart brimming with happiness. “But I want you to prove it to me,” I say with a smile, taking one step toward him, our mouths just two inches away from each other. Smiling back, he brushes the back of his hand against my face, tucking a stray lock of hair over my ear.
“I’ll do more than that,” he tells me, leaning in and brushing his lips against mine. I feel that familiar spark of pleasure running through me, the touch of his mouth on mine is one of the sweetest things I have ever experienced in my entire life. “Close your eyes,” he says, pulling back from me.
“Why?” My heart is starting to beat faster, anxiety crawling under my skin as every fiber of my body starts to ache for him.
“Just do it.” I comply, my eyelids drooping before he even finishes speaking. There’s something in the tone of his voice. He showed up in my life as young brash boy, but he’s maturing. He’s shaping up into a man, one who towers above all other mortals. But, in the end, it doesn’t matter how much he grows up: he will always be my Lance.
I hear him walk across the room, his sure footsteps taking him away from he. He rummages through something—one of his travel bags, I assume—and then walks back toward me. I tremble slightly as he presses something over my face, soft fabric brushing against my skin. He places it over my eyes and runs it around my head, tying the slender piece of fabric tightly. It’s a tie, an expensive one, judging by the smoothness of it.
“Now, turn around,” he whispers into my ear, his lips so close they almost brush against it. I turn on my heels, still feeling his warm breath against my neck. My skin prickles as I feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on my back, sliding over my shoulder blades until they meet the zipper on my dress, right below my neck. Slowly, he grabs the fastener and starts pulling it down, the sound of it like a melody. My naked back turned to him, he places his hands on my shoulders and gently pulls the straps down my arms, the dress drooping and falling over my chest, hanging by my waist.
I say nothing. I simply lick my lips in anticipation as he runs his fingers up my arms, hooking them on the straps of my bra and pulling them down just like he did with my dress. He unclasps it and lets it fall from my body onto the floor, my naked nipples pulsing with raw desire.
Breathing softly but at a growing pace, I’m covered in goose bumps, desire burying its long fangs. Lance is taking his time; we’re not hiding or rushing anymore, and that makes me even more anxious for his touch … for his body.
“You look lovely,” he whispers, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. Sliding his fingers over my back, he hooks them on the bunched up fabric on my waist, carefully pushing the dress down my legs. As I feel the fabric hitting the floor, I step out of it, suddenly feeling more exposed than ever. I’m only wearing my tiny lace thong and my heels and I feel more naked than ever before. He has seen me naked countless times, but I could always look into his eyes, take in his reaction. Right now, there’s only darkness—that and the warm maddening touch of his fingertips.
“I want to see you,” I say, suddenly realizing that I’m breathing way harder than I expected.