“Enough?” Dom murmured.
No, it wasn’t.
Dom huffed—he sounded amused. Before Jesse could feel embarrassed, Dom kissed him again. And again. He brushed his thumb along Jesse’s jaw and cradled his face. When their lips met this time, it was the slightest movement—just an exchange of breath.
It was the most intimate thing Jesse had ever done with anyone.
He wanted this to go on forever.
Unnerved, Jesse yanked himself away. “You didn’t lick me,” he blurted. Because at least that was an argument. Arguments were familiar.
Dom laughed, running his fingers down Jesse’s forearm. “Yeah? You wanted me to lick your hole, too?”
What would that feel like?
“Next time,” Dom murmured, kissing Jesse’s jaw. “I promise.”
But he reached down, easing his fingers between Jesse’s cheeks, searching out his hole. Dom stroked Jesse there, a light touch—so different from his earlier savageness—and it made all of Jesse’s nerves tingle.
Why did it always have to feel so damn good?
Dom smiled, letting his touch linger. Jesse didn’t know what had happened to make Dom’s aggression disappear. He didn’t know how to act around a Dom who liked kissing him. “What changed?” Jesse asked. “Why’re you being nice?”
Dom hesitated. “Because you haven’t had anyone be nice to you.”
“What kind of answer is that?” Jesse scowled. “I don’t need it. I’m an alpha, Dom. I’m not fragile.”
Dom was quiet for a while, unfazed. “Sure. Are you going to walk out right now? No more hugs or kisses. We can do that.”
Panic slithered through Jesse’s veins. No, he hadn’t meant for that. How did he undo it?
Before he could say a thing, Dom cracked a smile. Then he hauled Jesse close and hugged him tight, strong arms against Jesse’s back. A warm, comforting pressure that Jesse couldn’t have enough of.
“Nah,” Dom whispered. “I won’t do that to you.”
Jesse was so relieved, he almost had tears in his eyes. Almost.
He blinked hard and swallowed, sniffing at the sweat and blackwood on Dom’s skin. They were both naked, save for the torn shirt on Jesse’s back. The last time they’d stood together like this, it had been back in the locker room shower. “What’s with your kitchen, anyway?” Jesse muttered. “Why the hell don’t you have knives?”
Dom had been stroking Jesse’s back, but he paused. When Jesse leaned away to study him, he found an odd, unreadable expression on Dom’s face.
“Precautions,” Dom said guardedly.
“Against what?”
Dom didn’t answer; instead, he glanced down. He was looking at Jesse’s abdomen—at the scar.
“Tell me you haven’t thought about cutting it out.” Dom’s voice was quiet.
An oily disgust filled Jesse’s throat. “You can’t be serious.”
Dom knew how much Jesse hated what Larson had done to his body. He’d been to the medical center, he’d seen what they’d implanted inside him. And that look on his face—he wanted Jesse to hold onto that suffering? To relive it, over and over? There he’d thought Dom accepted him. “I’m not your experiment,” Jesse snarled, yanking himself away. “I just want to be fucking normal, for once!”
“That’s my baby in there,” Dom growled back. “Ours.”
“So you want me to—to keep this thing. For real.” Jesse felt like throwing up again.
“Just for now.” Dom narrowed his eyes. “Seven more months, Sinclair. What you do with it after that, I don’t care.”
At the back of his mind, a voice said that Dom wasn’t being unreasonable. But Jesse just felt betrayed, used. Shame crept up his neck, and he couldn’t meet Dom’s eyes. “I’m leaving,” Jesse said. Fuck all this about hugs and kisses. He didn’t need them from Dom.
He left the kitchen, yanking on his clothes in the bedroom. Then he stormed out through the front door, letting it slam behind him.
21
Dom Does Not Want To Grovel
So they were back to not talking again. Dom pulled into the station, rubbing his face. He hadn’t been sleeping well these past three weeks.
Nothing he’d tried worked. He’d put himself and Sinclair on a couple of calls alone, he’d tried sending Sinclair some texts. He’d even left a voice message. But he wasn’t sorry, and he most certainly wasn’t about to grovel for forgiveness.
That was his baby. He wasn’t the one carrying it, which gave him less of a say. But they had been in his house, his kitchen, and he’d had the right to remove all those knives. So Sinclair wouldn’t do something he’d regret.
It unnerved Dom, the idea that Sinclair might’ve stabbed himself to carve out that uterus. Dom didn’t want to find him bleeding somewhere, passed out because he’d lost too much blood.
He hoped Sinclair knew that.
It wasn’t just the bleeding, though. Vaguely, he acknowledged that it was unreasonable to ask Sinclair to keep the baby. Sinclair had been through more horrors than Dom could imagine. Years of torture. Having his body cut open, over and over. Being given organs he didn’t ask for.
Dom had no right to ask Sinclair to prolong his suffering, especially if it triggered his flashbacks.
So... their baby. Could that possibly justify another seven months of episodes? When each flashback filled Sinclair with so much panic?
Could Sinclair’s body handle a full-term pregnancy? What if it couldn’t? Was Dom willing to put Sinclair’s life at risk?
No, he wasn’t.
So maybe he was sorry that he’d gone and said all that to Sinclair. Maybe he shouldn’t have.
He sighed, climbing out of his truck. In the kitchen, he sat down heavily. Gareth and Harris both stared at him. “What?” he muttered.
“You look really lovesick,” Gareth said.
“Or maybe you just have a stick up your ass,” Harris added.
Dom flipped them off. He hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy. It wasn’t his body. Sinclair wasn’t even showing yet. Perhaps he would in a couple more weeks—Dom didn’t know. Would his pregnancy follow the usual milestones?
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“You said the same thing a few weeks ago.” Gareth handed him a mug of coffee. “Sex doesn’t cure anything, huh?”
“No, it just creates more problems,” Dom muttered. “Like breeding rabbits.” Harris raised an eyebrow.
It was possible that neither of them would believe him, even if he told
