Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

FRANKIE

"What do you think you're doing?" Arlo's steady voice breaks the silence of the room, and the surprise makes me jump.

In the three weeks I've been staying here, my belly has grown so much the sudden movement knocks me off center and I topple back onto the bed I'd been climbing out of. When I woke, just a moment ago, I thought I was alone. Arlo's been sleeping on a cot he brought in, so I could have the bed to myself, and no matter how many times I've invited him to share the bed with me, he refuses. It was empty when I opened my eyes. I didn't expect him to be sitting in the chair by the door, just watching me sleep.

"Shit you scared me!" Yes, I know I didn't answer his question. We both know what he expects me to do before I get out of bed. Waking alone, or so I thought, I assumed he wouldn't know if I skipped a day. Shoulda known better. Arlo has some sort of sixth sense for when I'm feeling the effect of all these out-of-control pregnancy hormones. A sixth sense and an unwavering requirement that I bring myself off. Mostly, while he listens. It's weird. Also sweet and awkward. At this point, I've gotten used to it, and I'm unsure I can masturbate without him nearby.

"That's not an answer, Cuteness. What are you supposed to be doing before you get out of that bed?" The way he talks to me, all deep rumbly purr, feels as if there's a direct line from my ears to my clit. Just hearing him speak dampens my panties and makes me fantasize he's whispering filthy sex talk to me.

"What if I need to pee first? I am seven months pregnant, you know." Normally, I would be rushing to the bathroom, but the baby decided to stage a breakdancing competition on my bladder all night. I was up to use the bathroom so many times it's a wonder I'm not totally dehydrated.

"You don't. You were in the bathroom less than an hour ago." His attentiveness would feel stalkery from any other man. Shit, it did feel like stalking when Mark was paying attention to me.

So maybe, I should be a little apprehensive about the way Arlo has eyes and ears on me 24/7, but instead, I feel cherished. Without laying a single finger on me or forcing me to do anything for him, Arlo treats me like an adored princess. His princess. I don't hate it. In fact, I think it's the opposite. Which is confusing.

With everything Mark put me through, and everything still swirling around the Ghost Born suspect my ex is involved in, I should be terrified. Right? Mostly, the guys keep the rest of us away from the details, calling it club business. Arlo says he's protecting me and the baby from the stress of having to worry about dark shit. As if he can just command me not to be concerned about something and have it just be the way he demands.

From any other man, I'd think it was arrogance. There's something about Arlo though, an almost wariness whenever he's around me or any of the other women who live here. I can tell he's not used to being around females. But instead of being hopelessly steeped in toxic masculine bullshit, he's chivalrous and kind. Minus, of course, the pushy expectation that I'll fingerbang myself for his listening pleasure every day.

"Well, what are you waiting for? You know the routine. You need to take care of business so I can feed you and the baby before I leave for the jobsite."

That's new. For the past few weeks, Arlo's either worked from home and sent his crews out to the builds his company is working on or dragged me along with him. Since he wouldn't let me go back to my job at the insurance agency where I'd worked for nearly five years, it's not as if I have anything else to do with my days. At least, he lets me help with the paperwork, though Cameron got cranky when he found out I organized the invoices the other day.

"Aren't I going with you?" I ask.

"Not today, Cuteness. Club business after work. I'll be home late, and you need to rest. We're seeing the new OB tomorrow, remember?" Glad as I am that Arlo found me a new obstetrician, the thought of starting all over again with a stranger seeing all my most private places and everything surrounding prenatal visits has had me anxious. That's probably why today's the first day I've woken up not-horny in weeks.

"I don't need to come today, Arlo. It's fine." Let him decide what I mean.

"Let me be the judge of that. Lie back. Spread those thick thighs and slip this little fingers where you need them most." He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my forefinger and middle finger softly before guiding them between my legs and pushing my shoulder until I'm lying down. He gently lifts each leg and positions them how he'd like them, spread wide with my knees bent and tipped outward. The position isn't the most comfortable way to lie with my ever-growing baby belly, so I wiggle and twist until I'm at the head of the bed, reclining on the pillows.

Arlo returns to the chair he'd been sitting in when I first woke up and sprawls comfortably. In the soft light of the morning sun, I can see the expectant tilt of one brow as he waits for me to get on with it. My hands obey, following the routine even before my brain accepts it, and I pull my sleepshirt over the mound of my tummy, exposing my body from just under my breasts down. No panties to bed—another rule imposed by my sort of kidnapper.

"Beautiful. You said you don't need to come, but the shine of your wet girl juice is all over those plump little lips. Makes you a pretty liar." In the beginning, Arlo only listened. Lately, he's been watching more and more closely. I want him to touch me. To let me touch him. I know he won't, though. Not right now, anyway. I'm not sure what he's waiting for.

I've run through every excuse I can think of for why he won't take what I know I'd gladly give, but none seem right. At first, I thought it was because he didn't want me, but day after day, I see the hard bulge in his lap. When he pulls me close in the hallway, so none of his brothers can brush against me, he's always thick and solid where his groin presses against me. Then I thought maybe my pregnancy was a turn off, but he spends more time touching and worshiping my belly than I do.

I'm uncertain what's keeping him from giving me the dicking down that I want, but I wish whatever it is would disappear. All these weeks of my own fingers, never any toys or the very real dick I know he could give me, are getting frustrating. My fingers swirl around and around my clit, dipping into my hole and pulsing as deep as I can get them. They come out sticky with my arousal, the scent of it heavy in the room and the audible sound of my body slurping around them is louder than my panting.

I tap my fingertips against the aching knot of my clit, the slap sharp enough to drag Arlo's attention away from where my hand is ineffective at bringing me off and up to my face. My eyes well with frustrated tears as I take in the way he roughly runs his massive palm over the bulging ridge behind his zipper. I realize with bone-deep certainty that's what I need. Not my own short, skinny fingers. I need to be filled everywhere I've been too empty for too long. I need Arlo.

"Please," I beg. "Please help me. I can't… I can't get there. I need you. I need… I need…" Tears fall freely now, the tremor of this knife's edge of lust that won't topple into pleasure making me desperate.

"I've got you, Francesca. I'll always take care of what's mine." I know he's promising more than just this moment, and the snarled up stress and longing that's been choking me for weeks begins to ease.