43. Renee

”Weston—”

”Don”t ‘Weston’ me.” He slams the door behind him, shoving the lock slot closed. When he rounds on me, his eyes are blazing and there”s a hefty splatter of what looks like freshly-tried-to-clean-up blood on his jersey.

He”s a messy, beautiful, walking disaster.

”Shouldn”t you be on the ice?”

”Should. Got ejected.”

”W-Why?—”

”Something about slamming a guy into the ice and beating his face in will do that.”

I don”t need to ask why Weston committed what would be assault anywhere else. The answers are written all over him. And the cause was projected on the damn Jumbotron.

He takes a step toward me, backing me against the sink. His arms cage me there and an electric current courses between us. My eyes don”t leave his, even as their molten gaze threatens to burn me to my core.

Honestly, I don”t think I”d have a problem with it.

”Why?” he rasps, his voice liquid darkness.

”What—”

”Why are you here? After that fat ‘fuck you’ at the park, you show up to my game?”

I swallow, though my throat feels like it’s lined with sandpaper. ”Deacon got tickets.”

”Oh, Deacon got tickets,” he mocks. ”Did Deacon also buy this fucking dress? Did Deacon parade you around his friends like this? This is what you chose, Renee, isn’t it? Huh? Isn’t it?”

It”s about to come, I know it. The final nail in the coffin—Weston seeing me exactly the way Deacon already did.

Some bimbo slut. Arm candy. Plaything. Shiny, useless bauble.

I jut my chin out, like I don”t even care.

But I do. I care so, so much.

”Go on. Say what you need to and get it over with,” I bite out.

Prove everything Deacon and my parents think about me right. Abandon me. Hate me.

Forget me, Weston Scott.

Forget you ever gave a shit about me to begin with.

I wait for it. The anticipation—the anxious, gut-wrenching kind—claws its way from my stomach up my throat. Maybe it”s the cowards” way out, hoping for Weston to deliver the final-final blow to our relationship.

But Weston never plays by the rules.

Weston Scott does what he damn well pleases.

Now is no exception.

His nostrils flare. ”Alright. I”ll tell you something. I think this whole thing is bullshit. Your relationship with that tepid fuck is bullshit. This back-and-forth between us is bullshit. You say you chose this? Bullshit. I say fuck that.”

”I don”t really think it matters what you say?—”

”Then you tell me something,” he interrupts. “Tell me you wanted to kiss him back there, Renee. Because from where I was standing, there was nothing about that that you wanted. That was him laying a claim that isn’t his?—”

”And what? It”s yours?” I challenge shakily.

Don”t give in, don”t give in. Resist with everything you have.

”Prove me wrong then.” He says it like it”s simple. ”Look me in the eyes and say it, Renee.”

I look him in the eyes…

… but I can”t say it.

My mouth literally struggles to form the words. It moves, but no sound comes out.

I shake.

He smirks.

”Thought so.”

Then Weston”s mouth crashes to mine.

I give in so easily. He tastes nothing like Deacon. Weston is all salty sweat and iron blood. The tang of him clings to his teeth and tongue and it dances across my palate as we kiss.

He”s the only one I want like this.

He”s the only one I want at all.

”You know how bad I want to rip his head from his fucking neck?” Weston growls, hoisting me onto the counter. My nearly-nothing dress rides up, exposing my distinct lack of panties. He grips my bare thighs, glances down, and then glares up at me. ”He”s trying to turn you into some cheap trophy to show off to his little country club buddies. I”m not having it, Renee. You”re more than that shit.”

Weston jerks my hips toward him. His cock is rock-hard beneath his pants as it presses between my legs.

”Say you”re mine.”

I swallow. Heat radiates like molten sun from between my thighs. I shouldn”t submit, shouldn’t cave—I need to put a stop to this before Deacon gets suspicious.

Biting my lip, I shake my head. I’m pleading with my eyes because I know this time will be the final surrender that keeps me tied to Weston. It’ll mean saying fuck all my plans, fuck playing ball with my parents and Deacon and the silver-spooned world they inhabit. If I surrender now, all I”ll want is to make this work with Weston no matter the cost.

Weston”s nostrils flare again and he lets me go—but he doesn”t stop there. He undoes his pants, pulling his hard cock free. With his forehead pressed to mine, he sheaths himself inside me. It”s a single, sudden movement that makes us one. Gasping in tandem, our eyes lock.

And just like that, I know that there’s no point in fighting it anymore.

I”m his.

I was always going to be his.

Weston moves inside me, leaving no part of me untouched. His cock curves within my aching pussy, touching all the parts of me that make me squirm. I”m soaked. I tighten around him. I cling to him.

I don”t want to let him go.

”Say it, Renee.”

Looking him in the eyes, I can”t hold back. ”I”m yours,” I relent. ”I”m yours, I”m yours, I’m yours…”

The words come out sobbed. A pleasured exaltation that drives me close to the edge and forces me over. I burst and my whole body tightens. It”s that kind of limb-shaking, breath-stopping orgasm that wholly takes me off-guard.

Weston”s no better off. His nails dig into my thighs. He presses deep, so deep I can”t help but gasp. He”s so deep that my over-sensitive insides flutter around him—a thrumming cadence that coaxes out his own climax. He buries his face into my throat with a keening moan. His voice is gravelly, rough. Just the way I like it. Weston fills me, so much and so thick that some of his cum slides out between us.

Oops. We”ll need to clean that up.

But not yet. For just one more breath, or maybe a few more, we can afford to wait. We stay like that for several precious moments. An entwined mess, panting and sweating all over each other. I cross my legs across his back, locking at the ankles. The angle keeps him pressed up against that sensitive patch of nerves deep within me.

He moans again. ”You’re gonna start up round two,” he accuses gruffly. His hips roll, slightly nudging the head of his softening cock against that spot again.

I bite my lip, nuzzling him. ”Tell that to your impending refractory period,” I tease.

”Doesn”t exist, P. Not with you.”

Weston does pull out, though. Slow. Tantalizing. I shudder at the loss of him and the instant cooling that fills in his absence.

He chuckles under his breath. “Stay still. Let me clean you up. Kinda made a mess of you. My bad.”

I don”t tell him that it”s okay—that it doesn”t even matter. I can”t get any more pregnant than I already am, after all.

I should tell him. Now’s the time, right? When could possibly be better?

Weston retrieves a plush towel from the cabinet and gets it nice and hot under the faucet water. Gently, he presses it between my thighs. He slowly cleans up the mess there. I sigh. The comfort of all of this keeps me relaxed, hazy, delirious.

”I miss having you like this.” Weston sets aside the soiled cloth. His arms bar me in, propped on either side of me. But they’re not necessary—his gaze holds me in place just as good as his physical touch does. ”Come home with me. We can figure out the rest of this later. But leave that jackass up there for now.”

”I—”

”Renee? Renee!”

An obnoxious, insistent banging knock rattles the bathroom door. My skin turns to ice and I know all the color drains out of me.

Deacon.

I look up to Weston, panic clear in my expression.

”Renee!”

All the bliss of being with Weston evaporates in an instant. Deacon”s nasally voice cuts sharply through my mind. Reality sets in deep.

I”m screwed.

The door rattles as Deacon continues to try to get in.

What am I going to do? What am I?—

”Breathe. I got this.”

Weston puts his hands on my cheeks. He pulls me to him and presses a tender kiss to my forehead. Then, before I can say anything, he pulls from me and goes to the door. With all the confidence of a saint, Weston unlocks the latch and opens it.

”What the fuck do you want, asshole?”

Well, that”s a hell of a way to greet a man whose fiancée you just fucked, that”s for sure.

“Weston. Fucking. Scott.” Deacon”s voice drips with venom as he spits out Weston”s name. He shoves his way into the bathroom, with Weston keeping his body between Deacon and mine.

”You fucking whore,” he sneers around Weston”s shoulder.

I feel Weston’s immediate anger like the air got twenty degrees hotter in an instant. “Watch your mouth, buddy. I will put you through a fucking wall.”

Judging by Weston”s tone…

… he”s not bluffing.