Accidentally Pregnant with the Horror Boss novel · Chapter 10 of 32

Chapter 10: Midnight

He stepped back and held the door open.

I walked in.

I'd never been inside his rooms. I'd pictured cobwebs and coffins.

It was a big, plain bedroom with a fire going in the grate and candles on the mantel.

A huge four-poster bed with red velvet curtains tied back at the posts.

The sheets were turned down. The pillows were plumped.

"You sleep in the parlor," I said. "Who made the bed?"

"Mouse," he said. "Every night for eleven years. In case."

"In case what?"

"I never asked."

The clock in the hall began to strike midnight.

I sat down on the edge of the bed on the first chime.

By the twelfth, I was sitting with my hands folded in my lap.

"In a bed by midnight," I said. "Rule two."

He laughed. The real one, the one he'd forgotten how to finish. This time he finished it.

He was barefoot on the rug in his black trousers and a white shirt open at the collar.

His vest was gone. His tie was gone.

His head sat in the crook of his arm, and it was looking at me.

"Come here," I said.

He came.

I took his head from him with both hands.

"Tell me what you came here for," he said from between my palms.

"I've wanted you since the piano. I was just mad about it."

"And now?"

"Now I want you and I'm not mad."

"I can't leave, Daisy. That hasn't changed."

"I know. I'm still here."

I set his head on his neck.

It clicked into place, and his eyes closed for a second.

When they opened, he was looking down at me sitting on his bed.

I was wearing a soft gray T-shirt from the attic boxes and cotton sleep shorts and my borrowed glasses.

Nothing else.

He noticed. I watched him notice.

"Not angry," he said quietly. "Sure."

"Sure," I said.

I took a fistful of his white shirt and pulled him down.

I pulled him down and his mouth found mine before I could aim it.

He kissed like he was counting.

Like every second had a number and he was afraid of losing track.

I got his shirt open one button at a time, and he let me, his breath going rough against my cheek.

When I pushed it off his shoulders, I stopped.

Eleven years and he still had a piano tuner's arms.

My hands went flat on his chest and just stayed there.

"Say something," I said.

"You're a terrible influence," he said.

His voice had gone low, the way it did when he forgot to be formal.

"Good."

I reached for his belt.

His hand caught mine.

Not hard.

Just there, his fingers over mine, stopping me.

"Let me," he said.

"I started it."

"You'll undo me before I've begun."

He was serious.

So I let him.

He pulled my shirt off over my head.

He took my glasses off and folded them and set them on the nightstand.

Then he looked at me for so long I almost crossed my arms over my chest.

"Don't," he said.

"I wasn't."

"You were thinking about it."

"Maybe."

He put his hands on my ribs, and his thumbs moved up, slow, until they found the soft weight of me and I forgot what we were talking about.

"You're real," he said, like he hadn't been sure.

"I've been real this whole time."

"I know. I've been watching."

His mouth went to my collarbone.

Then lower.

He kissed down my chest, and every kiss was the same unhurried pressure, like he was reading me in braille.

When his mouth closed over my nipple, I made a sound I didn't mean to make.

He stopped.

"No," I said. "Don't stop."

"I wasn't going to."

He did it again, and this time I heard him exhale through his nose like it did something to him too.

I got his belt open.

Then his trousers.

He stepped out of them and stood there in the firelight, and I finally let myself look.

His cock was hard, and he didn't try to hide it, and the way he watched me look made my thighs press together.

"Come here," he said.

I stood.

He hooked his thumbs in my sleep shorts and pulled them down, and I stepped out of them.

Then his hands were on my waist and he lifted me like I weighed nothing and laid me on the bed.

The sheets were cold for half a second, and then he was over me, warm, his weight braced on his elbows.

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