“Then why haven’t you… you haven’t’ touched me in weeks.”
And she saw it, in his eyes, in the way he lowered his fingers down her arm, gaze slipping over her heavy breasts. “I don’t know, I’ve just been a little…”
“Uninterested?”
“Unwilling.”
With one curt nod, Layla rolled back to her side of the bed feeling stupid, horrified by his rejection and she tried to stay the useless tears that burned behind her eyelids. She hated, absolutely loathed, how easily she cried lately. Those damn ASPCA commercials with scrawny animals flashing doe eyes at the camera while Sarah McLachlan sang about angels and the sight of children playing in the park with their parents—would instantly turn Layla into a slobbering, sobbing mess and she hated how weak it made her feel. How ridiculous. Being rejected by your… well—she hated the phrase baby daddy, but really what else could she call Donovan—could be added to the list of “Shit That Makes Layla Snivel Like a Bee Stung Three-Year-Old.”
“Layla,” Donovan started when she couldn’t keep her annoying sniffing to herself. And when she shook her head, tucked her pillow against her chest as he touched her, Donovan only became more determined, mildly apologetic. “It’s not you…”
She elbowed him in the gut, forcing a quick grunt of air to whoosh out from his lungs. “Don’t you freakin dare give me that ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit, Donley.”
The bastard laughed. It was the first time she’d heard that sound from him in weeks and the way it elevated, grew louder, had Layla looking over her shoulders as Donovan held his stomach and fell onto his back.
“You’re an asshole,” she said, rolling back around when it looked as though he wouldn’t stop laughing.
“Yeah, brat, I know.” A few more soft chuckles and Donovan cleared his throat, again inching closer to her to touch her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but it really isn’t anything you’ve done.” When Layla kept still and silent, Donovan moved closer. “Honest. I just haven’t been, in the mood, I guess.”
She leaned over, looking up at him and she knew that her face was scrutinizing, it felt that way at least. “You’re in your sexual prime. There is no way you haven’t been in the mood.” Layla couldn’t take his frown or the way he bit his lip and he didn’t stop her when she rolled back on her side. “At least not for me, anyway.”
“Okay, now you’re just being stupid.”
“What did you say to me?”
Donovan took advantage at Layla’s turn, pulling her back against the mattress when she tried lifting her head to scowl at him. He was on top of, or at least partially to the side, as he avoided her belly, but he did hold her hands over her head and nestled between her thighs. “You’re beautiful. Why would I want anyone else?”
She snorted, not caring that his grip tightened on her wrists as though he didn’t like hearing her doubt him. “Please. I’m just the girl you knocked up, Donley. You’re perfectly free to go off and find someone who isn’t…” His mouth over hers, that warm, strong tongue charging past her lips silenced Layla instantly and the vicious snap she wanted her words to have transformed, worked its way into a low, throaty moan that vibrated in her throat when she felt Donovan thick and heavy against her clit.
He pulled back, lifting up on one hand to keep her still while he freed himself from his boxers. “Get this straight, brat this…” then he slipped inside, hard, arms shaking, and a loud, relieved groan working its way past his lips, “is all I want.” A few long thrusts and Donovan’s groan grew louder, his body relaxed as he held himself up on his elbows. “Stop… stop accusing me of shit I haven’t even thought about doing.”
She wanted to argue with him. God, how she missed that, but him inside her throbbing and searing deep against her inner muscles took any irritation, any frustration from her. “Such, oh God, such an asshole,” she tried, but even that weak insult came out breathy.
And then Donovan turned those breathy moans Layla made into loud, desperate cries as he worked inside her, brushed her sensitive nipples. She came hard, long and shaking after just a few strokes, loving how much he filled her, how raw and open he was with her right then. Donovan squeezed his eyes close, his forehead wrinkled and teeth gritted as she came over him and she knew he was close, knew that just touching his face, tugging on his blonde hair would send him over the edge, but then the baby squirmed, rustled against her stomach and Donovan instantly went still and stared down at her stomach, eyes wide, mouth opened in a shocked drop. All that heat, all the edge of his movements that were deliciously sharp and deep and drugging faltered as the baby kept moving, shifting her stomach up and around like an alien.