Page 84 of Bartholomew
Was I breathing? Had I died? No, I wasn’t dead. Get it together, Ollie. I couldn’t think straight as I stared at that stick in her hand. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog from my brain. If she was pregnant, I needed to be strong for both of us.
“Have you taken it yet?” I asked, clearing my throat as my voice cracked like a dumbass pre-pubescent boy.
She merely nodded her head, unable to meet my gaze. I took a deep breath, steadying myself and finding my focus.
“Delilah, look at me,” I encouraged her. Her eyes met mine. They were almost glassy, filled with unshed tears. “Whatever it is, we can get through it together.”
After a long pause, she spoke. “It’s negative.”
I sat there in stunned silence.
Not because I was happy. But because a wave of emotion flooded every fiber of my being. Yes, there was a part of me that was happy — ecstatic, even. But there was an overwhelming sense of disappointment that I had not counted on, had not even remotely thought was possible. The images from earlier flooded my mind once more of Delilah chasing around a little toddler while beautifully pregnant with our second child. Children. A house full of love and laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet. I felt my heart clench in the tight fist of wanting. Wanting a future I hadn’t ever given much thought to. And at the center of that future was Delilah.
“How do you feel?” I asked her, cupping her cheek in my hand. One errant tear slid down her face.
“I don’t know how to feel,” she admitted, and I couldn’t have agreed with her more.
“I’m here,” I told her.
“I should be happy,” she laughed almost derisively. “With everything going on, bringing a baby into the mix is the worst possible thing. Plus…” she trailed off, shutting off the words she was about to say.
“Don’t close off from me, love.” The word didn’t feel as wrong on my lips now. I didn’t fight it. “Tell me.”
“Plus, when this is all over, who knows if we will even be together still?” Her words stung.
“Do you want to be together when this is over?” I asked her, my eyes searching hers for any trace of… well, I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for. Yet still I looked.
“I want to see where this goes,” she admitted, her eyes dropping.
“So do I,” I whispered. Her eyes popped back up, those tears welling up and spilling down over her cheeks.
“Gosh, I’m such an idiot for crying,” she scoffed.
“No, you’re not. Not at all. All of this is hard. It’s uncharted territory, especially for you. You only recently learned about our plan and what lies ahead. You’re knee-deep in the middle of figuring out how you feel about Zion and the church and everything. It’s overwhelming. You have every right to feel the way you feel. You have every right to be angry, or to cry, or to laugh, or whatever else you feel the need to feel,” I reassured her. Christ, I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to pull her into me and lose myself in her embrace.
“Is it wrong that I feel a little sad?” she admitted. I laughed, pulling her into my chest and holding her.
“Not in the slightest. I feel the same,” I admitted. She quickly pulled away, looking at me with wide eyes.
“You do?” she asked, shocked.
“I do! Trust me, the notion is a shock to me, too. But I can’t help it. A part of me likes the idea of you being pregnant with my child. But it’s not the right time.”
“It’s really not,” she agreed with a watery smile. “But maybe someday.”
“Someday, love.”
“Ollie? Will you kiss me?” she asked. I couldn’t contain myself a moment longer. Without taking the time to answer, my hand cupped her chin, my lips pressing against hers. I flicked my tongue over her full lower lip until she opened for me. Our sweet kiss turned heated slowly, our desire for one another pulling at each of us as we came together.
I pulled her into my lap, her thighs spreading, straddling me. She clung to me, her hand pulling me to her just as I pulled her to me.
“I need you, Ollie,” she whispered against my lips. My hips thrust up against the warm apex of her sex.
“I need you.” My hand ran over the curves of her waist, needing to touch her, needing her naked under my hands. I tugged at the skirt of her dress, hiking it up around her waist as our hips thrust against each other, grinding as we both let ourselves submit to the passion we both felt.
“Ollie,” she pleaded. My hands pulled and tugged at her dress until it came up over her head, our lips parting only long enough to remove the dress.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I murmured, pulling her lips back to mine again. I was starved for her, for the taste of her and the feel of her skin. This wasn’t about kink; it wasn’t about dominating her. It was about showing her with my lips and hands and tongue, exactly how I felt about her. Even if I couldn’t put it into words. Not even to myself. Not yet.
