Page 124 of Wicked Deceit
“What is this life?” I groan, slapping a hand to my forehead. I walk next to Carter as he leans over the railing from the second floor and lean against it with a sigh, staring at the men I love below. Each one is spread out on the four couches we’ve placed in the living room and lounge back, eating snacks.
“This isn’t a competition,” Zepp remarks with furrowed brows, looking toward the other two. Yes, Zepp, my man of reason. “But if it were, I’d win.” He sports a cocky grin, earning a frown from Chase, who throws a damn chicken wing at him.
“A chicken wing?” Zepp curses, jumping to his feet with a frown, staring down at the offending barbeque chicken wing. He huffs at the mess, muttering about them being unruly, messy assholes. He hurries off, gets a cleaner, and douses the BBQ sauce to death.
“Uh, no. I’d win. This cock was made for just that!” Chase says, scrunching his nose in protest while staring down at his junk. He shakes his head. “That kid is mine. I bet three thousand it’s mine,” Chase says, staring up at me with a grin splitting his face.
“You ready for this, Sweetheart?” Carter asks, throwing his arm over my shoulder and pulling me in, kissing my temple.
“Mmmm,” I hum as they continue to up the bet, higher and higher, until it reaches ten grand. “With you all by my side? Yes. I’m ready for anything.”
Even a tiny baby that will come out of my small vagina. And hours upon hours of painful labor. I'll make it through anything as long as these boys are by my side because we have already been through so much.
Fire.
Bullets.
Knives.
Hurtful words.
Our love has conquered all, and it will remain that way forever.
Nine Months Later
Ouch. Pain. Shit.
Not today, little Satan. You stay inside of me. I have one more final test to take, and I’m done with college. So, you little devil spawn, you can't come out yet. Just give me like a day to get my shit sorted!
I rub a hand over my protruding stomach, mentally pleading with my tiny human. Please stay in. And in return, I get a kick. Or maybe it was a punch? Or a contraction. Fuck. I don't know. But it was there, confirming to me my little guy was active. Usually, he's pretty calm and barely moving, but today, he's moved around a lot, pushing through my stomach. He seems unsettled. Maybe that's why he's trying to force his way out because he’s out of damn room and wants to meet his mama and papas. Well, we’re eager to meet him, too. Just not today.
I check my phone when I waddle through the kitchen and curse at the time. It’s eleven-thirty, and if I don’t get my round ass to my next class, I’ll never make it on time for my exam. And my professor, who is a real asshole, will lock the doors before I can enter. Chase stalks around the kitchen, gathering a sandwich and a small bottle of orange juice, and the moment he sees me, he shoves them into my hands. I immediately drink the orange juice, loving the flavor as it spills over my tongue, and shove the sandwich down my throat. I groan when I lick my fingers, getting every bit into my greedy stomach. Honestly, he could probably make me a few more, and I’d down them in two seconds.
“Eat, drink, and then I’ll walk you to class,” he says with a grin, kissing my cheek. “And you little fella, be a good little boy so mama can take her last exam in peace.” My heart swells when he bends down and talks to my stomach in a soothing voice, rubbing his hand all over it. He grins more when my stomach tightens against his hand, and I hold my breath. “He’s really at it today, isn’t he?” Chase asks, peering at me with love brewing in his eyes.
“Yeah,” I breathe, trying not to let him know what he felt wasn’t the baby but a dull ache forming in my lower abdomen like a contraction. A contraction I can’t have right now because I have a test I have to take to get my degree. Shit.
Labor lasts over forty-eight hours, right? So, I have plenty of time to take this test, come home, go to the hospital, and have this baby. Yeah, it’ll all work out. I just have to make it through.
“Eat the fucking food,” Carter barks, marching through the kitchen with a coffee cup in his hand and placing it in the sink.
“Demanding ass bastard,” Chase murmurs, kissing my cheek, and steps away to grab his keys. “She already ate, asshole.” He sends Carter a scathing look, earning a shrug in response.
Carter smirks when he turns around and cocks his head, checking me up and down with scrutinizing eyes. Every morning it’s been the same thing since we passed the thirty-six-week mark a few days ago. He checks to make sure I’m okay and not in labor before he begins his day by locking himself in his office. Now, he keeps his phone on him twenty-four-seven since we’re in the final countdown. And apparently, today is the day, or not. I stare down at my stomach and raise a brow. My sister mentioned something like Braxton hicks contractions coming and going before the baby and how she had some. Even my doctor said not to freak out too much. I’m fine. We’re totally fine and not in labor.
I shake my head when Carter drops to his knees in front of me in the kitchen and rubs a large hand over my stomach several times. It’s almost as if he knows I’m having small contractions here and there and is trying to feel them so he can force me to go to the hospital.
“Kiss for luck,” he murmurs to the baby, pressing a long kiss into my stomach.
“Up here, Big Guy,” I murmur, pointing to my lips, and he chuckles.
“Kiss for luck for my baby momma,” he murmurs against my lips, pulling me hard against him. He groans, slipping his tongue past my parted lips, and his dances with mine.
“No, no,” I groan, feeling another tight kick to my stomach. “I have a test, and I can’t afford to get pregnancy horny right now.” He smirks, holding my face in his hands. I pout when my pussy flutters, and I want him to bend me over the damn kitchen table for more luck before taking my test.
“No sexy time,” Chase says, coming up behind me. “She has one more test, and then..”
“We’re all done,” I groan when Carter takes my bottom lip between his teeth. My eyes roll into my head when his hard-as-steel dick pokes through his basketball shorts and grinds against me. “I’m two seconds away from saying fuck it,” I murmur when he chuckles.
