Page 78 of Watch Me Burn
My body goes rigid as last night replays in fragments. Her gasps, the way she arched beneath me, and how I held her down when she tried to move away from the intensity.
I drop my hand from her face. “Did I hurt you last night?”
“No. It has nothing to do with that.” She takes a deep breath. “I was pregnant. Six weeks. I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know, but I’m not anymore. I’m having a miscarriage.”
Pregnant.
The word ricochets through my skull like a bullet.
Luna was pregnant with my child.
Blood roars in my ears. My hands flex open and closed at my sides, fingers grasping at empty air, desperate for something tangible to hold onto, to control. My pants are half-undone, and my cock is already hard, ready to take her as I always do. Now I feel exposed, caught in a moment I don’t know how to respond to.
For the first time in her presence, my cock deflates.
“Say something.” The words break in her throat. Her eyes go wide, pleading with me, searching my face for any reaction she can read.
What the fuck am I supposed to say?
That I’m sorry? That I’m angry? That somewhere deep inside the monster I’ve become is howling with what… grief?
My hands move to her waist without conscious thought. My body operates on instinct while my mind refuses to function. I need her. Need her to calm the beast that’s clawing to get out.
“I’ll go easy.” My cock hasn’t completely softened. It pushes against her belly through the fabric between us, making my desire obvious. “But I need you, Luna.”
Fury flashes across her face, and she shoves both palms hard against my chest, catching me completely off guard. I rock back on my heels.
“No. Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m having a miscarriage. I can’t have sex with you tonight. I can’t have sex for at least two weeks.”
Two weeks.
The words land like a prison sentence. Two weeks without losing myself inside her body, without feeling her fall apart underneath me, around me. Two weeks without the only thing that makes me feel human.
“My body needs to heal.”
I turn away, fumbling with my pants, trying to cage the beast that still demands I take her. My hands shake, and my fingers won’t cooperate. Her stare burns into my spine.
“So that’s it? You have nothing to say?” Her voice climbs, sharp with anger. “I tell you I was carrying your child, that I’m losing it right now, and you can’t even say you’re sorry?”
I spin to face her, rage burning through my veins. “Sorry for what? Something we didn’t know about? Something that was never supposed to happen?”
The words come out harsh, but I can’t pull them back. Can’t make them gentle. This isn’t what we do. What we have exists in the realm of flesh and possession, of dominance and surrender. Not this. Not loss and grief and things neither of us can control.
“Sorry that I’m hurting.” Her voice rises to match mine. “Sorry that I’m losing something that was part of both of us, even if neither of us knew it was there.”
I cross the space between us in two strides, using every inch of my height advantage to loom over her the way I do when I want to intimidate. She doesn't cower.
“Is that what you want? Pretty words about a clump of cells that never had a chance? Would that make you feel better, Luna?”
Her eyes fill with tears, and my stomach turns over. I’ve made her cry before. In passion. In surrender. But never like this. Never with words meant to wound. The woman I love is hurting, bleeding in front of me, looking for comfort I don’t know how to give.
“You want to know what would help? Knowing I matter to you. That I’m more than just a body you use and then leave behind.”
Her words find their mark, cutting through the man beneath the monster. We’ve talked about this. I told her she means everything. How does she not understand?
I love you!
The words lodge in my throat, thick and choking.
