The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Thirteen

Fox's mind went very, very blank. He wasn't sure that had ever happened before. Because there was the sort of wiped-slate state he could push himself into in the heat of battle, at a crisis point during an op: a controlled sort of mental lockdown that kept him emotionless and engaged in only the practical aspects of the engagement.

There was that.

And then there was blank blank. Blue screen. A frozen hourglass.

Eden's tired face scrunched up, and her eyes glimmered, and she looked exhausted and more than a little hopeless. He noted this, but wasn't able to feel any way about it at all.

I'm sorry, Charlie can't come to the phone right now...

He blinked. "I'm sorry," he said, in a flat voice. "It sounded like you said you were–"

"Pregnant."

"Yes. That."

"I am."

"Pregnant?"

"Yes."

He blinked some more. "Okay."

"Okay? Okay?"

Oh. He'd said the wrong thing, hadn't he?

In his defense, he'd never expected to hear that word directed at him, though. He was always careful, never left anything to chance.

At least, before he'd gotten back together with Eden. Before he'd gotten comfortable.

Abe's voice sounded in his head: It's okay to do indulgent things, but people like us, we can't ever get too comfortable. We can't ever forget how quickly things can go tits-up.

Eden stood, hand held out as if to ward him off, though he hadn't moved. "No, you know what? Forget it. It's fine. I don't know why I expected you not to be you."

He could hear the checked tears in her voice, hear the hitch in her breath – but he sat stone-still in his chair, and listened to her bare footfalls hurry to the staircase and up them. Listened to her bedroom door slam shut.

Well. Bollocks.

~*~

For most of his life, Reese's understanding of sex had been this: that it was something the men who owned him partook in, and that there was a lot of grunting and swearing and repetitive motion involved. He knew that his sister had never wanted it, when Badger and his ilk had pressed it upon her, but that she'd lied still and compliant because they'd threatened to hurt him if she didn't. Those had been empty threats, because of the two of them, Reese had been the greater asset, and he'd known, when Badger leaned into his face, breath reeking of whiskey, and vowed to make it hurt worse next time for Kris if Reese didn't allow himself to be locked into his room like a good little weapon, that he wasn't lying.

Sex was for handlers; for owners. Sex had never been for weapons like him.

But Tenny had changed all that. Reese had thought he might prove indifferent to sex, but once he'd tasted it, he'd started to understand why it was something regular people got addicted to. He'd enjoyed being with the club girls, their curves, and their perfume; their soft sounds, and the plush heat of being inside them. The release that came with coupling always left him as loose-limbed as if he'd taken a muscle relaxer; he woke the next day easy and centered, focused in a way he'd never expected. He hadn't ever thought of himself as someone who was "pent-up," but the sex always seemed to clean him out, so to speak, and he was sharper, after the immediate post-coital haze wore off.