Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Nine

His eyes slant at the hint of promise in my voice, the octave it raises to entice him into the water with me. When his lips purse, I know he's going to resist me.

"I have no suit. And I refuse to give up. You haven't eaten all day."

"It's cold out there."

He smirks, holding up one of the robes from our room, proving that he's always one step ahead of me. Begrudgingly, I begin to move toward the stairs to exit. His eyes are greedy, traveling over my scantily clad body as I approach, squeezing the water from my hair and I feel it—everywhere.

"Look at me now," I warn with a smile. "In a few months, it's not going to be a pretty sight."

"Oh? Is that so?"

I nod, humming. "I'm going to blow up and gain weight. My skin is going to stretch out. I'm going to be emotional and crazy..."

He holds out the robe, which is soft and thick, the perfect thing to keep out the chill. "You certainly seem to know quite a bit for someone who has never thought of kids."

"I looked to remind myself why I was taking birth control," I joke, drying myself with the towel first. I hear him scoff, and turn to the food.

"You're incorrigible."

"Always."

He glares at me as I sit down on the opposite patio chair, crisscross, and wrap the robe around my body. The food he's brought is clearly room service, and smells gourmet.

"I'm going to start liking weird foods too. Like pickles or something. And you're going to have to deal with it. Pickles."

"Pickles?"

I smirk, slowly. "Yes. You're going to have to run out and get me pickles at all times in the night. I'm going to wake you up and tell you to go, and you're going to have to get dressed and find them for me."

"Doesn't sound too bad," he says, removing the silver lids. His nonchalance is irritating.

"Well, what about when I don't fit into any of my clothes? When I groan having to get up? Or when I don't want to have sex anymore?"

"I'm pretty sure that's a myth."

"It's not." It could be. I'm just spitting out things now. They don't faze him.

He looks at me, soundly. "Then I'd make you want me."

I bite my lip, exhaling. "And how do you plan to do that?"

When he abandons the food, and leans over, grabbing ahold of the lounge chair on either side of me, and drags it—and me—toward him, my heart leaps to my throat. The screech of the metal still echoes in my ear when his lips press to my throat, and trail upwards until he's at my mouth, which is gasping.

"Easy. I'd remind you how much you love me."

He smiles against my quivering lips, hearing my sigh of defeat.

"I give up," I confess, reluctantly.

"Good," he replies cheerfully, immediately turning back to our food, having handled his crazy almost-bride. My mouth slims, hating how calm he is about all of this. A baby...how the hell is he so calm?

"Your eyes are physically burning through my skin," he says with a chuckle, handing me a plate. I'm too busy looking at him to really focus on the food atop the fancy china, but whatever it is smells divine.

He turns, so we're sitting face to face, both crisscross on our respective chairs.

"How are you so calm? How?"