Powerless

Chapter 28

"Whatever it is, you can tell me," is all he says. He has to know. He's a genius. Right? "You know I'm here for you." 

You nod, laying back and nestling against his shoulder, the two of you fluttering your eyes closed without continuing to push the topic. He falls asleep almost instantly, soft snores leaving his lips peppered with the occasional twitch of his arm clueing you in on the fact he's dreaming soundly. Trying to fall asleep and forget about the chaos, you lay there for a good 45 minutes, 

Sneaking out of bed, you bring your bag into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling out the blue box you've been avoiding for a couple days now. It's going to be negative, you tell yourself as you pee on the stick, tapping your feet anxiously as you wait for the result. 

The three minutes feels like an entire lifetime as you try and steady your breathing, praying to anything and everything that you're not pregnant. But as you pick up the plastic stick, the sight of two lines takes every ounce of air from your lungs. 

Panicking, you rifle through your bag and get two more of the tests you had thankfully stocked up on. Nearly 20 minutes and a full-blown panic attack later, you stare at the 3 results: 2 positive and 1 negative. Fuck. 

You can hear Spencer starting to wake up in the other room, the rustling of sheets and bare feet on the hardwood floor sending you into a tailspin. You can't tell him, at least not tonight. Not before the Halloween party that he was so excited for. 

Frantically wrapping up and throwing the tests into your bag, you collect yourself, splashing your face with cold water and opening the door. Spencer greets you with a smile, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your neck. 

"I was wondering where you went," he murmurs against the skin, sending shivers down your spine. "What time do you think we should leave here?" 

"I promised Emily I'd go to her place to get ready," you sigh, cupping his cheek when he shoots his head up with a disappointed pout. "But I'll see you there, alright?" 

His grip on your waist tightens, fingertips kneading into your side, one hand slipping down to cup your ass. His mouth suctions itself on the junction of your shoulder, mouthing sloppy kisses on the sensitive skin. You let out a shaky inhale in response to his touch, suddenly all of your stress anxiety melting away. 

"I wanted to see your costume before," he mumbles against your neck, the vibrations on your throat making you whimper. Bringing his hand from your ass to the front of your leggings, he slides it beneath both layers of fabric, circling your clit with two fingers. "You know I don't like surprises." 

"But what fun is that?" you tease, throwing your arms around his neck, toying with his overgrown hair. He wastes no time sliding two fingers inside of you, pumping deliberately as he pulls back to see your face, cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted at the feeling of his fingertips drumming against your g-spot. 

"When we get home tonight," he peppers each word with a frantic kiss to your mouth, a giggle leaving your lips when his nose bumps yours. "You're mine. Okay? I'm gonna take care of you, sweet girl. I know you've been stressed lately." 

Since reconnecting, Spencer had been cautious in the bedroom. His movements were laced with love and compassion, each hesitant thrust accentuated with a tender kiss and breathy "i love you"'s. Each time you tried to wordlessly signal you wanted it rougher by bringing his hand to your neck, he'd simply cup your cheek, pressing his forehead against yours. 

Just the other day he was fucking you deep and slow, visibly holding back the pent up frustration bubbling inside of him from work and life in general. You came first, admittedly dramatizing your post-orgasm sensitivity a little bit just to get him worked up, in the hopes he would hold your hips down and tell you to take it like a good girl, the way he used to.