Crushed (Breaking the Rules Series Book 5) (4 page)

Eighteen Weeks Pregnant

I’m freaking the hell out. Earlier, when I was on the miscarriage support group site, a woman said that her pregnancy was fine until she drank a cup of coffee. Coffee! I’ll have Jackson throw it all way when he gets home. Another lady said that she started spotting after sex. That one made me want to throw up.

Sex is our thing. Sex has always been our thing. If we take that out of the equation, what are we?

What about the baby?

The baby is more important than sex. We’ll just have to deal for five more months.

“Baby, I’m home. I brought dinner,” Jackson’s voice booms from the living room.

I snap the laptop shut and slide it between the bed and the nightstand. He’ll be furious with me if he finds out I was reading those stories again.

“I’m in here,” I call out to him. My hair is a wavy mess from having let it air dry after my shower last night. I’m still in my nightgown. I don’t even know if I brushed my teeth today.

When his broad frame enters the doorway, I bring the blanket to my chin and look over at him innocently. Immediately, though, he’s onto my game.

“What are you doing?” His voice is full of suspicion. He knows.

“Nothing,” I lie, which earns me a glare from him.

He stalks over to my side of the bed and plants a kiss on the top of my head before disappearing into the closet to change.

I’ll have to tell him. Most importantly, I’ll have to tell him about the lady who had sex and later miscarried. We can’t take any chances.

“Jackson,” I holler. My voice is shaky. Unsure.

“Yeah, babe?”

We can’t have sex.
“We need to talk.” Rubbing my palms across my face, I suppress a whine. I really don’t want to have to tell him this, but it needs to be said.

“Can we talk over dinner?” he asks as he emerges from the closet, looking good enough to eat in a pair of loose jeans and a fitted, black T-shirt.

No.
“Yes, of course.” I’d rather tell him now, but I’m too much of a wussy. How will ten more minutes make a difference?

“How was your day?” he murmurs as he approaches my bedside.

I chew on my lip. “Terrible.” That’s not a lie.

He sighs and cups my cheek with his warm hand. “Why was it terrible?”

My tears blind me for a moment, and I shake my head. Leaning down, he presses a long kiss to the top of my head again. I want to slide my hands around his neck and hold on for dear life. Things feel warmer, safer—happy, even—when he’s around. I need his strength.

“I’ll get supper ready. Come out when you’re ready.” After a sweet stroke of his hand through my hair, he leaves me.

The tears roll down my cheeks and I choke back a sob. What am I doing? Jackson loves me. He’ll understand.

Sliding out of the bed, I swipe my tears away and then pad out of the room. I find him in the kitchen dishing out food from containers onto plates. While he’s busying himself with his task, my heart aches. That man does everything he can for me. I love him so damn much.

I walk up behind him and slide my arms around his waist from behind. Even after a full day at work, he smells so good. I’m lost in his scent—in the sweetness that is him—until it hits me.

Another smell. A smell so delicious that I want to scream.

“How could you?” I hiss as I wrench myself away from him.

He looks over his shoulder at me in confusion. My eyes flit over to the white gravy dripping from the spoon and I burst into tears.

“Babe—”

“No! I told you I couldn’t eat that toxic shit and you brought it here anyway. What is wrong with you?” Tears angrily stream down my face, and I practically run back to our bedroom. Then I slam the door behind me and flip the lock.

Never have I locked my husband out before.

Never.

Why would he do that to me?

My stomach growls. It’s angry at him for teasing me.

A pound on the door makes me jump. I scamper over to the bed and crawl back under the covers.

“Goddammit, Andi! Open the fucking door!” Another beat of a fist on the door.

“No! You knew I couldn’t eat that shit, yet you brought it home anyway. What are you trying to do to me?” My voice is so high pitched that I barely recognize it.
Who am I?

“Andi, baby, open the goddamn door. Now.” His words are soft yet somehow so powerful.

“No.”

Another slam of a fist to the door.

And then silence.

A loud sob escapes me. Did he leave
? Jackson, please don’t leave me.

Seconds later, I hear a clinking noise—metal against metal.

“Jackson Compton, don’t you open that door!”

He ignores me as he sets to jimmying the doorknob with what sounds like a screwdriver. After only a minute or two, the door handle falls to the carpet with a thud and the door swings open with a crack against the wall.

I turn my head away from him and stare at our thick, cream-colored carpet as he storms over to me. I expect anything from him—anything but what he does. Jackson should yell or throw something. My Jackson doesn’t cry, and he certainly doesn’t crawl onto the bed, yank the covers away, and bury his head into my lap while begging me to let him help me.

Who is this man?

Who am I?

“Andi, please,” he cries and hugs my waist tight.

Tears shamelessly fall down my cheeks. There’s something about when your husband cries that rips your heart right in two. I’ve lost seven babies.
Seven.
Not once did he shed a tear. Yet now, when we’re the furthest along in a pregnancy, he bawls his eyes out, soaking my nightgown with his tears.

Doing what feels right, I slide my fingers into his hair and massage his scalp. My instinct is to comfort him. The love of my life is
broken.
How do I fix him?

We hold each other for minutes. Or an eternity. Time disappears. It’s just him, me, and our unborn baby. Together, we fiercely clutch one another—neither of us making any moves to let go. Jackson is my forever.

After his tears disappear and all that can be heard are the ragged breaths each of us take, I finally speak.

“You should have brought a chicken salad,” I joke. It sounds fake, but my words are meant to lighten the mood.

He laughs softly. “Remember that time Jordan arrived with takeout and forgot the slice of chocolate meringue when Pepper was pregnant with Mia?”

Now, it’s my turn to giggle—and it’s real. “Oh my God, I thought she was going to claw his eyeballs out.”

He props himself up on his elbows and lifts his head up to look at me. His eyes are still red from crying. He breaks my heart.

“Andi, you just had a Pepper moment.”

I gasp in shock. “I did not!”

Chuckling, he eases me backwards as he climbs to cover my body. Heat floods every inch of me, and my flesh burns where he touches me.

“You did. It’s a good thing I love you,” he teases with a chaste kiss to my lips.

Once I’m settled on my back, he sidles in next to me on one elbow. His dark eyes devour my face as if he will suddenly unlock the mystery of life and I’m holding the key. I innocently blink at him. Nothing makes sense to me. Just him.

His lips dip down to mine again, and he kisses me with a love so fierce that my heart physically aches. When his hand palms my cheek and slowly trails down along my jaw and to the side of my neck, I whimper. Then he continues to kiss me reverently as his hand reaches my sore, much larger breasts. From experience, he knows to be gentle. Delicately, he teases the flesh through my nightgown with his long, firm fingers.

Those fingers. I want them on me. Inside me.

“Jackson.” My voice is a ragged plea against his lips as his hand continues the journey over my slightly swollen belly and then down farther. I’m not supposed to want this. The website said—

When his fingers slide along my flesh and skitter over my sex, my hips magnetically lift to him. All thoughts of anything else but him are obliterated as he consumes me. Rather forcefully—a stark contrast to his sweet kisses—he pushes my nightgown out of the way. As he slips his warm hand into my panties, I let out a gasp. His middle finger playfully circles around my opening—testing my desire for him.

I’m completely wet for him. I’m always wet for him.

“My God, you’re too much.” His voice is gruff against my lips.

I don’t understand what he means. Am I too much for him to handle? Has this pregnancy made me unbearable to be around?

“Stop, Andi. Let me touch you. Get out of your head. I love you.”

And in an instant, everything disappears again. All but him. All but the finger that is now tentatively pushing into me. Even though my body is swollen inside—engorged with blood from being pregnant—his finger makes me feel fuller.

With each in-and-out action, he drags more and more wetness from me. His finger is soaked, and now that his thumb is pressing against my clit, I feel like I’m flying. The darkness that’s kept me in its steely clutches has been cast aside as I freely enjoy his touch. My eyes roll back as every nerve ending in my body homes into the kisses, his finger, his scent. Blackness, even behind closed eyes, is chased away by sparkling bursts of light. As a full-on shudder seizes my body, lights flicker no matter how tight my eyes are clamped shut.

“Jackson!” Did I shout his name? Did I whisper it?

My skin burns, yet I feel shivers coursing through me. My energy quickly depletes and my body relaxes against our soft bed.

Responsible thoughts claw at me to ignore the glorious feeling of him now pushing my nightgown up over my body and tossing it to the floor. Thoughts of other moms on the website are cast aside as he removes my panties. When I open my eyes and risk a glance at him, I’m sure he’s put me under some sort of spell.

I watch in awe as he efficiently removes his clothes with only one goal in mind.

Me.

All I see is the pure, perfect love in his eyes as he opens my legs and gently pushes his thickness into me. We both gasp at the sensation—me being filled, him filling me. Thoughts are gone. Sensations are all we have left. As he covers my body with his and tastes my lips and tongue, I get lost in him. With each thrust into me and every claw mark I deliver on his back, we twist deeper and deeper into the love that binds us.