A/N: The characters this FanFic is based upon are owned by the magnificent Karen Marie Moning. My use is strictly for non-commercial purposes and is in no way intended to affect the value of her series.
It's been three weeks since Ryodan came to tell me Barrons would be "delayed" in his return. He didn't offer further explanation, and I didn't ask. I know what that means. Barrons has been killed doing whatever it was they had gone to do and it will be several more days before he comes back. I know he'll come back, he always does. But it doesn't make it any easier. My heart is in a constant state of aching and my head can't seem to convince my heart to knock it off. There's no way I'll find peace until I see him with my own eyes.
At the same time, a small part of me is dreading his return.
I've kept myself busy by working with my mom on her New Dublin Green-Up projects. I now have a spectacular little garden on the rooftop. It's mostly wild flowers, lily-of-the-valley and blue bells and the like, along with as many green plants as I can keep alive. It's amazing how much vigor I get just from being around life – I can't believe I ever took it for granted. My garden keeps me occupied when I'm not too tired and it serves as a good distraction. For the most part.
What the hell was taking him so long? It hasn't taken him this long before. The waiting is driving me crazy and each day that passes just makes me more anxious about how he'll act when he finally does return. I have no doubt that he will see right through me and know my secret. Maybe he knew before he left. My restless mind had even been enough of a traitor to consider that this might be the reason for his leaving. Maybe he figured it out and decided to leave Ireland altogether, to protect himself from what he'd suffered before.
My dreams have been filled with all kinds of horrible scenarios that wrack my nerves. I lived a life without Jericho Barrons once, and it's not something I can bear a second time.
But of course he's gone, said that too-familiar voice inside me. You have served your purpose to him, now he seeks other things. I shake my head in an attempt to knock it out. In my angst these past weeks, the glassy lake in my head has unfrozen and began tempting me once more. That this virus keeps residence inside me – has invaded me since I was just a fetus in my mother's womb – is also high on my list of concerns right now. A high enough concern that I seem to have temporarily lost the ability to keep it silent.
Do not fear me¸ I have only ever desired to make you greater. We will both share what is needed, we will offer sustenance and protection, it purred. Yea right, I thought. Like I'm going to let that happen.
The voice is quiet and I am once again the only one in my head. Minutes tick by, then hours. I continue to sit in front of the fire, unable to make myself move to the bed that we've shared for so many months now. Unable to make myself climb the stairs to the other room that was mine for so many months before that.
I must doze off because I am suddenly awake and alert. I go into defense-mode, until I feel an electric charge running through my body, causing all my muscles to tense up in arousal. I relax, letting out a half-laugh, half-sob, and close my eyes in a quick prayer of gratitude. When I open them again, he is kneeling before me. I am not startled anymore by his ability to move so swiftly and quietly that he seems to appear out of thin air. I reach my hand out and gently stroke his cheek, just to make sure I'm not dreaming or being tricked. Old habits die hard.
My brow rises sardonically. 3 days, my petunia, my eyes say to him.
I didn't say 3 earth days. Try not to be so literal, his eyes say back, with a hint of that familiar mockery.
But I can sense his unease. I'm just not sure how much he suspects. Or how much he knows for certain. And I'm not ready to have that conversation yet; my heart is too full from seeing him here in front of me. Alive. I need him so badly it aches. I know he feels the same way.
His ancient eyes burn with lust and his hands are in my hair pulling my head to meet his. Then our mouths are together and his tongue slips into mine. He eases me down on the couch and stretches his large body over mine. I can feel the hard length of him against my leg, straining to be freed from his pants. He moves against me and my legs spread automatically to make room for him. He kisses me as if he was starved and I respond with equal hunger. His hands slide up my shirt and cup my breasts. He gently pinches my nipples and I moan into his mouth, my hips arching up in anticipation.
Then my shirt is off and his mouth replaces his hands. I slide my fingers into his rich, thick hair and pull his head even closer. His mouth leaves my breast and moves lower, leaving a trail of hot kisses down my stomach. He unbuttons my pants and slides them off. We've both given up on wearing underwear because too many pairs have been destroyed as casualties of our love making. There is nothing between his mouth and me.
I come with the first stroke of his tongue, crying out in ecstasy. He continues his ministrations, alternating between slowly licking and sliding his tongue deep inside me. I throw my arms over my head and grab hold of the arm of the sofa for dear life, then use it as leverage to push myself against his incredible mouth. He slides two fingers deep inside me while making circles around my center with his tongue. I come again and beg him to fuck me. The words no sooner leave my mouth than he is naked and pushing inside me.
His body is so beautiful. Every muscle is toned and rippling. He moves with the grace of an animal and I am still in awe of him, no matter how many times I've seen him naked. He stretches me and fills me beyond human possibility. He throws both of my legs over one shoulder and throws his head back in a roar of satisfaction as he begins driving in and out of me. I hold on to the armrest with a death grip as I feel yet a third orgasm coming on. He begins to thrust wildly, pushing my knees into my chest. I am amazed at how deep he is inside me. It is my last thought before we explode together.
We make our way to our bedroom. We stop several times along the way. We still haven't spoken a real sentence. He carries me in and lays me on the bed, stretching himself alongside me.
"Did you accomplish what you set out to?" I asked him, carefully phrasing my question so as not to upset him with specifics about his mission. The last time I asked him too many details, it nearly caused him to change into the beast in front of my eyes and he barely managed to keep control. It wasn't hard to figure out why. By his own rules, I would be killed if I learned too much about the curse he and his men suffer. I suspect the only reason I've been spared this long is because I've proven myself useful in their eyes. It probably doesn't hurt that I'm nearly impossible to kill, either.
He gives me a smirk of satisfaction, trailing a finger down my cheek and neck, then over my shoulder and down the curve of my body. "I think you could say that. Several times, in fact," he replied. Typical Barrons, avoiding my question. I roll my eyes. Then I close them, a small pang of grief running through me as I remember what I've suffered the past month, waiting for him to return. He senses this and props himself up on his elbow.
"Care to share what's on your mind?" he asks, as if he doesn't know. I can tell he is slightly pleased that I'm upset it took him so long to return. Not because he enjoys my suffering, but because it means I care he was gone. He's wrong though, that's not the only reason I'm upset.
It takes me some time before I respond. "I thought you might not be coming back…I thought you might have left for good this time." I don't look him in the eye.
I have surprised him; that was not what he expected. He pulls me close, turning my head so I look him in the eye. "I'll always come back for you, as long as you want me to. You know that, Mac," he says gently, with a hint of suspicion. "There's something you're not telling me."
I sense the tension in his body. It is so thick it envelops the entire room. There's no way I can get out of this conversation now, he's too attuned to any slips of the truth I might make to delay telling him.
"Jericho, I—," I can't finish the sentence.
"I recommend you say what it is you have to say, Ms. Lane. The quicker, the better. I find I'm no longer feeling as patient as I was." His use of my last name stings and I flinch. Like that's going to get me talking. I roll over and give him my back which does nothing to persuade him to drop the subject. He is over me in an instant, pinning my shoulders to the bed and holding himself above me so I am forced to look at him. I can feel his arousal against my thigh, but I know it is out of anger rather than lust. It's still distracting.
He stares at me for several moments before something in my face causes him to change his tone.
"Mac…" he says imploringly, his eyes full of concern. It undoes me.
"I'm pregnant," I spit out, then hold my breath.