Chapter 18: Drawn to Mr. King: Chapter 18

I WRAP MY ARMS around myself as the chill in the evening air tries its best to permeate through my olive-green wool coat.

I didn’t expect to be standing here on a Wednesday evening—outside Jaxon’s apartment, with my hand hovering over the intercom. I tried to call him yesterday evening like we agreed, but he never picked up. Then his phone was off all day today, and Tina said he’s taken a sick day. She seemed shocked about it and said she couldn’t even remember him ever taking a day off before.

It’s got me worried. I know him well enough to know that it’s not like him to not answer when he’s expecting my call. I’ve needed to talk to him more than ever. There must be a good reason for his disappearing act.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I use one hand to dig it out.

Rachel: I wish I could have been there for you when you get home from telling him.

I smile as I type out a reply.

Me: It’s okay. We can have a full de-brief when you get back.

I lock the screen and slide it back into my pocket.

The truth is, I wish more than anything my housemate, Rachel, was home right now. I don’t know how this evening is going to go or if Jaxon is even home. Knowing that I’m not going back to an empty house would have been some comfort, at least. She has been amazing since I told her about the pregnancy. I think it stirs up some emotions for her, as she grew up never really remembering her real mum. She jokes about how she’s a shining example of the foster system, being thrown around from home to home. But she’s hard on herself. She’s the most incredible, loyal friend. And she’s proved it, even more, every day since I told her I was pregnant.

I just hope Jaxon’s reaction is as positive.

I reposition the shopping bag I’m holding into my other hand and press the button for his apartment. His building is serviced, with a reception concierge. But they must be away from their desk as the door is locked.

There’s a long pause before he answers.

“Megan? What are you doing here, Princess?”

His voice makes me jump. He sounds… okay. Able to talk, anyway. If he can talk, why couldn’t he answer his phone?

I look up at the camera above the door and hold up the shopping bag.

“Tina told me you were sick, so I brought you some supplies.”

He sighs down the intercom, and for a horrible, stomach-twisting moment, I expect him to tell me to go away.

Something isn’t right.

“Come up,” he says, and the door clicks.

I take the lift, which seems to take forever and a day to reach the top floor, where Jaxon’s apartment is. The delay gives my nerves even longer to multiply. My palms are sweating, thinking about how I’m going to tell him and how he’s going to react. It still doesn’t seem real to me. The time I have spent staring at that test over the last couple of days… those two lines. But now the shock is wearing off, I’m kind of… excited, I guess. I always saw myself having a family one day, and Jaxon will be an amazing dad. I can tell from how he speaks about Christopher, with so much love and pride in his voice. We haven’t been together long, but we can make it work.

I know we can.

He made that comment about being thankful those days were behind him at the trial day. But that’s just something someone says, isn’t it?

He will be happy when I tell him.

He has to be.

I knock on his door and wait.

“Jaxon?”

My eyes widen when he answers. It looks like he hasn’t shaved for two days, the dark growth covering his jaw, and his eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. He’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

I’ve only ever seen him in a suit… or naked.

“You look ill,” I say without thinking.

The shock of seeing him like this has thrown me completely.

“Thanks,” he murmurs as he steps back so I can enter.

My eyes dart around. Everything was immaculate the last time I was here. Today the sofa cushions are all dented, as though he’s just got up from laying there. And there are dirty mugs and bowls in the sink. There’s even a takeaway pizza box on the kitchen side.

I place the shopping bag next to it and turn back to him.

“How are you feeling? When you didn’t answer last night, and I couldn’t get hold of you today, I—”

I’m not sure how to finish.

I missed you? I was worried?

Does that sound like the sort of things you say when things are so new, and you’re only just… what are we only just? Dating? Seeing each other?

Having a baby together?

I push the thought away. First, I need to know what’s on with Jaxon. He certainly doesn’t look himself. He’s quiet, even for him.

“I’m fine, Megan. Just a headache, that’s all.”

“A two-day headache?” I walk over to him and place my hand against his cheek. “Like a migraine?”

His eyes linger on mine.

“Kind of.”

“Do you want me to call a doctor? They shouldn’t last this long. Have you had them before?” The words tumble out of my mouth.

“I don’t need a doctor.” He snorts, “they cause more trouble.” He steps around me, away from my hand.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t seem yourself?” I say to his back as he walks over to the window.

When he doesn’t answer, I busy myself with the shopping I brought.

“I got you some ginger tea leaves,” I say, placing the box on the kitchen counter.

The muscles in his back tense underneath his t-shirt as he stares out of the window.

“And some grapes, fresh soup, and green smoothie.” My eyes fall back to the pizza box, and I frown. “Tina didn’t know what was wrong, so I brought some painkillers, just general ones.”

When he still doesn’t speak, I lift the bottle and shake it, so they rattle.

He clears his throat. “Thank you. That’s thoughtful of you.”

“It’s the least I can do. You’d do the same for me. You have done the same for me. Brought me ginger ale and ginger tea when I was sick.”

Sick with morning sickness.

He nods his head but still doesn’t turn around.

I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist from behind. Thirty-six hours ago, I would have thought nothing of doing this. We seemed to be growing so close. But now, I feel like I’m intruding.

His body is warm and solid as I rest my cheek against his back and take a deep breath.

“I have something to tell you. Something we need to talk about.” My voice sounds strange to my own ears, distorted by the weight of what I came here to say. “Can we sit down? If you feel up to it? Or I could help you get back to bed if your head’s too painful?”

He turns around and wraps his arms around me, kissing the top of my hair.

“No, Megan. We need to talk. I’ve got something to tell you, too.”

My body stiffens in his arms.

Something about the way he just said that rings alarm bells.

“Okay.”

He slides one hand into mine and leads me over to the sofa, straightening up the cushions before motioning for me to sit, letting go of my hand as he does.

“You go first,” he says as he sits down next to me, close, but not as close as he would have sat two days ago.

“I think you should go first,” I say, a gnawing sensation growing in my gut.

He rubs his hand across his eyes, squeezing them shut.

“I think you’re wonderful, Megan—”

I draw in an uneasy breath. I know what he’s about to say. My body knows.

Every cell in my body knows.

My chest tightens as I stare at him, powerless. I don’t want to be powerless. I clench my fists, my fingernails digging into my skin.

“But?” I force out.

He at least has the grace to look remorseful. His shoulders are curled over, and he’s hanging his head, his hands clasped together as he leans forward over his legs. He looks up at me.

His voice comes out strained. “I’m no good for you, Megan.”

The gnawing in my stomach stops, and a rush of adrenaline lances through me.

Who the hell does he think he is?

“Not this again. Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think I can’t make my own decisions about how I feel about you? About whether I want to spend time with you?” I glare at him.

I have had enough of being told what’s good for me by someone else. Maybe it’s hormones making me feel this angry, but my heart is racing and my blood boiling.

“Megan…”

“No, Jaxon! Don’t sit there and act all high and mighty, like you’re doing me a favour. What is this, anyway?” I throw my arms up and look over at the mess in the kitchen. “A pity party for one? Are you even ill? Or is it just some act so you could avoid me for a couple of days?”

His eyes darken, and he glares back at me.

“Megan, don’t,” he growls.

“Or what?” I lean right into his face and narrow my eyes at him. “You’ll tell me you’re no good for me again? Poor, pathetic Megan. She can’t handle whatever cryptic secret I’m guarding so goddamn close to my chest! Better put her out of her misery now.” I jab a finger into him.

His dark eyes glint like wet metal as he grabs my wrist. We glare at each other, my chest heaving as I suck angry breaths in and out.

“Why won’t you give me up?” he hisses.

My mind races.

There’s something he’s not telling me.

Just like there’s something I’m not telling him.

I should tell him. I should tell him now.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” His eyes dart between mine, his grip tight on my wrist.

I keep glaring at him as I roll the word off my tongue, “both.”

His eyes darken, and his other hand grabs the back of my neck, pulling me to him.

“Megan, you don’t know what you’re doing,” he growls before his lips crash onto mine, and he plunges his tongue inside my mouth.

I bite his bottom lip between my teeth and yank my wrist free of his grasp, reaching both hands up to fist in his hair.

We fall back onto the sofa with him on top of me. Heat floods my body, every pulse point in my body throbbing as his erection presses into me through the fabric of his sweatpants.

How can he even suggest I give him up?

Give this up?

This isn’t just a fling. It’s never been a fling.

Jaxon King is under my skin, in my head… in my heart. He’s trying to push me away, and I don’t know why.

I moan into his mouth as his hands go up underneath my dress, and he rips my soaking panties down my thighs.

We’re kissing each other hard, panting and pulling at each other’s clothes like we’ve been kept apart for eternity. I pull his sweatpants down. He’s not wearing anything underneath, so his cock falls out, the wet beads on the tip smear across my thigh as he grinds against me.

We open our eyes at the same time and freeze, staring at each other, our lips red, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing—so many things need to be said between us, but neither of us is offering to be completely honest with the other.

The only true thing right now is the want in both of our eyes, the desire that’s coursing between us, charging the air like electricity.

“Do it,” I pant against his lips, goading him, pushing his buttons to provoke a reaction.

Anything that will mean I don’t have to think about him trying to push me away.

His eyes sear into mine with a fire I’ve never seen in them before. Then they darken as his frown deepens, and he flips me over, so I’m lying face down with my stomach against the sofa. He growls—a low, deep growl like a tormented animal—and pushes my dress up around my waist, pausing for the briefest second before sinking his cock into me in one harsh, swift movement.

“Jaxon…”

My body opens to him like a traitor, welcoming him with waves of wet arousal as I shudder underneath him and push back, forcing him to go deeper until I feel his balls hit my skin.

“Harder,” I cry as he stretches and fills every part of me.

But it isn’t enough.

He feels too far away, too distant.

I fight… but not against him. I accept him with deep moans of appreciation. His name cried on my lips. No… I fight myself—knowing that I should make him talk to me, do something to get him to open up, to tell me what’s really going on.

I fight the need to have him inside me, my mind telling me that this is okay… he wants me… and that means it’s all okay.

It is not okay.

Jaxon King is fucking me in a way that’s making my entire body shake when he should be talking to me.

He’s hiding behind rough sex, and I’m not just letting him; I’m encouraging it.

I’m getting off on it.

The fire, the harshness… being fucked by Jaxon King is like all my deepest, darkest fantasies I never knew I had, playing out just for me.

It’s stealing the air from my lungs with each delicious thrust, but at the same time, scarring my heart with each ripple of my muscles around his thick length.

“Jaxon,” I groan, grasping the arm of the sofa as he pumps into me, his skin slapping against mine.

There’s no tenderness, no gentle touch, or whispered words I’m used to from him.

It’s rough, urgent, and raw.

My wetness covers his skin, and he’s able to drive deeper, slamming into me harder and faster. I turn my head and look back at him. His eyes glint dangerously. It’s like someone has taken over his body.

I don’t even recognise him… but my body does.

My body recognises every inch of him and tingles from my fingers to my toes, tensing up deep in my core.

Wanting it… pleading for it.

I moan as my muscles draw in tighter, the pressure building and building. My mouth drops open, and my moans turn into gasps. Jaxon never takes his eyes off mine as he fucks me from behind, his fingers grasping my hips so he can position me where he wants me. He lifts them suddenly and slams into me, the rim of his cock hitting my g-spot, and I explode, screaming and shuddering as my orgasm rips through me.

I swear if you could actually tear the air—tear it right open and see space and stars in the gap—then it would be hanging open right now from the strength of my release.

My muscles squeeze him tight, sucking him in, and then he growls out my name, almost shouting it, as heat explodes deep inside me.

I stare back at him.

His eyes hold mine as he pumps out, emptying all he has into me.

His jaw is tense, and his cock jerks one last time inside me before he drops his eyes away from mine, screwing them shut. He moves back, pulling his sweatpants up at the same time and leaving my body cold.

It’s over as quickly as it started.

He lifts a hand and smoothes my dress down so it covers me, all whilst avoiding meeting my eyes with his. He doesn’t leave his hand on my skin, doesn’t linger, stroke, or caress. Instead, he takes it back as quickly as possible, as though he can’t stand to touch me anymore.

I scramble up to a sitting position and grab my tangled panties from around my ankles, pulling them up and straightening them as best I can.

The silence hangs heavily in the air until it’s stifling… suffocating.

“Are you still going to tell me you’re no good for me?” I say as I stand, wanting to be on my feet.

Somehow, I think it will make me feel stronger, more prepared for what he might say next. But the sinking in my gut tells me that nothing about tonight will prepare me for what I know is coming.

“Jaxon?”

His eyes remain fixed on the floor.

“At least look at me, Jaxon. Now you’ve had your break-up fuck,” I hiss, my voice thick with a mix of hurt and anger.

His eyes snap up to mine, and they’re full of unshed tears, his face weary.

“Don’t say it like that, Megan. It makes it sound cheap.”

I falter, my voice softening, “what aren’t you telling me?” I search his eyes, willing him to let me in, to trust me… to say something.

Anything.

He drops his gaze back to the floor.

“Nothing. You just deserve better.”

The anger that was in my chest earlier surges again as I look at him. Whatever’s going on, he’s made up his mind to shut me out. I could stay here all night and never get through to him.

I need him more than ever right now, and he’s shutting me out.

“Maybe I do.”

I turn and walk towards the door, a bluff move, which I haven’t thought through properly.

I want to talk with him. We have to work this out.

We need to work this out.

The door is only meters away now. A few more steps, and I will be able to reach the handle.

He’s going to come after me any moment and stop me. He has to.

I’m pregnant with our baby.

Any moment now, he’s going to get up off the sofa. Tell me what’s going on, and we can figure it out together… any moment now.

My hand is shaking as I clasp the cold metal of the door handle and open it.

I swallow as I step out into the hallway and turn to look back.

He hasn’t moved.

He’s still sat on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Come on, Jaxon.

Please.

I sway a little, my chest burning like my ribcage has been prised open and had acid poured inside.

I take a deep breath, pulling the door closed.

The final click of it closing echoes around the deserted hallway. Or maybe it’s my deserted heart breaking… With all the burning in my chest, it’s hard to tell if it’s even still beating. I could easily believe it stopped the moment the door clicked shut.

I walk to the lift and stand in a daze, waiting for it to come.

It’s only when the doors shut, I notice the clear, wet trickle snaking down my leg.

That’s when I let my tears fall.