Chapter 153 Chapter one hundred and fifty-two
ARA
“Are you sure she hasn’t been doing any heavy lifting, sir? Your wife’s stress level is so high it could form a ladder straight to heaven.” The doctor said, hovering over me as he tugged down my eyelid and peered into it.
“Will you go straight to the damn point, doc?” Thayne ground out through his teeth.
“She needs to be placed on routine medication that will lower her stress level. But she’s only two months away from delivery, and medically it’s not advisable to start that now. We may have to consider safer alternatives.”
Thayne licked his lips and pressed his fist against his mouth.
He looked like he wanted to throw the doctor across the room and check on me himself.
“Doc,” he said slowly, “I will kick your head clean off your shoulders if you keep rage-baiting me with crumbs of information.”
The doctor blanched, the color draining from his face.
I couldn’t help it. I giggled.
“I'm talking about sex, sir,” the doctor blurted. “At this stage she could benefit from a healthy sexual—”
“Are you accusing me of not taking care of my wife’s sexual needs?” Thayne asked dangerously.
“Of course not. I was merely—”
“If that is all,” Thayne cut in coldly, “I would like some privacy with my wife.”
“Of course, Mr. Slade.” The doctor practically fled the ward.
It was so funny I had to cover my mouth to stop laughing.
Thayne moved to take the doctor’s place beside my bed.
The bed was enormous, far too comfortable to belong in a hospital. But Thayne had demanded a proper one the moment I was admitted.
The bleeding hadn’t even been serious. I hadn’t felt any pain afterward, and the doctor had practically sworn on his medical license just to convince Thayne that neither the baby nor I were in danger.
Still, Thayne looked like a man ready to burn the hospital down just to be safe.
“You should go back and check in with the lawyer,” I said softly. “I can manage.”
Thayne didn't even acknowledge my words. His hands were already sliding up under the thin hospital gown, his warm palms skimming the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.
I bit down on my lower lip when his fingers dug into the soft flesh just above my knees, hard enough to leave faint marks, but gentle enough to make my breath hitch.
“You like it when I dig them in, don’t you?” he asked, a sly smile curling the corner of his mouth.
“Someone might come in, Thayne.” My words came out shaky. “It’s too risky.”
His fingers stroked my folds once, parting me just enough to feel how wet I already was. My hips lifted off the bed without permission, my swollen stomach brushing against his cheek as I arched toward his touch.
“I never knew you could look this hot while pregnant,” he muttered, adjusting himself lower so his face aligned perfectly between my thighs.
His breath ghosted over me and I clenched around nothing, aching.
“Thayne, what if your team needs youuuu—” The last syllable dissolved into a long, broken moan when he dragged the gown up completely, baring me to the cool hospital air and his hungry mouth.
He kissed me there, softly at first, his lips brushing my clit like a promise. Then his tongue flicked out, swiping up and down the sensitive bud twice before plunging inside me.
I grabbed his head with both hands, my fingers twisting in his hair, holding him exactly where I needed him.
He groaned against me, the vibration sending another sharp spike of pleasure straight through my core.
He worked me with ruthless focus, his tongue thrusting deep, then flattening to lap broad, wet strokes over my clit, then sucking the swollen nub between his lips until my thighs shook around his ears.
My back bowed off the mattress. The hospital gown bunched around my ribs, my nipples turning into tight peaks that were begging for his attention.
Every pull of his mouth, every curl of his tongue, it all sent fresh heat pooling low in my belly.
“Thayne—” I gasped, hips rolling against his face. “Don’t stop—please—”
He didn’t. He hooked my legs over his shoulders, spreading me wider, giving himself better access.
One hand slid up to palm my breast, his thumb circling the nipple in time with the rhythm of his tongue.
The dual sensation of his mouth on my pussy plus his fingers on my breast pushed me right to the edge.
I came hard with a choked cry tearing from my throat as my walls pulsed around his tongue.
He didn’t pull away. No, Thayne kept licking, he kept sucking, drawing the orgasm out until I was trembling, oversensitive, whimpering his name like a prayer.
Only then did he lift his head. His lips were glossy, and his chin was wet, his eyes dark with satisfaction and hunger.
He crawled up my body, careful of my belly, and kissed me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
It took me one good minute to recover from the aftershocks.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come for me,” he whispered against my mouth.
I reached between us, my fingers wrapping around his cock.
It was thick and hot in my palm, already pulsing, slick at the tip from how badly he wanted me. I gave him one slow, teasing stroke from base to crown while holding his gaze, my thumb circling the sensitive head until a low groan rumbled from his chest.
“Your turn,” I whispered.
His eyes fluttered shut, his head tipping back against the pillow. His hips lifted helplessly into my grip, and he let out a deep groan that sent my ovaries jumping.
The cords in his neck stood out; every muscle in his body tensed like he was fighting not to thrust up into my hand.
“Don’t tease me like that, Ara,” he warned, but he didn’t stop me. If anything, he spread his thighs wider, giving me more room to play.
I smiled against his throat, kissing the spot where his pulse hammered, then stroked him again, slower this time, squeezing just under the head the way I knew made his toes curl.
“Fuck, woman!” His breath hitched.
His phone on the table behind the bed started ringing, cutting through the haze of heat between us.
Thayne’s eyes snapped open. He reached for it automatically, but I kept my hand moving, my thumb swiping over the slit, spreading the bead of pre-cum that had gathered there.
“Ignore it,” I murmured, nipping his earlobe.
He groaned, his hips jerking. “It could be urgent.”
I squeezed him again, toying with him. “Then answer it.”
He cursed under his breath and grabbed the phone with one hand while the other fisted in my hair, holding me still so he could see my face while I worked him.
He swiped to answer.
“Slade,” he barked.
His expression changed a second later, his eyes narrowing, jaw locking so tight I prayed he wouldn't ruin his teeth.
“My father has fled the country?” he repeated in a flat, disbelieving tone.
I froze, my hand still wrapped around him, but my focus shifted. He noticed immediately, because his grip in my hair loosened, his thumb brushing my cheek in silent apology.
He listened for another few seconds, then cut the call without a goodbye.
He tossed the phone onto the mattress like it burned him.
“My father has left the United States,” he finally said.
I sat up slowly, releasing him. The mood had shattered.
“Where?” I asked.
“For now, unknown. A private jet took off from a small airstrip in New Jersey four days ago. No flight plan was filed. No manifest either. He’s just gone dark.”
Wicked, smart man. He disappeared before we even filed a lawsuit.