The Sacrifice: Chapter 31

We’re in the large Jacuzzi tub. He’s sitting behind me, and I’m leaning on him for support. After I came three times, he left me on the bed and went to the bathroom to start a bath. Then he untied me, picked me up, and carried me into the bathroom where he proceeded to get in with me.

My eyes are heavy, my body weak, and mind foggy. I had too much to drink. Or maybe it’s the orgasms. I don’t know which one it is. Perhaps a combination of the two.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his hands rubbing my arms while they lay on his thighs as I sit between his legs.

“Sore.” I’m still shaking.

His fingers massage my arms, and my eyes fall shut as a moan leaves my lips. “Oh God.”

“Keep doing that, and we’ll go another round,” he murmurs, his lips by my ear.

I whimper at the thought of sex. “I don’t think I can.”

He chuckles, his hands moving to my shoulders to massage them deeply. My head falls back against him, and his hands come up to wrap around my neck. My hips lift on their own, splashing water around us.

I reach up, my hands going over my head, and grip his hair. He removes his hands from around my neck and drops one to my breasts. Gently massaging them. They’re so sensitive from the bands earlier. “Your body can take it, Lake. It’s your mind you have to train.”

My hands drop to his thighs, and I grip his muscular legs when he gets to my nipple, making me hiss in a breath. They’re still swollen.

“Ready to tell me why you’re mad at me?” he asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” I whisper.

“Try me,” he challenges, letting go of my breasts, and my body sags in relief and disappointment. I want him to decide for me. Tie me up and use me comes to mind. Make me come over and over while I beg you to stop until I can’t speak anymore. Then it helps us avoid these awkward conversations that we shouldn’t even be having.

“Lake,” he warns, slapping the side of my breast to get my attention. “Tell me. Why were you mad at me? What happened?” His hands are back on my neck, and I feel like he’s trying to massage it out of me.

I lick my lips and close my heavy eyes. Why the fuck not? The alcohol is giving me some courage. “Why haven’t you asked me if I want kids?” I feel like this is the only conversation we need to have right now. I don’t want him to know I spoke to my brother. I’m not allowed to speak to my family.

His hands pause on my neck. “You want kids?” he asks as if that concept is insane.

I don’t answer because he didn’t answer mine.

He sighs at my silence and admits, “I did … once.”

My sister comes to mind, and I wonder if she was pregnant like my brother said and if he knocked her up on purpose. “And?” I swallow. A lump forms in my throat, and I’m not sure I want to know any more.

“Things change,” he says simply.

I hate that tears sting my eyes. Whitney was always the one my family wanted to succeed. They had high hopes for her. I’m the kid they didn’t expect much from. And now my husband is the same. He wanted more with her than he’ll ever want with me. “No.” I shove his hands off me and stand, getting out of the tub on wobbly legs.

“Lake—”

“You mean you married a woman who isn’t good enough to mother your children.” I don’t know why I care, but I do. Why, for once, can’t I be good enough for something?

He stands, water running down his chiseled body. It’s not fair that he looks so good. He sighs, reaching up and running his hands through his hair to knock off the excess water. “Laikyn…”

“I don’t want kids,” I admit, and his eyes snap to mine. “You know why?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but I don’t let him.

“Because I don’t want to bring children into this world that I have to watch endure pain.” His eyes soften. “I don’t want them to have this life. A life I can’t save them from.” I suck in a deep breath. “I don’t want to have to watch them marry a man or a woman who can never love them. Who they’ll never be good enough for.”

He steps closer to me. “Lake—”

I take a step back, and he stops. “Being alone in a world full of billions of people is hell.” I wrap my arms around myself, all of a sudden self-conscious of what I’ve let him do to me tonight. “I just wish for once in my life I’d get to choose something for me.” I turn and exit the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Wet hair and all, I curl up in bed and let the first tear fall. This is why people shouldn’t drink. It makes you feel things you never did before.

TYSON

Three years ago

I sit in the game room at the house of Lords. A blonde sits on my lap with her big tits in my face. She’s another Lords chosen. He doesn’t give a fuck who or what she does. He passes her around like a bong most nights. He gets off on watching other men fuck what’s his.

Ryat enters the room and smirks. “Whitney is here,” he states.

“No, she’s not.” She was here earlier but had to go home. Her parents don’t agree with us being together, so she has a bullshit curfew at the age of twenty-one.

“Yes, she is. I just saw her in the hallway,” he argues.

I tap the girl’s bare thigh, and she reluctantly gets up. I stand, making my way to the hallway. Sure enough, I about run right into her. “Hey, babe.” Whitney smiles up at me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

Her smile falters, but she answers, “I snuck out.”

“Come on.” I grab her hand, taking a sip of my beer, and pull her down the hall to my room. Once we’re inside, I shut the door and lock it. “Are you staying the night?”

“Yep.” She nods and pushes her body into mine.

I cup her face and kiss her, but she pulls away and slaps a hand over her mouth. “What?” I ask when her wide eyes meet mine.

She rushes into my adjoining bathroom, drops to her knees, and vomits. I grab her dark hair, holding it while she does it again. “Need me to take you home?” I ask.

Shaking her head, she stands to her feet, and I drop her hair. She walks over to my sink, opens a drawer, and pulls out her spare toothbrush. “I’ll be fine. It was the taste of beer.”

I frown. “Since when does beer bother you?” The woman drinks like a fish.

Placing the toothbrush on the counter, she turns to face me with a big smile. “I’m pregnant.”

I just stare at her.

She wraps her arms around my neck and goes to kiss my lips, but I pull away, not wanting to taste vomit. I remove her hands from my neck, and she frowns. “You’re not pregnant.”

“Ty.” She pops out a hip and places her hands on them. “Yes, I am.”

“You’re on birth control,” I remind her.

“It’s not a hundred percent effective.” She rolls her eyes.

“It’s like ninety-nine point nine percent.”

“Tyson—”

“We use condoms.” Other than the vow ceremony at the Cathedral, I use protection. But that’s why I prefer a mouth over a cunt, because I hate having to wrap it up.

“Well, maybe they’re defective.”

“Whitney,” I growl.

She steps into me again, and I take a step back. Her face tightens. “You knew this could happen.”

“I want a paternity test,” I say.

She gasps. “Are you calling me a slut?”

A chosen is given to her Lord and cannot sleep with anyone else, but as a Lord, I can hand her over to anyone I want. I have done no such thing. “You weren’t a virgin, Whit. Why do you think I picked you in the first place?”

She slaps me across the face, making my cheek sting. Then turns and exits the bathroom. I hear my bedroom door slam shut moments later.

We’ve talked about this. I like to fuck, but kids with Whitney? It’s not supposed to go that far. She’s my chosen, and that’s that. It ends after our senior year. I get in, get what the Lords want, and get the fuck out. We’re both already promised to someone else.

I didn’t abstain from sex for three years to fuck up my future by getting her pregnant. It would change everything, including my future and my position as a Lord. I’ve been smart about it. She dropped a few hints here and there that she wants kids, but I figured she meant later in life when she’s a Lady married to her Lord. Not me. Not now.

Walking out of the bathroom, I go to the top drawer of my nightstand. Yanking it open, I grab a handful of condoms and return to the bathroom. Ripping one open, I pull it out and hold it under the faucet as I turn it on. The condom starts to fill up, and I let out a long breath, but my relief is quickly replaced with anger when I watch a thin line of water fall out in multiple areas.

“MOTHERFUCKER!”