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just sort of happened.”
    “Insecurity?” he asks. “What the hell have you got to be insecure about?”
    I shrug, and I’m thankful the darkness means he can’t see my expression, though I’m quite sure he can hear the lump in my through when I speak. “There are all these changes happening, all the time. I’m like a freaking walking vagina now, and I get these bouts of insane horniness, like I’ll explode if I don’t have sex, or come, or do something to make me feel halfway normal again.”
    “Really?”
    Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but Jack sounds way more excited than I think he should. He shouldn’t be happy I want to dry hump everything that moves. He should be afraid . Especially because I’m in his bed, it’s the middle of the night, I just realised I’m not wearing knickers, and his sexy laugh makes me want to rub myself all over him like a cat in heat.
    I let out a frustrated sigh, and roll towards him, tucking my hands under the pillow to keep from running them over his hard chest. “Yeah, it’s all very fucked up.”
    “So you just thought you’d shove your face in my lap while I was driving?”
    “Well, I don’t recall you complaining. Where exactly are you going with this, Jackson? Don’t tell me you want a repeat?”
    “Of course not.”
    Ouch. That stung like a cherry-popping from falling on a fencepost . More than it should have, because this is the way we always are with one another. This is how we play safe; by teasing and rejecting one another until we can forget about the feelings between us.
    “Right. Well, then, I’m sorry I decided to take out my bitch-in-heat frustrations on you. It’ll never happen again, trust me,” I say, and throw back the covers in an attempt to get up. Fuck. I hate this baby mamma stuff. Why does everything hurt already? And why the hell can’t I even get up off of this stupid futon? The kid’s not that big yet. And while I’m on it, what kind of tool even owns a fucking futon? Oh right, a Jackson-Rowe kinda tool.
    I finally haul my arse up off the bed, and make a beeline for the door.
    “Hols?” he says, coming up behind me. “Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”
    “Whatever, just forget it,” I say as I reach for the handle, but Jackson places his arm against the door. I use two hands to pull the handle towards me, but it’s like trying to move a freaking hulking mountain. “Let me out, Jackson, or I’ll … hurl all over you.”
    He leans down, and whispers in my ear, “I can’t.”
    “Sure you can. You just let go, and back the hell off.”
    He spins my shoulder so I’m facing him, and presses me back against the door. His lips trace my neck, barely touching and certainly not kissing, though it’s like he’s drinking me in. I shiver. “I can’t forget. I can’t think of anything else but fucking you until we’re both raw.”
    My eyes go wide. Passion flares to life in my belly, so hot I feel it like the heat of the flames that swallowed Belle’s Pies. His calloused hand encircles my jaw as his thumb traces my bottom lip, and then he slips it inside, and I bite down before I remember what I’m doing. Jackson brings his lips close to mine, hovering there, testing me.
    I shake my head. “We can’t.”
    “Why?”
    God, I can’t believe I have to be the voice of reason here. Why is life so god damned cruel? “Because I’m pregnant with someone else’s baby, Jack.”
    “Sweetheart, right now you could be pregnant with the Dalai Lama’s baby, and I wouldn’t give two fucks.” And then his mouth crashes down on mine. He hisses and pulls back, touching his split lip. “Ow.”
    “We should stop.” I say. Though that’s the last thing I want right now.
    “Fuck no.” He pulls me towards him, and I melt into his touch, into his mouth, and into all the promises of pleasure his body makes mine. We kiss each other so hard we’re practically consuming one another. Jackson lifts my T-shirt above my