DECEIT (B723) by Hazel Grace (ebook reader for surface pro .TXT) 📕

be a girlfriend right now, so…you’ve dealt with worse.”

He shrugs as I place the pregnancy test between my legs. “I’m not going to any doctor appointments with you. Bishop can do all that. Or Alexander.”

“Wow, you’re making me sound more of a whore than what I already feel.”

“Stop,” Mills groans. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m not pregnant so…this is just all precaution.”

Mills turns his body to the side to give me as much privacy as he can, and he’s right, this is fucking weird.

“You can go,” I tell him. “I’ll come out when I’m done.”

“You sure?” I open my mouth to confirm, but he follows up with, “Nah, you’re right, I have dealt with worse. Where did you get this conditioner? Does it work?”

My lips quirk. “You use conditioner?”

“How the hell do you think my hair is so soft?”

“I don’t run my fingers through your locks every day, so I didn’t know it was.”

“There’s nothing wrong with men using conditioner.” He flips another bottle in his hands. “Besides, when a woman loves to run her fingers through your hair while she’s fuck—“

“Mills,” I warn.

“What? I’m sitting in a bathroom with you peeing on a stick. I can’t talk to you about my sex life?”

“Good point. Do you have one?”

Mills chuckles, a contagious and melodic sound that always settles my nerves on peace mode. “No, but thanks for reminding me, Lou Boo.”

“No one is good enough,” I tell him. “I know you believe the same of me but…you’re special, Mills.”

“Like ‘stop eating the paste’ kinda special?”

“Like the girl better have a heart of gold.”

“How about having conversations of life and feelings on a toilet like we’re having right now? Should I add that onto the list?”

I laugh and pee—yeah, I know TMI—and Mills tucks himself into the bathtub floor with the curtain closed to give me even more privacy to wipe, pull my leggings up and wash my hands.

I should be doing this with Alexander or Bishop, but then I’d have to recognize who the fucking guy was that possibly got me here. Though, my gut—is screaming at me that I know who it is.

“How long do we have to wait?” Mills asks me.

“Not very long.” My back is pushed up against the wall as I try to steady the unsteady thumping of my heart.

This little test might change everything and flip my world upside down.

Mills climbs out and shoves the shower curtain aside, joining me alongside the wall, and grabs my hand, ready to face any challenges with me. He’s always had my back. He’s consistently there for me.

“You ready?” Mills gives my hand a little tug. “Me and you…we got this. No matter what.”

I reach out, keeping Mills as my anchor as I pluck up the test from the counter and read it.

Fuck.

“I’m pregnant.”

About three years ago...

“It was inspired by Lake Como in Italy and covers eight acres between the building and the strip. Then, of course, the dancing water fountain is pretty awesome too.”

Emmy continues to talk history with me as we stand in front of the Bellagio in Vegas. We're leaned up against a white railing as we watch the geysers of water shoot from the large pond-lake and synchronize together in rhythm.

It’s late, and we’ve been bar hopping and stopping at every food truck we come across because Emmy has to try something from each one as if it’s a mission of hers.

Already completed with the assignment that our commander, Ledger, has given us, Emmy has been dragging me around everywhere, excited as shit that we’re here.

It’s not really my thing but seeing that pretty smile and the way her honey-brown eyes light up like an enthusiastic kid makes my qualms about it simmer down.

She’s absolutely stunning against the lighting of the Vegas backdrop behind us. We’re buzzed as hell. I’ve been getting her to take shots of whiskey with me all night while she's insisted on drinking fruity drinks of her choice. Then add on the round of beers bought for us by some old couple, and we've almost had it all.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever done something like this after a mission—I haven’t. And Emmy and I don’t work together very often to my utter displeasure.

Emmy joined B723 three years ago, and I eye-fuck her more times than I care to count or admit to. Since arriving, she’s been captivating, a tad annoying, and I haven’t been this attracted to a woman in a really long time.

I’ve imagined her underneath me, on top, on my motorcycle, and anywhere else that I can sandwich her in between to thrust my cock inside her sweet cunt. The dresses and heels that she wears almost every damn day do nothing to help me ease my aching dick when she’s around. It’s practically become an obsession, except I never totally reach that high to seize it.

“Am I blabbing too much?” Emmy asks me, pulling me out of my drunken blur. “I talk a lot when I drink.”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“I know this has been lame but thank you for coming with me today. I’m not sure when the next time I’ll get to visit Vegas, so this has been—” She sighs like this has been a life-long dream of hers. “—completely awesome.”

“Anytime, Ems.”

Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra plays somewhere in the background, and Emmy turns her body to meet mine.

“You know, we don’t talk that often. Why is that?”

I snort, which gets her face to twist. “Because I prefer to stay off your radar.”

“Why?”

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to get on Emmy’s radar. She does shit to me that I haven’t encountered in a really long time.

My dick has been on a drought, and Emmy is the pelting rain that nourished my shortcomings in the attracted-to-anyone department.

“Because you berate the guys every chance you get.”

And it’s not just that. If I got a piece of Emmy, I’m afraid I’d never want to let the fuck go.

“I do