บททั้งหมดของ Secrets Behind The Mask: บทที่ 151 - บทที่ 160

"Stop thinking," he said against her, his breath hot against her pussy. "Just feel."The taste of her flooded his mouth, sweet and musky, and it took every ounce of control he possessed not to devour her like he wanted to. Not to grip her thighs hard enough to leave bruises, not to push her legs wider and hold them there, pinned open for him while he fucked her with his tongue until she was sobbing his name.But he couldn't. Not yet.So, he kept his grip gentle, controlled, even as his cock throbbed painfully in his trousers, even as everything in him screamed to take, to claim, to dominate. He suppressed his need.He worked her slowly, his tongue tracing patterns over her clit, circling it, never quite giving her the direct pressure he knew she needed. Teasing. Building. Her hips shifted restlessly beneath him, seeking more, and fuck, he loved that. Loved the way her body was already learning to chase pleasure, even if she wasn't experienced. Her body knew what to do.She was trembli

“I should be.” The words came out a pitch higher than she intended. “I’m not the one who got shot at for a livin’. I’m not the one who’s seen combat. You went through way worse and you’re fine, so I should be fine.”“That’s not how it works.” His hand stroked through her hair, slow and soothing. “Post-traumatic stress disorder doesn’t care about what you should be able to handle. It just is. And what you went through, watching Jon die, being shot at, thinking you were going to die, that’s traumatic. You’re allowed to struggle with it. It’s okay that you need help to get over it. Everyone handles seeing or experiencing violence differently. I would be more worried if you hadn’t felt upset. This shows you care. But it needs to be dealt with. You need to talk to someone who can help you cope.”She wanted to argue. Wanted to insist she was strong enough to handle it on her own. But the truth was, she wasn’t handling it. The dreams… nightmares were getting worse, not better. And now she wa

“Trish.” Nate’s voice carried a warning.“What?” Trish poured herself more wine. “I’m just saying it’s a lot to take on at twenty. Most girls your age are in college, going to parties, having fun. Not married and pregnant.”Prue set down her fork carefully. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”“I’m sure you are.” Another long sip. “It’s just so different from what Nate’s used to. He’s always dated women his own age. Career women who understood his world.”The words hit like little darts. She knew Trish didn’t mean to hurt her, but it was hard not to hear it as: you’re not his type. Why the hell is he with you.“Trish, that’s enough,” Nate said. “My past is just that—my past.”“I’m just making conversation!” Trish laughed, but there was an edge to it now. The wine was getting to her. “Come on, Nate, don’t be so serious. Prue doesn’t care about your past girlfriends. She was the one who got you down the aisle, after all, and we’re celebrating that!” Lifting her glass in a toast.By nine o’c

"Always." He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture so tender Trish wanted to claw her own eyes out. "I promise. No danger, just politics and damage control. With an idiot I think has hit the self-destruct button. Bye, Trish."She felt like an afterthought. Then he was gone, leaving Trish alone with the woman who'd stolen everything that should have been hers.They finished breakfast in relative silence. Trish made small talk, questions about Savannah, Prue's father, her plans for the baby's nursery. All surface-level, sisterly, safe.But her mind was working.She'd worn this nightwear for nothing. She'd bought it two weeks ago, expensive silk from that boutique in Manhattan, charged it to the credit card her mother paid without looking at the bills. She'd planned this moment, coming downstairs, catching Nate's eye, reminding him what a real woman looked like.And he hadn't looked at her once. Not once. His eyes had been on Prue the entire time, tracking her movements ar

Nate's phone rang while he was still at the office, knee-deep in damage control for a congressman who couldn't keep his dick in his pants. The number on the screen wasn't one he recognized.He almost didn't answer and thought he would ring whoever it was back later. But some tingle up his spine made him answer the phone after a moment."Young," he answered, already pulling up files on his computer."Mr. Young? This is Mount Sinai Hospital. Your wife was brought in by ambulance approximately twenty minutes ago—"His blood went cold. "What happened?" Why hadn't Trish called, or had she left and didn't know?"She fell down a flight of stairs at your residence. She's being prepped for surgery now. You should get here as soon as possible. We need you to fill out some paperwork."Surgery. Prue had gone down the stairs."Is she—" His voice caught. "Is the baby—""The doctor will brief you when you arrive. Brooklyn come straight to the surgical wing."That was it, and the line went dead.Nate