Breathe Me: Smith and Belle (Royals Saga Book 11) Page 9

  “Unbelievable!” I threw my hands in the arm, stomping back toward our bedroom feeling the hot prickle of tears. I sank onto the end of the bed, burying my face in my hands so he wouldn’t see me cry.

  He didn’t want me. Not like this. Not like he used to. That or he’d managed to harness a supernatural level of restraint he’d never possessed before. Smith could control himself. He could fuck me for hours if he wanted. But resist me? That hadn’t been a possibility before.

  “Go away,” I said miserably as he stalked into the room, but the words had barely left my lips when his fist closed over the rope, yanking my face up as he bent to capture my mouth. There was nothing gentle about his kiss.

  “I don’t like it when you tell me how to play with you,” he said, his voice as rough as his hands as he jerked me to my feet. “I’ll play with you how I want to, beautiful, and you won’t complain. You’ll come when I demand it. You’ll offer me your pretty ass to punish. Right fucking now.”

  I nearly came on the spot.

  Smith loosened his hold on my leash only so I could turn.

  “Bend over,” he ordered. “Hold the bed.”

  I did as I was told. He slid the collar around so that the ropes were at the back of my neck. “If you can’t breathe, you will say red.”

  I started to protest.

  “Don’t fight me on this or I’ll fuck you until you’re about to come and then stop and make you do it yourself while I watch.” He bit my shoulder. “Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “That won’t be a hardship for me,” he warned. “Feeling you squirm and then watching you punish yourself. I might actually like it.”

  I whimpered. Part of me wanted to push him, so I could put on the show he described. I wanted to be his every fantasy, I always had. But tonight I wanted to be owned and marked.

  He lifted my dressing gown over my hips and patted my rear. His palm slid over it. “Perfect. Well, almost.”

  I heard his hand whip through the air and then felt the crack as it collided with my soft flesh. Stinging heat seared through me, and I cried out.

  “Now, it’s perfect,” he said appreciatively. He rubbed out the heat in the spot before delivering another smack. This continued until my skin sang without reprieve. “Your ass is so beautiful when it’s red. I love seeing the marks of my fingers and palm on it, especially while I fuck you. Would you like me to do that now?”

  I mumbled a yes. My neck jerked back as he pulled the rope.

  “What was that, beautiful?”

  “Please, Sir,” I repeated more clearly, feeling a fresh rush of heat between my legs.

  “First.” He released me and walked to the front of the bed. Picking up a stack of pillows, he stuffed them under me, helping me fold my arms around them. “For leverage. Don’t fight me on this. You two are the most precious things in the world to me.”

  I swallowed, holding the pillows tightly. He always took care of me. He saw to every need, even the ones I didn’t know I had. And now, I was about to be his again. I bit back a sob when he moved behind me and positioned his dick against my seam.

  “So fucking perfect,” he muttered as he slammed into me.

  My eyes closed. I became a blank space, my existence distilled to the anchor of his cock inside me. This was everything I needed, everything I would ever need.

  11

  Smith

  I prided myself on being calm in a crisis situation, but no one had warned me that child labor was not a crisis but a goddamn circus act. Despite having months to prepare, nothing seemed to be in place. Belle’s bag wasn’t in the designated spot, my mobile needed to be charged, and I couldn’t get Edward on the phone.

  “Wait,” Belle commanded, stopping on the stairs suddenly. She grabbed the railing, her knuckles going white, as she hunched over and sucked in a breath so sharply, I thought she might collapse.

  I pressed a hand to the small of her back, trying to remember what they’d taught us at the class we’d taken last month. Then, I’d filed away the information, wondering if it would be useful. Now? I realized the suggestions were nothing more than distractions, meant to keep me from seeing what an utterly pointless bastard I was. I’d gotten her into this mess, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to be useful, except help her to the car—a task that was taking record amounts of time.

  When she finally straightened, she shot me a tired smile. “That was a bad one.”

  “Let’s get you in the car before another one hits, beautiful.” I was beginning to worry we wouldn’t make it to the hospital at the rate they were coming.

  To her credit, Belle moved more quickly than I would in her state. Maybe she was concerned about the same thing. “Remember how I didn’t want medication?” She whimpered as we reached the door. “I changed my mind.”

  “Soon,” I promised. I kept a hold on her as I unlatched the door, kicking it open with my foot. Brex rushed up the steps, grabbing the bag. He carried a black umbrella to ward against a misty drizzle that had begun sometime after nightfall.

  “You need more help?” he asked, having the poor timing to do so as another contraction started.

  “Do. Not. Touch. Me,” Belle said in a voice so thick with warning that Brex took a step away from her.

  Brex and I exchanged looks. We’d stared down the barrel of guns. He’d gone to war. I’d throttled the life out of men. But neither of us had ever faced anything as terrifying as a woman in labor.

  The car was blessedly warm, thanks to his foresight, and when Belle finally had another brief reprieve, I got her inside, said a prayer for the upholstery, and rounded to the driver’s side. Brex didn’t say anything as I slid behind the Range Rover’s wheel.

  “I’ll follow.”

  I appreciated his escort. He’d been driving Belle around town the last few days but there was no one I would trust to see her to hospital at this moment. I pulled onto the road, grateful that she’d gone into labor in the night when the traffic was a trifle less congested. Still, the Rover handled differently than my car and I found my foot pressing the pedal to the floorboard, trying to get it to speed up. That coupled with wet pavement was a dangerous combination.

  “We should have taken the Bugatti,” I grumbled.

  “I would have wrecked the seats.” Between contractions, my wife was maintaining a relative sense of humor. I decided that was a good sign.

  “Fuck the seats,” I growled, missing the nimble sports car.

  “I never thought I’d live to hear you say that,” she said. Her hand fumbled over mine, but before I could weave my fingers through hers, she yelped and leaned forward.

  “Fuck!” I drove through a traffic light, knowing full well it was red. A London cab slammed on its brakes as I swerved around it. The driver, a grandfatherly looking gentleman wearing a flat cap flipped the v’s at me. I didn’t bother to respond. Belle was going to have the baby in the car if we didn’t get there soon.

  In general, I disliked hospitals. I’d yet to have an experience in one that hadn’t left me mourning a death or planning one. The last time I’d stepped foot inside one, Clara was giving birth. It had been a circus then, but tonight, St. Mary’s was relatively calm from the outside. I’d never been so happy to see the Lindo Wing’s private entrance.

  “Did you call Clara?” Belle asked breathlessly as I pulled to park in front of the stone steps.

  “I will, beautiful.” By the time, I reached her side of the car to help her out, her eyes were narrowed into slits. “It’s on the list! Edward and Clara, and then you need to let Lola know so she can be on call for Bless and—” She dissolved in a moan that sent alarm bells ringing inside me.

  “It will all be handled.” I rubbed her shoulders, waiting for it to pass, so that we could head inside. But this time when the contraction subsided, her annoyance remained.

  “I can do it,” she snapped, throwing off my hand as we made our way up the stairs and inside. Instantly, a nurse appeared with a whee
lchair and Belle sank into it gratefully while I rattled off our particulars to her.

  “Mr. Miles called us,” she said, giving me a sympathetic smile that did nothing to soothe my fraying nerves.

  “At least, he’s thinking,” Belle said grumpily, rubbing her stomach.

  I’d no idea what to expect when she finally went into labor. I was prepared to take anything she threw my way, but I hadn’t honestly expected her to be so put out with me so early on in the process.

  “The midwife is going to examine you,” the nurse told her. “Do you have other birth attendants coming?”

  “Do I?” Belle looked to me, her expression murderous.

  In fairness, we’d never settled on whether or not she would want others there. She had herself thought it best to wait until it was time. I wasn’t about to point that out to her, though. “I’ll call Clara.”

  “We’ll get settled, Daddy. Don’t worry.” The nurse lowered her voice. “This is all perfectly normal.”

  My wife didn’t normally hate me, so I wasn’t convinced of that.

  I stepped away to place the phone call. Striding past the door of another open room, I spotted a man at his wife’s side, comforting her through a contraction. It looked so peaceful that I found myself staring until a nurse hustled past, nearly bumping into me. I continued to the lobby, which due to the private nature of the wing, was completely empty.

  I hadn’t thought to take Belle’s phone, which left me with Alexander’s number. He answered on the second ring, which somehow spoke to the nature of our relationship as much as the man himself. It was nearly midnight, but his tone was hushed.

  “Yes?” He got straight to the point. It was usually business between us.

  “Belle’s in labor. She wants Clara.” I didn’t bother to ask Alexander to request she come. If I had to break down the doors of Buckingham and drag the Queen away in my arms, I would. Not even he could stop me.

  But Alexander didn’t press for more information. He simply replied in a clipped tone, “We’re on our way.”

  Then, he hung up.

  I’d done the only thing she’d asked of me, and what’s more the only thing she seemed to want me to do. I thought of the couple in the other hospital room, lovingly working through birth. I had no idea why my wife had decided she no longer wanted me here, and maybe, I’d pay for it, but there was no way I was going to let her push me away now.

  I strode back to the room, already labeled with our names on the outside placard and burst inside. Belle had a plastic mask over her face and her eyes widened as she spotted me.

  I rushed closer, peppering the midwife with questions as a nurse continued to take Belle’s vitals.

  “It’s only laughing gas,” she cut me off. “It will help her cope with the pain a little better. Your wife is pretty far into labor.”

  “That’s good news?” I looked to her for confirmation. I’d never been the type of man to feel uncertain in a crisis, but this was new territory for me.

  “It is, but that means she’s in the worst of it now.”

  “How much longer?” I asked grimly.

  “Minutes? Hours?” She shrugged, shoving her hands into the pocket of her burgundy scrubs. “Days?”

  “Days?” Belle’s voice piqued from the bed, and I looked over to see her staring dreamily at me from behind the mask.

  “That’s the gas,” the midwife warned. “If she takes it off, it wears off instantly.”

  I took advantage of the situation. The prickly version of Belle had been replaced by a drowsy, but calm one. As I reached her, her eyes slammed close and her hand shot out, searching for mine. I hated to see her in pain, but I was grateful that she seemed to not just tolerate my presence, but want it. My eyes skipped to the second hand of my watch, timing how long this one lasted. The midwife was right. Things were definitely picking up speed. When the pain waned, she collapsed against the bed, her hand clutching her mask like it was life support. Her eyes fluttered.

  “You should rest between contractions,” the nurse advised her. “Soon, you won’t be able to.”

  Belle turned bleary eyes on me.

  “I’ll be right here, beautiful,” I promised.

  “Clara?” she asked in a muffled voice.

  She might no longer hate me, but I still wasn’t the one she wanted. I forced a tight smile and nodded, reminding myself that I would do anything to help her through this—even leave if that’s what she wanted. “She’s on her way. It shouldn’t take long.”

  Belle’s hand withdrew from mine, and suddenly, she felt a million miles away.

  “I’ll go find them,” I said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “Rest.”

  She was in good hands. I had to trust that. But I couldn't shake the fear that everything was about to change—forever.

  12

  Belle

  The door opened and the comforting sight of Clara’s face appeared. Her dark hair was swept into a messy bun and her cheeks were flushed.”May I come in?”

  If I was willing to let go of the nitrous oxide I would have lunged at her. Instead, I had to settle for waving her frantically to my side. I was perfectly aware that I’d become a first class bitch sans pain reliever, and I couldn’t bear the thought of lashing out at her, too. I’d already scared Smith off. The memory of his face when I’d snapped at him swam to mind, and it took me a second to realize I was blinking back tears.

  “Oh, darling, what’s wrong?” Clara raced to my side, grabbing my hand. So many things had changed in the last few years, but she was here, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, looking nothing like the Queen. She was just my best friend, and the person I needed to see more than anyone else in the world.

  “I can’t do this.” The mask muffled my confession somewhat, but Clara’s eyes melted with sympathy.

  “You can. I know. They tell you it’s terrible, but it’s really terrible, isn’t it?” She smiled and squeezed my hand. “But you get the most wonderful prize at the end.”

  “It’s worth it?” I arched an eyebrow. For the first time, I was really beginning to wonder if I’d lost my mind. Why on earth had I thought I wanted to do this?

  Clara’s laughter tinkled like chimes. “I had a second one, didn’t I?”

  But it wasn’t just the pain that had me scared. It was awful, and I’d never been so properly happy to be in a hospital before. But that came and went. Like Clara said, once this was all over, I would have a prize.

  I would have a baby.

  “I’m not ready,” I croaked before I lost my nerve.

  “Belle,” Clara said without a hint of reproach, shaking her head. “That’s not true.”

  “I’m not,” I said, feeling panicked, despite the laughing gas. I pulled the mask off, so I could make my point more clearly and was rewarded with a contraction that sucked the air out of me.

  Clara leaned closer, holding my hand tightly. “You’ve got this. It will only last another minute. Okay, thirty seconds. Almost over. There.”

  Her countdown had the remarkable effect of making the contraction feel less terrible than the others.

  “Thank you,” I said, grateful she was here.

  “See? You’re going to be fine.”

  “Maybe for this part!” My panic came roaring back, settling like a lump on my chest. “I have no idea what to do with a baby!”

  “That’s not true.” Clara shook her head.

  “I am not responsible enough to have a child.”

  “That’s not true either.”

  “I’m going to be a horrible, selfish mother.” This final admission of fear exploded out of me. I’d managed for months to keep it locked away in a deep, dark place. I’d walked around with it churning inside me all this time, and now, in the throes of labor, I didn’t have the strength to keep it from spilling out.

  “No,” Clara said firmly, all the softness going out of her voice. She turned blazing eyes on me. “You are not going to be a horrible mother.”

  “
How do you know that?” I sobbed, wanting more than anything to believe her, but it was impossible. There was only one reason that this fear had plagued me this long. It was the same reason I hadn’t shared it with anyone.

  It was true.

  I knew it. Some women were cut out to be mothers. Clara was one of them. But the truth was that every time I went to visit her children—my god babies—I was more than happy to leave them behind with their parents at day’s end. I never found myself missing them or wishing I could take them home. I couldn’t do that with a baby of my own. It was one of the reasons I struggled with the idea of hiring a nanny. I should want to be a mum—all the time. Not just during non-working hours. But I couldn’t imagine actually doing it. Worse, I couldn’t imagine I’d be any good at it. “How do you know?” I repeated tearfully. “I don’t want to move to the country or drive big cars or give up my company.”

  “Wanting things or not wanting them doesn’t decide who you are as a person,” Clara said softly. “And wanting a career and a baby doesn’t mean you’ll be a bad mom.”

  “Maybe I’m not meant to be a mother. Maybe—”

  “You aren’t her,” Clara cut me off. “You aren’t your mother.”

  It took me a second to process what she said. When it finally sunk in, I pulled the gas mask back over my face. I didn’t have to let my anxiety and fear take control. I needed to calm down. Suddenly, I realized I’d let panic take hold of me.

  “You’ve been worrying about this for months, haven’t you?” she guessed. “Belle, you aren’t your mother. I saw how she was the other night. I imagine that only made it worse, but the good news is that we aren’t actually doomed to be our parents. Look at me. And Alexander.”

  And Smith, I thought. I hadn’t wanted to tell him about my fears because I was worried that if he didn’t feel the same way, I might plant the idea in his head. I closed my eyes, finally understanding why I hadn’t been able to leash the raging bitch that had shown up on the way to the hospital.