I want her to stand there forever.
But the more my eyes travel over her body, the more self-conscious my little bird becomes. She walks to the wall against which we just f****d and picks up her clothes.
She puts them back on, ignoring me pointedly. When she’s done, she picks up my clothes, strides back over, and dumps them in a heap on my lap.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” she says sourly.
“You could have stopped me any time,” I tell her. “You just didn’t want to.”
Her eyes flash with anger, but I can see it’s directed at herself this time, not me. “Artem—”
“I know about the baby,” I interrupt.
Her mouth pops open in shock, her eyes flash to me, all confusion and vulnerability. Then realization washes across her expression and she sighs.
“Of course,” she nods. “They would have don
