Hook, Line, and Sinker (Flirting with the Zodiac Book 1) Page 16

  Ty closed his eyes. “That I’m not ready. Going to Earth. That I don’t have … that I haven’t thought about …”

  “Mmphf,” Lawrence said, and Ty glared at him.

  “Don’t try to talk with your mouth full, Laz. I can’t understand you.”

  “I thought we’d just take you to the hospital.”

  Ty sighed. Lawrence grabbed the pizza box and followed him as he made his way to the living room, slung himself down on the couch, despite baby’s protesting. “That’s the general plan,” Ty muttered as he accepted another slice from Lawrence. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Lawrence pecked his cheek. “Honestly, if you want, like, a C-section or … whatever they do to Pisceans, just say the word.”

  “I don’t know what I want,” Ty murmured, crossing his arms. Baby did a flip-turn off his ribs or something.

  Lawrence ran a hand through his hair, then down his cheek. “Think Dr. K has an opinion?”

  “When doesn’t that guy have an opinion?”

  “Think we should ask for it?”

  “Ugh, honestly, we should probably just knock me out.”

  Lawrence nuzzled him. “Why’s that?”

  “So I can’t freak out about it,” Ty sighed.

  Lawrence laughed a little. “Well, at least you know yourself.” He caught Ty’s hand, squeezed it tight, then let their entwined hands rest over baby.

  “I just … how?” Ty pursed his lips. “This thing isn’t really all that small.”

  “Hm, no.” Lawrence looked at the ceiling, smiling. “Baby’s been getting bigger, huh?”

  Ty lifted a brow. “Hello, you live with me. You have eyes. You have to have noticed.”

  Lawrence snickered. “Yeah, okay, I’m aware.”

  “Then don’t remind me,” Ty huffed. “Honestly, I don’t need you telling me I look like a whale—”

  “I didn’t say that,” Lawrence protested, although there was no heat behind it.

  Ty frowned. “C’mon. I’m out to here, you—”

  “Maybe I’m looking because I like what I see,” Lawrence growled in his ear.

  Ty flushed. “Oh—c’mon. Get real.”

  “I am being real.” He let his hands slid over Ty’s belly, then down lower. “Hm?”

  “Laz, I appreciate that you appreciate me, but I’m seven months pregnant. My back hurts. I need to pee. I don’t bend in the middle anymore and—”

  Lawrence tugged him into his lap. “Poor fishy,” he said, “let me make it better.”

  “How?! You’re the one who knocked me up in the first place!”

  Lawrence kissed him lightly. “I could take you to the bedroom and show you?”

  “Laz—”

  “The couch works too.”

  “Laz, seriously.”

  Lawrence kissed him again, lingering and soft this time. Then he pulled back, his hand falling away from Ty’s cheek. His gaze was soft, simmering beneath the curtain of his lashes. “Want you so bad, fishy. But I’ll wait—Christ, Ty, I’ll wait forever if that’s what it—”

  Ty grabbed him by the front of his shirt, mashed their mouths together, forced his way into the blue-eyed idiot’s mouth. Lawrence protested, then groaned when Ty bit him. His hands landed on Ty’s back, drawing him in closer, anchoring them together. Ty rolled his hips experimentally, then almost toppled backward off Lawrence. Lawrence barely caught him, and they stared at each other.

  “Maybe the bed’s safer,” Lawrence said.

  “Maybe on my knees.”

  “Ah—but I want to look at you, fishy.”

  Ty pulled at the buttons on Lawrence’s polo. Lawrence already had his hands underneath the waistband of Ty’s sweats—he really hadn’t been dressed for going out in public, but it didn’t matter now, not when it was giving Lawrence easy access to his slit.

  “Maybe—”

  “Just—”

  Lawrence’s shirt was on the floor, followed by his belt. Then Ty’s shirt was off, followed by his pants. Lawrence fumbled with the bra, cursed, and Ty laughed at him, flung it at him when he finally got out of it. Lawrence pitched it aside, groped desperately at Ty’s chest. “I wanna touch you all the time,” he growled, and Ty gasped, let his eyes flutter shut. He fumbled with the zipper on Lawrence’s jeans. “I dunno why—just wanna …”

  “Then shut up and touch me,” Ty groaned. “Don’t tease me, not like this—”

  Lawrence settled him over his lap again, aligning them carefully. “We really need to do this more often.”

  “Maybe,” Ty huffed, “when I’m not …”

  They both looked down, both curved their hands over his abdomen. “Is this weird?” Ty whispered finally. “I feel like it’s weird.”

  “Do you want to stop?”

  Ty rocked his hips a couple more times, driving Lawrence deeper into him. “Mm, no.”

  Lawrence grinned. “Then fuck it, let’s be weird.”

  Ty slid his arms around the silver-haired man’s neck as they rocked together. Lawrence growled in his ear, nipped at his neck. He dug his fingers into Ty’s back, then slid them lower, gripping Ty’s ass. “You have no idea how into you I am.”

  “I’ve got a vague idea,” Ty retorted, leaving his own marks on Lawrence’s neck, dragging his nails down his husband’s back.

  “I mean,” Lawrence huffed, “been into you forever. Didn’t think I’d be into this, but …”

  Ty flushed, dipped his head, realized he couldn’t see anything but his belly between them. “Fuck,” he panted. Lawrence dug his fingers into his hips and fucked him harder.

  “Just so …” He broke off, panting, his eyes closed. “Ty, fuck, baby—I’m gonna—”

  Lawrence bit his lip and held Ty down on him; Ty raked his nails down his back, watching blue eyes flicker shut, then slowly roll open again. Lawrence’s lips parted; he exhaled, then tilted his head back, his shoulders slumping.

  Ty knocked their foreheads together, brushed Lawrence’s fringe out of his face. Lawrence kissed him, slow and purposeful. He rubbed his hands over Ty’s hips. “Gotta finish the job, right, fishy?”

  He slipped out of Ty, replaced his cock with his devious fingers, and Ty closed his eyes, let Lawrence work him over. “God,” Lawrence murmured, almost reverent, “wanna watch you come, you look so good when you do—”

  “Fuck.” Ty clawed at the cushions behind him as Lawrence curled his fingers in him, then drove them in deeper. “Yes—ah.”

  It wasn’t the fireworks he was used to; it was shorter, less satisfying, but he shook anyway. Lawrence wrapped his arms around him, then tilted back on the sofa, letting Ty lean into him. “Good?”

  Ty shifted. “Might need to go again later,” he murmured, turning his head to rest his cheek on Lawrence’s chest. He closed his eyes.

  “Whenever you want,” Lawrence whispered, raking a hand through his hair. “All you have to do is ask.”

  Twenty-One

  Ty regretted saying they were going to Earth. His parents were still upset; Lawrence was worried, especially after their consultation with Dr. K last week (Ty didn’t know much, but “you’re dilated” seemed bad); and he himself didn’t want to go.

  Val had given Lawrence shit for caving to his relatives; even Raoul was against them going, and he was normally sympathetic to Lawrence’s plight of overbearing parents.

  There was really no way out of it now, though; Lawrence had tried to walk back their commitment two or three times over the last month. The response had varied from his mother calling him in tears to Lucy and Chaz calling to talk about how unwell Myrtle was, to Larry reaming Lawrence out for being disrespectful, uncaring, callous. That he’d choose Ty over his own flesh and blood, the people who’d raised him.

  Ty knew his father-in-law had called him some pretty horrible things from the way Lawrence blanched, then turned red and finally hung up. He wouldn’t repeat it, but he was clearly disturbed.

  Ty was going to insist they go, even if it was only so he
could kick their asses for making Lawrence so fucking miserable.

  Well. Maybe give them a verbal lashing. He wasn’t sure he was in fit state to do much more than amble to the shuttle bus, then get on the commuter shuttle to Earth.

  He stood in the bedroom, staring forlornly at his reflection, the strip of pale skin that peered out from under his shirt, no matter how he tried to pat it down. His pants remained stubbornly unbuttoned at the top, accentuating the curve of his belly.

  Nothing fit, nothing was comfortable, he felt like a whale, and he had to get on a fucking shuttle for three plus hours, and then he’d be on Earth, where he’d heard the gravity was turned up.

  He slid his hands under the curve of his belly, followed it up until his hands rested beneath his chest, his swollen breasts still pert and perky and jutting out obscenely.

  He couldn’t see Lawrence’s family like this. He couldn’t go anywhere like this. He just wanted to hunker down and hide until the baby was born.

  “Ready?” Lawrence asked as he peered into the room, and Ty shook his head, dropped his hands. He heard Lawrence’s footsteps on the floorboards. “What’s up?”

  Ty covered his face with his hands to hide tears, but his voice gave him away anyway. “Nothing fits, I’m a whale, I’m uncomfortable, I’m not going.”

  A gentle tug on his hands peeled them away from his face. He gave Lawrence a guilty look, because he knew he was being irrational, but …

  “It just means you’re doing a good job, okay?” He touched a hand to Ty’s stomach, dragging one finger up the dark line that now ran between Ty’s pelvic bone and his outturned bellybutton. “You’re doing a great job.”

  Ty bit his lip. “I hate it,” he whimpered.

  “You’re almost there,” Lawrence reassured him. He flattened his palm over Ty’s stomach, stroking softly, and Ty was just about to tell him to stop, push him away, when there was a drumming on his insides—baby waking up, he supposed.

  Lawrence pulled his hand away like he’d been burnt. “That …”

  “You felt that?” Ty asked, letting his hands land on his belly as baby kept kicking at him.

  Lawrence nodded. His eyes were glued to Ty’s middle. “You, um … wow.” His hand hovered above Ty’s skin, and he finally glanced up, something indescribable flashing in his eyes before it was gone again. “Can I … ?”

  Part of Ty wanted to say no; he didn’t want to be seen, let alone touched. But the way Lawrence was looking at him broke him, and he nodded, shuffling his own hands aside.

  Lawrence’s touch was feather-light at first, then bolder, firmer as he dragged his palm over Ty’s skin. His eyes were wide, rapt, as baby kicked again. The smile that lit up his face was a thousand degrees, warming Ty from the inside out, and he had no choice but to melt back onto his elbows.

  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Lawrence looked at his belly again, huffed a couple of pensive breaths as though he wanted to speak. Then he drew his hands away, reluctantly, and rose to his feet. “Let’s go,” he said, “we’re going to be late.”

  ***

  Earth was hell. The Traffords were insane, Ty decided, as the car rounded yet another corner, hugging tight to the sheer rock of the towering mountain to their left. To their right, nothingness greeted them—a flimsy metal guardrail stood between them and plummeting to their untimely deaths.

  Not that Ty was really thinking about that. Not at all.

  He wondered why they couldn’t have gone to Nevada or wherever Lawrence’s parents actually lived. Granted, it was a desert, so Ty probably wouldn’t have been very happy there, but it was at least warm, and the roads weren’t made of ice.

  “Relax,” Lawrence whispered, landing a hand on his knee, and Ty glowered at him.

  As if he could relax in a place like this.

  Ty didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until he’d stepped out of the car, put his feet back on solid ground. Or at least a bit of crunchy snow. Honestly, he’d take what he could get.

  He wrapped his arms around himself to keep his coat closed as Lawrence and the driver unloaded the luggage.

  He tried to admire the chalet they were parked in front of, its dark, sloping roof covered in snow, icicles dangling from its eaves. It seemed quaint, almost, except it was massive and ostentatious—virtually the opposite of typical Alpine architecture (if The Sound of Music was to be believed, at least; Dad loved that stupid movie).

  Ty silently willed the two men to unload the luggage faster. He’d been colder since getting pregnant, and standing in the Alpine chill, his feet in the snow, wasn’t helping.

  At last, Lawrence paid the driver, then turned to Ty. “Shall we?” he asked, and Ty darted by him, stomping into the house before Lawrence could even respond.

  He was in the middle of toeing off his boots with his hands braced against the wall (anything involving his feet was precarious these days) when Lawrence strolled in.

  “I don’t think it’s any warmer in here,” he hissed to his husband. “Doesn’t your family believe in turning the heat on?”

  “They like to keep things on the cooler side.”

  “Cheap bastards,” Ty muttered, then turned to see Mr. Trafford standing on the stair. He coughed into his hand, then straightened a little.

  “And good afternoon to you, Mr. Metzler,” he said gruffly. Ty boggled at the sight of Mr. Trafford in what was probably an insanely expensive sweater, decorated with a delicate line of what seemed to be pine trees and various Xs and diamonds, and jeans, the gold chain of a pocket watch peeping out from his pocket.

  “Actually,” Lawrence said from behind him, “it’s Mr. Metzler-Trafford now.”

  The elder Mr. Trafford harrumphed again, although it was impossible to tell if he was surprised or disgusted. “You’ve arrived right on time,” he said to Lawrence, “we were just heading to the cigar room.”

  “I see,” Lawrence said cautiously. He hung his jacket on a nearby peg, and Ty followed suit. “Well, if you don’t mind, perhaps we’ll join you later and—”

  “All of us,” Mr. Trafford said, eyebrows lifting and eyes widening.

  “I see,” Lawrence repeated, then glanced at Ty. “Will there be smoking?”

  “It is a cigar room.”

  “It was only a question, Father. If there will be smoking, we’ll have to decline; it’s not good for the baby’s health, you see.”

  “We’re aware,” Mr. Trafford said, glancing icily at Ty. “You might still partake, mightn’t you?”

  Lawrence and Ty shared another look. “Of course,” Lawrence said. “I’ll be right along.”

  Mr. Trafford nodded, then headed back up the stairs. He was stiff and slow; his age was showing.

  “They’re up to something,” Ty whispered.

  Lawrence gave him something halfway between a glare and a look of pity. “They’re trying to separate us for some reason,” he murmured. Then he clapped Ty on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go lie down? You said you had a bit of a headache anyway.”

  “Might be nice,” Ty said. “My back hurts too, and that shuttle did not help.”

  “I bet.” Lawrence ruffled his hair. “You go nap, starfish, leave my relatives to me.”

  “Are you sure?” Ty thought of Lawrence, alone, being berated by his family for all his life choices yet again. “I could come with you—”

  Lawrence shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough to appease them. We’re here, aren’t we? I’ll handle the rest.”

  He ruffled Ty’s hair, then pointed down the hall. “Two lefts, third door from the end.”

  “Thanks,” Ty said, then gasped when Lawrence drew him in tight and kissed him.

  The taller man pulled back, chuckling lightly. “Maybe don’t seem so surprised if I show you some affection while we’re here?”

  Color rushed into Ty’s cheeks. “Of course,” he said, then marched off to their designated suite. He slowed as he noted someone else approaching from the other end of the hall�
�a brunette in a slinky dress, jewels glittering around her neck.

  He gritted his teeth. Of course they’d send Chaz’s wife after him.

  “Oh, hello,” Lucy purred, as though she hadn’t been stalking him since she’d turned the corner, as though she hadn’t been sent to suss him out as the weak link, break him and Lawrence, send him packing to Mars, leaving Lawrence here with his family.

  “Hi,” he returned curtly, then went back to checking doors. Third to his … ?

  Why were there so many doors? Why did Lawrence’s parents need so many rooms?

  She hovered over his shoulder. He could see her playing with one of her rings in the background. “Are you looking for something?” she asked when they’d wandered by several of the rooms.

  “Not at all.”

  “Lawrence’s room is this way,” she said, offering a smile. He steeled himself, preparing not to trust her, not to let her lead him astray. He knew exactly what was going on.

  Nonetheless, he followed her down the hall, her gait quick and light and stabbing with her heels; he, by comparison, was slow, ambling, awkward. She paused, glancing back at him with an eyebrow lifted. He flushed furiously; he knew he was slower than a snail and about as graceful as a herd of elephants. She didn’t have to mock him for it.

  He opened the door when he caught up with her, dragged his luggage into the room. “Thanks,” he said and started to swing the door shut.

  “We’re having tea downstairs,” she said, placing her foot in the doorway. He glared down at her shoes. “Would you like to join us?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Oh, come now,” she said, landing a hand on his arm. He shook her off as quick as he could, like he’d been burnt. “It’s just us, none of the men—”

  He glared, and she coughed. “Well, you know what I mean.” Her downward glance was unmistakable, and he wanted to curl away, hide from her prying eyes.

  She smiled at him again when she lifted her gaze. “It would be good,” she enthused. “We’ve hardly seen you. We hardly know you.”

  He scowled. As if they wanted to know him. “I’m going to take a nap, thank you. I have a headache.” It wasn’t even a lie; he could feel the tension building in his temples.