Dipping down to take my swollen nipple in his mouth, he swirls the aching bud with his tongue and rises back up, gripping my hips and fucking harder. His jaw tightens, clenches, and his eyes squeeze.

I relax, welcoming the power in his thrusts and riding the waterfall of anticipation building, trusting Beckham to take me where I need to go.

The burn. The pleasure. The intensity.

He explodes inside me, triggering an electric wave that commands my entire body as I come on his writhing cock.

Beckham collapses on top of me, our bodies sticking as we attempt to collect ourselves and catch our breath. The unapologetic scent of shameless arousal lingers in the air.

When he stands a minute later, I steal a glimpse of his half-hardened dick as if it might be the last time. This was sudden and unexpected, and perhaps it shouldn’t have happened, but I’m glad it did.

I needed to get him out of my system one last time.

Glancing around the room, I spot my dress half-hanging over a leather wingback chair by the fireplace. My heels are still covering my feet. My bag is somewhere in the foyer.

Beckham tosses me my dress and wanders into the next room, and I take it as my cue to leave. Tugging it over my head and fixing my hair, I stand and pull it down past my hips and smooth my palm along the wrinkles until it’s straight.

“Want something to drink?” He comes back in a white t-shirt with sweats tied around his waist, and heads to the kitchen to pull out a couple bottles of water.

“I was going to take off…” I point toward the foyer.

“You don’t have to leave yet. If you don’t want.”

He returns to the sofa, handing me a pristine bottle of Fiji water and sinks down next to me. I appreciate not feeling used, though I’m not sure it’d be classified as being used when I wanted it just as much.

My lips part, and for a moment, I consider asking him if he wants help assembling the rest of the baby gear. Opting to keep my comment to myself, I say nothing. Not in a mood to be crucified for kindness again.

We sit in silence, sipping waters, and basking in our respective orgasmic afterglows.

“I should go soon.” For the life of me, I can’t come up with a valid excuse other than the fact that sitting here like this is awkward.

Sadie whimpers from the next room, and I spot a baby monitor on the kitchen island, the one I ordered for him last week. Beckham says nothing. He leaves the room and returns with her a couple minutes later.

“She’s wide awake,” he says. “You mind holding her while I make a bottle?”

He lowers her into my arms. She smells like baby fabric softener and lavender. Her dark eyes are especially bright as she focuses in the dim light. I can’t resist running my fingers through her soft tufts of straight black hair. Her dainty features are ridiculously adorable, and I grin as she wraps her tiny fingers around my thumb.

Beckham returns with a warm bottle and takes her, cradling her in the corner of his arm. He still holds her like he’s terrified he’ll break her.

“She looks so much like you.” I lean in, convinced these two were meant to be in each other’s lives. They were made for each other in the most beautifully divine way.

The corner of his mouth pulls down as his brows lift. “Yeah, well…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, and I’m positive the thought of her not being his resides in the forefront of his mind every second of every minute of every day.

“It’s going to be a while before we can get a DNA test,” he says. “Eva’s still at the hospital, and there’s this whole process…”

His voice trails, like he doesn’t want to discuss it.

“Have you considered one of those drugstore DNA tests? I’ve seen them. I mean, I don’t know if the results will hold up in court or anything, but at least it’d give you an answer. Peace of mind. I wouldn’t be able to stand not knowing.”

“I wasn’t aware those existed.” His gaze never leaves her.

“I swear I’ve seen them. I don’t know how long they take, but I’m sure you’ll get an answer before you get your legal stuff sorted out with Eva.” I shrug. “It’s just an option.”

He huffs. “The last thing is to be seen buying a mail order DNA test from a Duane Reade. The tabloids would have a field day with that. Page Six would eat me alive.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll pick one up. Nobody knows me.”

He turns to me, his bottom lip jutting out as he contemplates my offer.

“I’ll grab it on the way home tonight,” I say. “Bring it to you tomorrow at the office.”

He pulls in a deep breath, his chest swelling and falling. “Yeah. Sure. Why the hell not?”

***

There it is.

The DNA swab kits sit inconspicuously along a bottom row, two spots down from a row of pregnancy tests.

I swipe the box and flip it over, reading the instructions. There’s a rush option, where results will come in two weeks, otherwise typical handling time is four to eight weeks.

Perfect.

I drop it in my basket and head to the check out lane, stopping dead when I see her.

Annelise.

 I refuse to smile, and I make no effort to hide my disappointment in seeing her here. She’s dressed in a cream cashmere twinset and black leather leggings tailored to her perfect physique. Her face is covered in the kind of makeup a woman buys from a counter at Barneys. Annelise doesn’t belong in a Duane Reade.

It’s too much. We’re past happenstance and coincidence.

“Annelise.” I grip the basket handle until my knuckles whiten and the plastic digs into my palm.

“Odessa.” She pulls her shoulders tight, and dons a devilish smirk. She doesn’t fidget or dither and her eyes don’t shift. If someone told me the woman standing before me was Annelise’s evil twin, I wouldn’t argue.

“What are you doing here?”

Her eyes fall to my basket, landing on the DNA test. My stomach twists. I bet she followed me here after seeing me leave Beckham’s place. If that’s the case, my sympathy for this broken-hearted girl is quickly morphing into concern that she might need professional help.

“I knew the baby wasn’t his.” Her arms fold.

“No clue what you’re talking about.”

Her blue eyes roll. “Not falling for that.”

“You need to distance yourself from him,” I say. “It’s not healthy. And please stop following me.”

She smirks, shaking her head. “Don’t act like you know him better than I do.”

The awkward, shy Annelise I met weeks ago is dead and gone. This psychotic woman is officially leading the charge.

“I’m not going to discuss him with you anymore,” I push past her, heading for the cash registers. My gut tells me not to engage with crazy.

The clicking of her heels match my strides as she follows me. A cold sweat trails down the back of my neck. This woman is completely obsessed with Beckham on a much larger scale than I previously assumed.

“He’s a monster,” she calls after me. “I created him, and only I know how to love him.”

My lips tighten and my skin flushes.

I don’t want to respond, but I won’t sit back and let some crazy stalker woman slander a man who doesn’t get enough credit for the good things he does.

But when I turn to silence her, she’s gone.

Chapter Thirty-Five

BECKHAM

“Here you go.” Odessa places a white plastic sack on my desk Monday morning.

Examining the kit, I read the fine print on the back as she stands before me, fidgeting.

“If you go online, you can pay a fee and upgrade to a rush order,” she says. “Just a quick swab of both your mouths, mail it off, pay the fee, and you should have your answer in less than two weeks.”

“Thank you.” I put the box back in the sack and slip my hands in my pockets, eyes dragging the length of her and catching a small twitch in her fingers. “What’s all this?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re shaking.” I hope to God she’s not being all jittery because we fucked last night and she decided all of a sudden to develop fucking feelings for me.