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Dropping my jeans back to the floor, I return to her, bringing my erection up to her entrance and teasing her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Joshua.” She runs her fingers through my hair and pulls my lips toward hers. “Let me feel you.”

So I do.

I push inside her in one slow thrust, her warmth wrapping around me. When I’m fully seated, I still, every nerve in my body lighting up.

Sex with Wynter has always been amazing.

But without a condom, I can feel everything. Every flutter. Every clench. Every delicious tremor.

I lean down, grazing my teeth along her neck. “You’re fucking perfect,” I grunt as I begin moving against her. “Fucking beautiful. So fucking mine.”

“Joshua,” she moans, digging her fingernails into my back as she wraps her legs around my waist.

“Say it, Wynter. Tell me you’re mine.”

Something flickers across her face. Hesitation. Maybe fear.

Then she pulls me closer, her voice breaking. “I’m yours, Joshua.”

I lower my mouth to hers. “And I’m yours.”

“Oh, God,” she whimpers, arching into me.

I try to prolong it, not wanting this to be over too soon. Not now that I know what she feels like with nothing between us. But I can’t control myself around her. The moment I feel her shatter, I let go, too, our bodies writhing and moving in time with each other until we’re utterly boneless and sated.

Once I have my breathing under control, I ease out of her and push to my feet.

“Give me a second.” I touch a kiss to her forehead, then slip into the en suite bathroom. Grabbing a towel, I clean myself off first. Then I turn on the faucet and place a washcloth underneath it.

I’m about to return to Wynter when something in the wastebasket catches my eye.

A box for a pregnancy test.

I stare at it, my brain unable to process what it could mean.

Then my pulse kicks back in, and I take a step toward it.

And another.

And another.

As I lean closer, I see the box has been opened. And peeking out of it is a test stick.

A voice in my head tells me not to do this. That it’s none of my business.

But I’ve been sleeping with Wynter for the past couple of weeks. It sort of is my business. Especially if she’s pregnant.

So instead of pretending I never saw it, I carefully sift through the wastebasket and pull out the test.

I don’t even realize I’m barely breathing until I see the plus sign. The symbol is so stark, so definitive, yet for a second, the meaning of it doesn’t register.

Pregnant.

Wynter is pregnant.