Provocative (Tempting Book 3) Read Online Free

mouth before I could reign it in—not that I would’ve, necessarily. But I might have said it with a little more grace. Like, “have sex with” instead of “fuck.”
    “Oh, I didn’t realize…” he stammered.
    I started to reply when the vomit catapulted up my throat. Panicking, I didn’t know what to do and grabbed my notebook, curving it into a half cylinder so that I could vomit in it.
    “Fucking gross,” the guy said as he leaned away from me.
    Still holding the notebook that had become a trough for my vomit, I made my way out of class. After dumping the notebook and washing my hands and face again in the bathroom, I sent Nathan another text. What the actual fuck? I puked again!
    While I waited for his reply, I stared at my reflection. I had gone months since my last touch up, clearly evidenced by my darkening roots. But the hair itself hung from my face like it’d given up. Not that I blamed it—I don’t think I’d used a single hot hair tool on it in months.
    Under my eyes were identical brown splotches—lack of sleep, probably. My eyes themselves were bloodshot, and my face was paler than the sterile walls of the bathroom. I looked like absolute shit.
    Nathan’s reply came just as I was about to leave the bathroom. Maybe it’s not the salmon—could it be morning sickness?
    To say I was inexperienced with the trials of pregnancy was a gross understatement, but I figured morning sickness was likely the culprit. But, even though I didn’t know just how many weeks I was, I always assumed morning sickness happened later on—like when you actually had a bump that was more baby-baby instead of pizza-baby. Like when the pregnancy was more real.
    How the hell was I going to survive the rest of the school year if this morning sickness didn’t let up?
    My phone buzzed. Why don’t you go home? Take a breather. It’s been a busy few days. Ah, Nathan. My supportive Nathan, encouraging me to skip class and head home for the day, already.
    Who was I to say no? I practically fucking skipped home.
    As I walked down the pristine concrete sidewalk, my eyes met his car in the driveway, the paint job glittering under the early morning sun.
    Early morning, I thought. Nathan was never home that early in the day.
    I pushed open the front door, surprised to see him at the counter where I’d last seen him hours earlier.
    “Hey,” he said, coming to me and pulling me into his arms. “How’s your stomach?”
    “Well, I think it’s still inside of me—for the moment. You’re home early?” It came out as a question, but I wasn’t really sure what I was asking.
    He led me to a seat at the bar and rubbed a hand down my back. “When you said you didn’t feel well, I wanted to be here for you when you got home.”
    “Aww,” I said, leaning into his touch. “You want to hold my hair back when my stomach attempts its escape again?”
    “I told you, I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.” He brushed a hand over my hair as warmth seeped into my skin and warmed my bones.
    He was shiny Nathan, but he was mine nonetheless. And as he pulled me in for a hug, all I could think was how everything just might be okay.

Chapter Four
    “ W hat the fuck ,” I whispered as I launched out of bed at an ungodly hour, making a beeline for the toilet just before my stomach upended itself.
    “It was fucking toast,” I whisper-yelled as my hands clutched the cold porcelain. “Dry fucking toast. And water.” Still, vomit poured out of me faster than I could fathom. I tried sucking in air through my nostrils in between spews of barf, but it was coming so fast that I couldn’t keep up.
    My whole face grew warm, and moisture collected behind my eyes. Why couldn’t I keep toast down? Was this normal?
    Who knew something smaller than my pinky finger could hold all the power over your body? I’d flipped through a baby book and came across something that looked more alien than human, but it was the fetus, the itty bitty cluster