Page 126 of Sinful Blaze

She doesn’t need anything else to push her over the edge—and neither do I. We fall over together into that wet, dark heat.

I won’t mind at all if this is how we need to have serious discussions. If the only way she’ll ever grasp things is by me pounding it into her beautiful body until she screams and comes apart at my command, I’m more than happy to oblige.

“We don’t keep secrets in this house,” I mumble against her stomach as I ease her back down. “Understood?”

She’s dreamy-eyed and perfectly satisfied. I’d be lying if I said that’s not a major turn-on in itself. I love knowing I’m the one—the only one—to make her feel this good.

“Okay,” she breathes. “Okay.”

I caress her waist, pressing more kisses to the precious swell of her womb. “You’re mine, Daphne. You and our baby. You have no idea how?—”

I cut myself off before I openly admit it. Before I say, out loud, how fucking scared I was that something had happened to her. To our daughter.

So instead, I pull myself out of her. “If Ewing ever comes back, you call me. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“If anyone lays a finger on you, or makes you feel unsafe in any way, you give them hell until you’re able to call me. Not Sofi, not Mak, not my mother. Me.”

She nods, a tiny smile playing at the edge of her lips. “You really want to take care of me, don’t you?” She says it like this is the very first time she’s actually fully understood the concept.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“No,” she admits as the grin spreads. “But… I might need reminders. Constant, lengthy reminders.”

I nip at the swell of her breast and grin right back. “Your wish is my command.”

48

DAPHNE

“Do me a favor, Daph… Warn me next time? Before you go and tell me what might be the hottest sex story ever?” Hazel shakes her head and fans herself. “It’s been a while for me, y’know.” Then she flashes a grin and straightens up. “But really, in all seriousness. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks.” I feel a squiggly, giggly warmth spread through my chest. “I’m happy, too.”

Pasha drove me to work again this morning. He was very obviously looking for Conrad, or any other signs of trouble, but the fact that his hand kept caressing my thigh had me purring the whole time. He could be looking for nuclear warheads for all I care.

He wants me. For me.

I’m his woman.

I’m on Cloud Nine. And I’m his woman.

Another little gesture neither of us spoke about but I definitely mentioned to Hazel: Pasha didn’t wear a tie this morning. He’s actually stopped wearing ties as often as he used to, but this morning he left the top two buttons or so undone and his shirt pulled open.

Just enough to see the hickey I left on his neck.

I can’t quite match Pasha’s levels of bloodthirsty, enough-to-kill-a-rhinoceros testosterone. But I’m definitely loving that any interested woman is going to see my mark on my man and know better than to try anything with him.

Unfortunately, my high doesn’t last as long as I would’ve liked. Hazel and I both hear the front doors slam open from where we’re sitting and look up in alarm.

What now?

This isn’t exactly Grand Central Station. Visitors outside of showcase events are typically few and far between. But ever since things with Pasha and Conrad heated up, it’s almost like we should just install a revolving door.

“You.”

Shit. I know that voice. I’ve been wincing at that rasping, pathetic babydoll voice since boarding school.

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