Page 160 of Sinful Blaze

It’s all foggy to my hungry mind. And I’m sure as fuck being anything but slow, soft, or sweet.

She comes once like the greedy little plamya that she is, which makes me laugh and bear down harder. My own orgasm is lurking, but I’m not ready to be done yet.

I need more of her squeezing down on my cock with every muscle she has.

I need more of her moaning and gasping and clinging to my hips as her breath fogs the mirror.

I need more of her staring wide-eyed as I fuck the living hell out of her, so she can see that she is perfect to me.

I don’t know how long we keep going. I lose track of how many times I feel her ripple and spasm around me. All I know is that I want her, I need her, and I won’t be satisfied until I’ve poured myself into her.

When I finally do, it’s with one protective hand over her belly and one possessive hand over her throat and one proud roar ripping free from deep within my soul.

My mind is blank, but somehow, we tumble into bed. And yet as soon as we hit the pillows, all my plans of recuperating in a daze go out the window.

I was going to collapse on it with her. Maybe hold her for a while and make sure she’s rid of all those ridiculous thoughts of me leaving her for someone else.

But now that I see her sprawled on my bed, her skin glistening head to toe and my seed smearing between her thighs…

I’m suddenly thinking of so many other ways to make sure she gets the message.

Besides—I’m not exactly an expert in showing, or giving, or feeling love.

I need the practice.

61

DAPHNE

I believe everything Pasha told me (and showed me, several times over).

But I still don’t trust Brittany Cleary as far as I can fucking punt her.

It’s been a few days since he told me what she tried to do. He’s convinced that’s the end of it—but I know better.

She’s not the kind of person to simply take her L and then skip off into the sunset.

Not without a fight.

In the past, I would’ve let her scratch and claw to get what she wanted. But I’ve never had something I wanted this badly. And make no mistake: I want Pasha Chekhov. I want the life he’s promised me, the love he’s shown me, the baby he’s given me.

So if Brittany thinks she can take him… she’s got another thing coming.

All of that is why I’m in the sexiest maternity outfit I can wear in public. The sweater cowl is off-shoulder and shows off my décolletage, with the rest of the dress hugging my curves and baby belly.

The shoes are the only real disappointment. Any other time, I’d be going to war in sky-high stilettos to show off my bare calves and remind Pasha of the many, many times I’ve wrapped them around him. Make Brittany seethe with jealousy.

But my daughter’s added weight says, “Absolutely not.”

So I sigh, recalculate, and hop around the bedroom while tugging on a sexy pair of flats that still show off my legs, but in a more comfortable way.

Now, all I have to do is my hair, makeup, and jewelry.

Then it’s battle time.

Bring it, bitch.

Part one of my Keep Brittany The Fuck Off My Man Plan immediately goes awry when I get lost in the Chekhov International offices. Why there are three sets of elevators is beyond me.

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