Page 46 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

“You’re getting close,” he says. “I can tell by the way you’re breathing, the way you’re shaking.”

I love the way he knows my body so well. But the thought stays in my mind for only a few short moments before the orgasm arrives, coursing through me, warming me, making me moan and shiver.

“You’re so fucking sexy when you come,” he says. “I just want to watch it again and again.”

With that, he slips a finger beneath the blindfold and pulls it off. He’s naked over top of me, his body as solid and sexy as ever. His cock is hard and straight, and all I want is him inside of me.

He moves down, covering my belly in more kisses, leaving no doubt how he feels about what’s happening between us.

Patrick climbs on top of me, his cock pressing against the patch of hair above my pussy. We kiss, long and slow and deep. I spread my legs, guiding him into me.

When he sinks inside, filling me, stretching me, it’s perfect. Patrick’s body is made for mine; I’m certain of it. We kiss more as he pulls back and drives inside, another fresh, hot wave of ecstasy flowing through me.

I want to hold him, but the bindings prevent it. He presses his forehead against mine, our tongues touching, his taste washing over my palate.

“Come for me,” he says, thrusting at a pace that’s driving me wild. “Come for me right now.”

There’s no resisting him, no holding back. The orgasm erupts, and I’m arching underneath him as he pumps again and again, bringing himself to climax right as I hit mine. He fills me with his warmth, grunting hard in that deep way that I love.

Nothing else matters in these moments of pure bliss, his cock erupting inside, my walls clenching around him, gripping him tightly, making him mine.

When we’re done, Patrick slowly, gently undoes the bindings, kissing, caressing, and caring for me in a way that perfectly balances the aggression of his lovemaking.

As we lay there in the aftermath, I notice that he can’t take his eyes off my belly, a small smile tugging at his typically stoic face.

We’re in this together and there isn’t anyone I’d rather have by my side.

Chapter 29

Allie

The day stretches long and lazy, the kind you dream about but seldom get to live. I’m curled up in Patrick's study, sipping herbal tea. The dress shirt I’d snagged from his closet hangs loose over my shoulders, barely covering my panties.

It's comfy, yet I can't shake the heavy thoughts that circle like vultures overhead.

I can hear Patrick in the kitchen, flipping through his notes, the clink of a spoon against the mug as he stirs his coffee. He’s going over potential restaurant specials, the scrawl of pencil on paper filling the silence.

There’s something cooking, too. The constant scent of delicious food in the air is one more thing I love about Patrick’s place.

I smile, imagining the furrow in his brow, that intense look he gets when he's deep in the culinary creation zone.

I should be over there, bouncing ideas off him, letting our creativity spiral into new and exciting dishes. But I stay put, my thoughts on the Mafia thing. It’s causing a tight knot in my chest and demanding attention. I promised myself I'd address it before we head back to the restaurant tonight. But it's not just about confirming my suspicions anymore.

I'm in love with him, deeply, irrevocably. I’m carrying his child. Does it really matter if he has ties to the Mafia? I suppose in the grand scheme of things, it does, but it's not going to change how I feel about him. Yet, I crave transparency. I need to know who he is, all of him, especially the shadowy parts he keeps veiled.

Does he love me? I haven't gotten it spelled out in black and white yet but every look, every touch, speaks volumes. He cares, and that much is crystal clear. Maybe that’s enough to build on, to create something lasting—not just for us, but for our coming child.

I set my tea down, feeling the weight of the decision I'm about to make. Confronting the Mafia topic isn’t just about clearing the air; it's about setting a course for our future, determining if our foundation can handle the heavy truths.

With a deep breath, I walk toward the kitchen.

I breeze in just as Patrick is putting the final touches on what looks like a feast fit for a queen. He greets me with that killer smile that's been knocking me off my feet since day one and gestures grandly to the spread on the counter. "Voilà! For the lady: perfectly seared steak rich in iron, vibrant veggies with vitamin C, and a steamy mug of collagen broth for the baby."

I'm genuinely touched. He was diving into the world of pregnancy superfoods. My heart does a little dance—half from love, half from the sheer delight of being so thoughtfully cared for.

He chuckles as he serves me, the clink of the utensils playing background music to his next declaration.

"This baby's going to have a palate that appreciates the finer things in life, starting in the womb," he jokes, winking as he hands me a fork.

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