Page 108 of The Reluctant Wife

I turn my palm and twine my fingers with his, feeling that connection between us grow stronger.

“Can I ask you a question?” His voice is soft, but something in his tone makes me wary. “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

There’s curiosity in his eyes, but I don’t see anything that alarms me, so I dip my chin.

“You’re not on birth control”—he clears his throat—“and you wanted me to come inside you.”

I flush a little and look away. “I might have gotten carried away in the heat of the moment.” I pop a shoulder. “I... I wanted to feel you inside of me without a condom.”

“And if there were a child?” he asks softly.

I reach for the glass of water and take a sip before I tip up my chin. “I want kids, and if there were one, I’d keep the child. But truthfully, I wasn’t thinking that far. All I wanted was to feel you without barriers.”Ugh, that sounds so irresponsible. But it's the truth.“I know it must be difficult for you to talk about having children after what happened with your wife.”

His gaze shutters, and his features set into hard lines. Then he sighs. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk about this earlier, but being with you seems to blow my composure to smithereens.”

“Me too,” I say softly.

The silence stretches. I want to ask him what he thinks about having kids. I want to ask him if he’d stay married to me beyond the year he set as a timeline for us, if I did get pregnant.To bea mother to his child, to see him as a father, to carry his child…My head spins.

I’m unprepared for the surge of emotions that storm my chest. For the yearning that catches me unawares and forms a pit in my belly. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to have kids with him. Until now. I was too consumed with the preparations for the wedding and, before that, with the emotional upheaval from the anonymous note and the assassination attempt. Maybe, a part of me thought we’d get around to talking about it; perhaps, even hoped we’d last beyond a year. Now, I realize how much I’ve left up to chance. Because the thought of being without him, of not having children with him, opens up a crater in my heart.

“Hey”—he squeezes my hand—“talk to me, baby. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I’m not going to beg him to love me. I’m not going to plead with him to realize what we have here is so much more than temporary. He’s going to have to figure it out.Hopefully, the more time we spend together, the more he’s going to find we fit so well, he'd be crazy to give that up.

He dips his chin and peers into my eyes. I’m sure he can see the turmoil on my features and how my thoughts are racing ahead, and I want to look away but find I’m helpless.

He reads my features, and his own soften. “I do want kids,” he says slowly in answer to my unspoken question. “And I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you. I just—” His Adam’s Apple bobs. “Just be patient with me. Give me a little more time to get over this...inability to trust in the future.” A tortured expression takes over his features. Then, he seems to get a hold of himself. “If I could, I’d turn the world upside down to give you what you seek, but I can’t make promises unless I’m sure I can keep them. You understand?”

I think I do. At least, I’m trying to. Even though a part of me wants to shake some sense into him and tell him that he needs to let bygones be bygones and move forward.

I’ll never find anyone else I feel so much in sync with. Someone who makes me feel comfortable and turned on, all at once. Someone who I feel knows me almost as well as I know myself. And in some respects,better. Someone who knows exactly how to take charge and please me in bed.

He gets me. He sees through the façade I wear, the mask I present to the public. He makes me feel important, like I’m all that matters to him.

There will never be anyone else who can read my mind as if I were saying things aloud, and that is so special. So unique.

Our gazes meet and hold, and that chemistry between us spikes the air.

The sound of the waves on the beach, the lapping of the water in the swimming pool… All of it fades. The skin of my hand where I’m connected to him tingles. An electric current runs up my arm. I feel the pull toward him like it’s a living force. I rise to my feet as if in a dream and walk around to straddle his lap. He places his hands on my hips, a curious look filtering into his eyes. He leans back in his seat, seemingly laid back, but his gaze is hawkish.

I bend and try to press my lips to his, but he holds me back. I try to lower my chin, but his hold stops me. I frown. "I want to kiss you."

"You don’t set the pace,” he warns.

I narrow my gaze, then reach forward and dig my fingers into his thick, silky hair and tug on it.

His lips twitch. Then, he raises his hands, curls his fingers around my wrists, and notches my arms behind my back. The position forces my chest forward, and my breasts jut out. I’m notwearing a bra, so I know my nipples can be seen through the almost transparent dress.

He rakes his gaze across my chest, and his pupils dilate. "You’re so beautiful," he says in a gravelly voice, then leans in and closes his lips around one nipple. I groan and try to push more of my breast into his mouth, but he merely laughs.

What the—Before I can complete the thought, he bites down with enough force that I cry out, "That hurt."

"Good." He brings his mouth to the other breast and gives it the same treatment. Despite being prepared for the pinch of his teeth, it doesn’t stop me from shuddering. Another cry escapes me. My thighs hurt; my pussy feels so empty.

I begin to hump the ridge in his crotch, trying to make myself come again, but he shakes his head. "Oh no, you don’t."

"Aww, you’re such an unfeeling man." I pout.

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