Page 78 of Walking Red Flag

I don’t know why I didn’t feel exposed around him.

Maybe it was the way he’d saved me already.

Maybe it was because when I was in his presence, I felt like I could take on the world.

Whatever the reason, I didn’t flinch at his perusal of my body.

I allowed my hair to cover me, displaying the tight peaks of my nipples through the fabric of his shirt and strands of my hair.

My hair pooled in my lap, mostly covering my naked lower half.

His eyes trailed down my body, and he stopped when he realized that I was panty-free.

His eyes came up to mine and he said, “No wonder you were so cold earlier.”

I giggled and said, “I don’t sleep in panties. They’re restrictive.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, his finger trailing along my thigh.

Shivers danced along my skin, following the path of his finger.

I studied his profile as he watched his finger move, starting at my hip, then farther up underneath my—his—shirt.

My nipples pebbled in anticipation as the tail of my shirt rose, revealing more and more skin, until his finger was now up between my breasts.

The path that his finger took felt like a brand straight to my soul.

“On a scale from one to ten,” he murmured, voice low but somehow deeper. Huskier. “How in tune are you with your cycle?”

I blinked, my mind blanking for a moment before saying, “I mean, I know when it’s supposed to come next.”

“My sister, in her infinite ‘teach your older brothers about women’ era, taught us all about when a woman is fertile,” he circled one taut nipple. “Told us about how when, if she was at a point in her cycle, that was the best opportunity to get them pregnant. And to stay far, far away from them at that time unless we were willing to deal with the consequences.”

I bit my lip when his fingers plucked my nipple.

“And for some fuckin’ reason, my alpha male, neanderthal brain is telling me that, if we’re married, I might as well really cement you permanently into my life by getting you pregnant while I’m at it.” He looked up then, his eyes super intense. “Because I don’t think I’ll ever let you go, Milena soon-to-be-forever Clayborne.”

I swallowed hard at the intensity in his eyes. “I, uh, I’m fairly sure that I’m not ovulating.”

His smile seemed to dim slightly at the news, and I saw the moment that the thought, the very idea of me carrying his child, permanently solidified in his brain.

He wanted me pregnant.

He was being one hundred percent serious.

He wanted me to be his.

Forever.

What kind of crazy, fucked up, weird shit was this?

And why the hell did I see that walking red flag that was Cutter Clayborne and want to run directly to him and go with the crazy ideas he was throwing at me?

Why did the sound of being pregnant with his baby totally appeal to me?

Why did I want to permanently cement him into my life like he’d suggested, and make it to where, no matter what, we would always and forever be connected?

I should be running for the hills.

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