Page 36 of The Billionaire's Obsession

There's an efficiency to how we undress each other now—the familiarity of three years together. I unzip her dress just enough to expose her breasts, still contained in a practical maternity bra. When I free them, my mouth waters at the sight. They're fuller, the nipples darker, more sensitive. When I brush my thumbs across them, Lucy whimpers.

"Beautiful," I murmur. "So fucking beautiful."

Her hands work my shirt buttons, then my belt. I help her, too impatient to wait. When I'm finally free, hard and aching for her, I lift her carefully onto the edge of the desk.

"Are you comfortable?" I ask, hands gentle on her thighs as I spread them.

Lucy nods, her eyes dark with need. "I need you, Damon. Now."

I hook my fingers into her panties, sliding them down her legs. The scent of her arousal hits me, making my cock throb with anticipation. I drop to my knees, needing to taste her first.

"Damon—" Her protest turns into a moan as my mouth finds her center.

She's wetter than usual—another gift of pregnancy—and the flavor of her on my tongue is addictive. I lick and suck until her thighs tremble on either side of my head, until her fingers tangle in my hair, holding me exactly where she needs me.

"Please," she gasps. "I need you inside me."

I rise, positioning myself between her spread thighs. The sight of her—dress rucked up around her waist, breasts exposed, belly round with my child—nearly undoes me. I've never wanted anyone the way I want Lucy. Never will.

"You're everything," I tell her, the words raw and honest as I push slowly inside her.

Her body welcomes me, hot and tight and perfect. When I'm fully seated, I pause, savoring the moment. Lucy's legs wrap around my waist, her ankles locking at the small of my back.

"Move," she commands, and I obey.

I establish a rhythm, not too hard—I'm always careful with her now—but deep and steady. Each thrust pulls a soft sound from her lips, a sound I want to capture and keep forever.

"You feel so good," I groan, watching where our bodies join. "So perfect around me."

Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging through my shirt. "Harder," she whispers. "I won't break."

"I know how strong you are." I increase my pace slightly, still mindful of her condition. "My resilient wife. My perfect Lucy."

Her inner muscles tighten around me, and I know she's close. I slide one hand between us, finding the spot that makes her see stars.

"That's it," I encourage her. "Let go for me, baby."

Lucy's back arches, pushing her belly against my abdomen. The feel of it—that physical reminder of what we've created together—sends a surge of possessive pleasure through me.

"I'll always take care of you," I promise, the words spilling out unplanned but completely true. "You and our baby. Always."

She cries out, her body clenching around mine as she comes. The sight of her—head thrown back, throat exposed, face flushed with pleasure—pushes me to the edge.

"You're mine," I growl, hips pumping faster now. "My wife. Carrying my child."

"Yours," she agrees, voice breathy and satisfied. "Always yours."

That's all it takes. I bury myself deep inside her and let go, release flooding through me so intensely that my vision blurs at the edges. For a moment, there's nothing but this—our bodies joined, our hearts beating in tandem, our futures irrevocably intertwined.

As the pleasure subsides, I lean forward, careful not to put weight on her belly, and rest my forehead against hers. Our breath mingles in the space between us.

"I meant what I said," I tell her, needing her to know. "I'll always take care of you both."

Lucy's hand finds my cheek, her touch gentle. "I know you will. But remember, we take care of each other now. Partners, remember?"

I turn my face to kiss her palm. "Partners. In everything."

Carefully, I withdraw from her body and help her rearrange her clothing. There's something intensely satisfying about watching her put herself back together—knowing thatunderneath the professional exterior, she carries the evidence of our passion.

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