Page 37 of Hostage with Benefits

“I don’t know what you want!”

“Yes, you do.” He pushed two fingers inside, curling them just so while his thumb circled my clit. “Think, Natalia. What did you tell me for the first time today?”

My mind raced, clouded with pleasure and frustration. What was he looking for?I’d called him husband. I’d agreed to marry him. I’d?—

Oh.

“I love you,” I whispered.

His fingers stilled. “What was that?”

“I love you,” I repeated, louder this time.

“That was it.” The simple admission was followed by renewed attention from his mouth. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” The words fell from my lips as he finally, finally let me fall over the edge, my release crashing through me in waves as he held me steady.

Before I could recover, he was standing, shedding the rest of his clothes. He joined me on the bed, his body covering mine, his weight a delicious pressure that grounded me as aftershocks of pleasure still rippled through my system.

“I love you too,” he murmured against my lips. “More than I thought possible.”

When he pushed inside me, the feeling was almost overwhelming. This wasn’t the rough, desperate sex that I usually craved. This was something else entirely.

“Remember our first time?” he said against my ear. “You asked me to fuck you like I hate you.”

“This is how I fuck you when I love you,” he continued, his pace steady and deep, his eyes never leaving mine.

The intensity in his gaze was almost too much. I tried to look away, but he caught my chin, holding me there.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “I want to see your eyes when you come for me again.”

His hand slipped between us, finding my clit. It was overwhelming, building me toward a second peak so fast.

“Mine,” he growled against my neck, his thrusts becoming less controlled as his own release approached. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I gasped. “Always yours.”

“And I’m yours. Only yours, Natalia.”

My second orgasm hit like a tidal wave, my body clenching around him, pulling him deeper. He followed immediatelyafter, filling me with his cum me as he pressed his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us.

Afterward, as we lay tangled in the sheets, his hand settled possessively on my lower abdomen.

“Soon,” he murmured, half-asleep, his accent thicker still. “Soon you'll be carrying my child.”

I covered his hand with mine, surprising myself with how right the idea felt. “Is that a request or a prediction, Mr. Volkov?”

His lips pressed against my shoulder. “Both, Mrs. Volkov. Definitely both.”

EPILOGUE

A yearlater I was concealing my baby bump beneath a designer gown worth more than my old apartment's rent.

“Stop fidgeting,” Mikhail murmured, his hand warm at the curve of my hip as we entered the ballroom of a fancy hotel. “You look perfect.”

“I look pregnant,” I whispered back, though at four months along, the evidence was still minimal enough to disguise with clever styling.

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice dropping to that register that still made my stomach flip. “And it's driving me insane knowing you're carrying my child.”

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