Page 166 of Nine Months to Bear
The orgasm builds fast, inevitable as gravity. I break the kiss to cry out his name as it drowns me.
He’s close, too—I can feel it in the way his rhythm falters, the way his breathing turns ragged against my neck. But he’s holding back, that stubborn bastard. I’m not sure what he enjoys more: torturing me or torturing himself.
“Stefan,” I whisper, running my hands down his sweat-slicked back. “Let go.”
“Not yet,” he growls. “I want to feel you come again first.”
The sensation builds impossibly fast, like he’s rewiring my nervous system with every touch. And when it comes, the second orgasm hits harder than the first, making me spasm beneath him. He groans at the feeling of me clenching around him. The tendons in his throat stand out as he tries to fight his own finish.
“Please,” I beg as the aftershocks roll through me. “Stefan, please. I need?—”
“What do you need?”
“You. All of you.” I cup his face, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Stop holding back. Come for me.”
“Olivia—”
“Please,” I beg again. I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him deeper. “I want to feel you lose control. I want to watch you fall apart. Forme.”
He makes a sound that’s half-growl, half-groan. All sense of rhythm goes out the window. We’re a stuttering, sweating mess, both of us so desperate to pull him deeper that nothing else seems to matter anymore.
“Say my name,” he demands hoarsely.
“Stefan.” I rake my nails down his back, feeling him shudder. “Stefan, please, come for me. I need it. I need you.”
“Fuck—Olivia?—”
His release tears through him with violent intensity. I feel him pulse inside me as he buries his face in my neck. His whole body shakes with the force of it, and I hold him through it, stroking his hair as he comes apart in my arms.
When he finally lifts his head to look at me, his eyes are soft, vulnerable, at ease.
“That’s a helluva good morning,” I whisper with a dazed laugh as I brush a strand of dark hair from his forehead.
He captures my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “The best kind of good morning.” His hand finds my stomach, resting there gently. “I’m going to take care of you both, you know,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
He pulls back to look at me. “You trust me?”
It’s a loaded question, given everything. But lying here in his bed, carrying his child, feeling safer than I’ve ever felt despite the danger that surrounds him—surrounds us now—there’s only one answer.
“Yes,” I say simply. “I trust you.”
We slip in and out of sleep for a while before I eventually pry myself out of Stefan’s arms with a groan. He watches me through half-lidded eyes as I wobble naked toward the bathroom.
“Like what you see?” I tease.
He grins lazily. “Love it, actually.”
Maybe the old Olivia would’ve been embarrassed to be ogled like this, but these days, there’s no self-consciousness left—he’s seen every inch of me, claimed every inch of me, and the hunger in his gaze makes it clear he wants to do it all over again.
“A gentleman would avert his eyes, you know.”
“Then it’s lucky for me that I’m no fucking gentleman.” He pushes himself up on one elbow and makes it very clear that he’s eyeing me head to toe. My skin prickles with heat, like we didn’t just spend hours tying each other up like sexy pretzels.
“I’m taking a shower,” I announce so he doesn’t get any ideas. “Alone.”
“What if you need help?”
