Page 13 of Baby Proposal
It’s gentle, questioning. Then I let out a whimper as the tip of his finger slides into me, and then it’s not. He’s firm and almost demanding as he strokes me from the inside out, and perhaps I’m not dextrous enough or my fingers aren’t as big as his, but it feels superb. After all his patient building, I’m right on the edge. He seems to know, as he pushes me higher, stroking me faster and a bit rough, like he’s as unravelled by this as I am.
“That’s it, come on my tongue. And my fingers.” His voice is muffled and thick as he doesn’t take his mouth from me. Apparently there are duelling needs in him—to talk dirty to me and do indescribably filthy things between my legs. “You feel so good.”
I’m his toy, I think vaguely, as I spin out of control. I clutch at nothing and everything. Maybe the sofa, possibly Rhys, could be the ceiling for all I know, as I’m wracked by my orgasm. The pleasure goes right down to my toes, so intense and powerful I’ve never been so satisfied or desperate for more. As soon as the peak crests I want it back again, and Rhys, sweet good man that he is, eases me through the stars and fireworks going off in my body.
He continues to pump his fingers—apparently plural now—into my passage, but has moved to kissing over my clit. And he’s saying things. Words I can barely hear through the ringing in my ears and the thrum of my blood.
That I’m good. I’m even better than he imagined. He can’t wait to feel me around his cock because I was made for him, that my body is more beautiful than he thought and he wants to see me naked and coming on his face again.
Wait, than he imagined? He imagined this?
“Caught you at last,” Rhys whispers against my inner thigh, and that, I’m sure I was not supposed to hear, as he sits back then and says, “Okay?”
Better than okay.
Amazing.
His mouth is shiny, and so are his cheeks. He watches me with glittering eyes like the night sky—I think I’m gaping like a fish—as he brushes his thumb over the wet patches of his stubbly cheeks and then slides it and his first two fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean.
I have never seen anything as hot in my entire, apparently very sheltered life, as this beautiful man enjoying the taste of the cream from my pussy.
“It was good.” That’s the best adjective I can think of. My brain cells are destroyed. “Was it okay for you?”
His slow smirk is answer enough. “You did really well, sweetheart. But we need more practice before I breed you.”
Oh my god.
I nod eagerly. Yep. Quite happy to repeat that.
“Every night,” he adds.
“Every night?” I echo, my mind not functioning yet. Oh yeah, a month of him doing that to me? I’d sign any contract. All the prenups, NDAs by the dozen.
“Just so you’re completely comfortable with me when we meet the London maths bosses. And when next month…”
I’m still nodding while I remember this is all a sham. He’s doing this so I’ll be a convincing fake wife, and when we do have sex, I’ll get pregnant.
Because it’s then the full meaning of his words hits me. We’re not going to have sex for a month but he’s going to make me come.
And I won’t be allowed to make him come.
This is going to be torture…
5
RHYS
I stare at the market projections report on my desk and wonder if it would be excessive to have the interior decorator I hired last year killed. She insisted on arranging a spare room in my apartment. Said I’d be glad I had it sooner or later.
I am not glad.
I am tired and fractious as a toddler. Or a mafia boss thwarted by his own idiotic insistence on keeping his word.
Fucks sake. Hasn’t it all gone too far when a kingpin has to abide by the deals he himself made less than twenty-four hours ago?
So unreasonable.
Last night I barely slept. Having Adi so close and yet so far was torture and it was all because of that ill-conceived spare room. If there had only been one bed Adi would have been in my arms all night.
