Page 21 of Baby Proposal
Good girl.I think the words, but it’s like we’re so linked, she heard. Because at that moment, she crests. She trembles and pants. Not the uncontrolled cries of pleasure when we’re comfortable at home, no. She’s my good quiet girl, coming almost silently.
The meeting concludes in five more minutes, during which I keep my fingers in her pussy, holding her.
I thank my staff and click off the video and sound, before turning to Adi. She presses her lips together, cheeks pink.
A final squeeze of that sensitive part of her, and I slide my fingers out, glistening with her arousal. Raising them to my mouth, I cram them in. I suck her sweet and salty cream from my fingers, licking them clean as she watches, entranced.
“I’m addicted to your taste, little one,” I rumble.
“I want to make you come,” she whispers rebelliously. “It’s only fair.”
“You will. I’m going to come inside you, deep inside you, here.” I brush her abdomen with my wet knuckles. “I’ll give you that baby you want.”
She lets out a sound like an angry mouse. “I don’t…”
Her huff and that glance away intrigues me.
“But for being such a needy girl, there are consequences.”
Her breath hitches.
I do not ask about what that,I don’t, meant. Because what if it’s that she’s changed her mind and doesn’t want a baby anymore? What would we be left with then?
A sham of a marriage and nothing to tie her to me.
Nothing.
Except, perhaps, the drugging pleasure.
“From now on, I’m going to make you come twice a day.”
8
ADI
Hormones, huh? They’re a trip. I’ve been tracking my temperature so I know when I’m ovulating, and gotta admit, I’m desperate. Why won’t it change? Why is my cycle so looooooonnnnnnggggg?
It’s been two weeks since my period, four since I last ovulated, and almost exactly a month since baster-gate, as I’m calling it, and the day Rhys and I got married.
I’m so horny.
Everything reminds me of sex. When Rhys puts a cappuccino on the table at my elbow, I think about how the white froth on the top might look like… Yeah. References to milk make me wild. Any cylindrical object makes my pussy throb. Even a can of fizzy pop. I had to stop and breathe when I saw cucumber on the salad last night. Dessert was a nightmare. Cherries make me blush.Bananas? Get out of here. I can’t. Too much.
And guess what drives me most insane?
Rhys. I watch him whenever I can. I have catalogued every part of his body not covered by his suit in obscene, stalker-like detail. That man. I thought he was gorgeous before, when I hadn’t felt his hands on me or been shaken to the core—or from the core, rather—by him. Now, it’s a whole new level. It’s like I’ve been on a wine—Rhys—tasting course, and suddenly I can recognise and appreciate all the fancy bits about him.
I always fancied my hot boss, as anyone with a pulse would. But now I crave him.
He’s oblivious. Or amused. I can’t even tell anymore through the fog of twenty-four-hour arousal. The other day I almost let him know, a slip of the tongue.I don’t just want a baby. I want you.
Thankfully I caught it in time, but doubt scratches at me. What if I get pregnant and he doesn’t want me afterwards? What if I don’t get pregnant and that makes our whole agreement void? So I refuse to think beyond the baby-making. I take my temperature every day in the morning and pray it shows I’m fertile, so I canpleasehave sex with Rhys. And in the evening, just to be sure.
I don’t take the thermometer to work with me to try again at lunchtime.
Alright, alright, I do. But I only check about once an hour.
It’s just, I’m frantic. I’m hooked on him and he’s inflexible. Unyielding. Hard.
