Page 22 of Baby Proposal
Definitely that last one.
He’s made me scream with his tongue and fingers every night and morning for a month, and I’m fed up. Not of coming, but of himnotcoming. I don’t understand how he isn’t frustrated? I’m boiling with impatience on his behalf. Maybe I stole all his sexual frustration, or he gave it to me along with the pleasure. All I know is I need to see that granite hard, silken smooth, heated length of his again, and I really,reallywant it inside me.
So when I take my temperature in the morning, I’m willing it to be higher. Please, please, just a bit higher. It isn’t going to be… Then I stare at the numbers on the little digital screen.
I’m fertile.
It’s really happening. I’m ready to be bred.
The avalanche of happiness overcomes any fear that this will be the end of him touching me. I really adore the org—him. I adore him.
No, it’s… More than that. It’s love.
I’m in love with my probably-mafia-boss pretend husband billionaire boss.
Now I admit it in the secrecy of my mind, I can see I’ve loved him for ages. Maybe even before we met, as I swooned over the photos of him in magazines. He’s gorgeous and grumpy and exacting and I wouldn’t have him any other way. Except, perhaps, loving.
It’s alright, it doesn’t matter. I’ll cope without the orgasms because I’ll have Rhys as the father of my child and my husband for two glorious years.
I’ll have his baby and my grandma’s great-grandchild.
Throwing myself out of bed, I rush out of my room and across the corridor. I’ve never been into his bedroom, he’s never suggested it. He’s licked my pussy in almost every other room of this apartment, and every piece of furniture. But it’s like he thinks that if we’re in his bed, he won’t be able to control himself. Or maybe that I could seduce him into breaking his promise not to come until it’s inside me.
But I barge open the door with no warning.
“Rhys!” I’m grinning like it’s Christmas. Which it is. It absolutely is.
“Adi.” He looks up, shocked and then pleased as I walk into his bedroom. It’s painted a deep, soothing blue, with dark wood furniture. The bed is crisp white linen. He’s wearing his usual navy suit, and his hands are at his throat, cupping a silk tie.
“I’m fertile!” I wave the thermometer like it’s a golden ticket.
He freezes, the smile in place.
“That’s…” Coughing, he stares at my pyjamas, gaze flicking down to my bare legs before he closes his eyes for a second like I’m too bright to look at. “Great. Really great.”
“Husband.” I summon my inner strumpet and walk over to him with a sway in my hips. I’m wearing little pyjama shorts and a high-collared blue and white frilled top, but I pretend I’m an underwear model. He watches every step of the way, a tortured expression creeping over his face. “Please breed me. Fuck a baby into me.”
I reach him and—who is this bold woman, she’s not me—grasp his tie, using it to pull him down to me as I boost onto tiptoes.
“Adi, we need to talk—” He groans as our mouths touch. He tastes like mint toothpaste and smells of spicy cologne.
When he crushes me to him and kisses me back, I know I’ve won. It’s ravenous, this kiss. The man I love is holding my head and plundering my mouth.
At my belly his erection is a hard hot length, and I’m going to faint with joy. Who cares about the future? I can have that glorious cock inside me. I’ll figure tomorrow out—
The kiss stops.
Panic drains all the sexy triumph from me as Rhys puts me from him, stepping backwards, though not relinquishing the hold on my waist.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says seriously, face grave. He looks like he does when he’s reading a quarterly financial report and there’s an error. Bleak as a rainy Bank Holiday.
I’m not going to like this, am I?
His fingers tighten until it’s almost painful. “A baby should have two parents who love each other.”
“What?” My heart drops to my ankles and I sway. He sounds so reasonable. I want to argue with him, but what can I retort? That children don’t need two loving parents? That’s obviously a good thing.
“You don’t want to have a baby with me because you don’t love me,” I say miserably. “Were you ever going to? You promised, Rhys!” I find that much indignation, at least.
