Page 51 of Pregnant After One Forbidden Night

The walls were dark slate gray, the paint thick and smooth. White trim and accents ensured the deep hue didn’t turn the space into a dark cave.

Thick, soft lambskin rugs covered much of the honey-colored hardwood floors, an invitation to play a glossy, luxurious and very adult game of The Floor is Lava.

The centerpiece of the room was a massive bed, its freestanding four-post frame both elegant and minimal. Tall and square, it was made from butter-smooth iron, its lines crisp, clean and almost Puritan for all that it shouted the erotic intended purpose of the room.

The bedding was all ivory, with a thickly stuffed down comforter and a battalion of plush pillows. At the base of the bed, a slash of inky black—a glossy throw blanket lying there like an indolent velvet panther.

Abstract art graced the walls, innocent and sinuous inkblots and lush swirling lines suggesting bodies entwined, snapshots of pleasure and breathless gasps.

There was no doubt the room was built for sex, and at the same time, it could have graced the cover of a magazine.

It was a room like Sebastian.

A charming black-and-white-tiled kitchenette adjoined the room, as if activities here might lead to a need to refuel so desperate that the walk to the kitchen could not be managed.

Other doors led to mysterious places, but her interest in the room faded as her survey led her back to Sebastian, the source of it all.

His green eyes glowed, drinking in her reaction to yet another thing he’d made.

“It’s gorgeous,” she breathed.

His eyes lit, unmoving from her. “It certainly is.”

The soft, warm lighting of the room made her simple lilac dress look elegant.

She didn’t care.

She shrugged it off impatiently before undoing her braid, her eyes on Sebastian the whole time. When she wore nothing but panties, she nodded, and the movement sent a ripple through the cool hair falling against her back.

The muscles of his jaw tensed, his eyes burning a swath across her body, and she felt like the most beautiful creature in the world.

He crossed to her, still fully clothed in yet another one of his “rich man’s impersonation of the ordinary” costumes—this time jeans and a simple soft sweater.

She brought her hands to his shoulders. He put his own hands on her waist, setting off shivers of electric shock where their skin touched.

Without meaning to, he had once again revealed his need and asked for her, and once again she was giving herself up. As before, there was a sense of the inevitable.

Unlike before, however, this time she knew the firestorm she walked into—had already faced its irrevocable consequences.

He was no softer now than he had been. He made no promises, had flatly refused to give the assurances she demanded even as he denied himself.

But he had opened.

There was no room nor time, nor energy left for games of cat and mouse.

They had to join, become partners on one team. Their child demanded it of them.

The words didn’t matter. The intent did.

And the intent in his eyes was as clear as it was powerful.

It didn’t matter that he was fully clothed—he was naked to her.

He was subject to the needs and fears that drove him, the need for her, vulnerable and hating it, biting at the bit as surely as a wild colt. The fear of what feeding that need might make of him. He had no freer will in the matter than she did.

“Take off your clothes.” She didn’t know where the commanding voice she spoke in emerged from, low and utterly assured of obedience as it was.

He undressed for her, his form like a Grecian statue in its perfection.

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