Page 57 of Pregnant After One Forbidden Night

“Only terrible things, I’m sure. In fact, I can’t for the life of me think of a reason why I’m even here with a playboy like you.” Her voice was saucy and airy, even as it dared him to name a reason.

He closed in on her, enveloping her smaller frame from behind, arms coming to wrap around her middle, taking the weight of her breasts on one forearm while the other hand remained free to play. “What can I do to jog your memory?”

“Hmm...” she murmured, and he could feel the vibration where their skin connected. “I have to think like a mastermind myself if I’m going to take one on. That means information. Give me information.” The words were as heavy and thick as her breasts.

He smiled into her skin, inhaled her scent, and mind, and soul. “It’s so sexy when you talk dirty.”

Always down for a game, a blush rose on her cheeks and wickedness flashed across her eyes. “Tell me—” She stopped, exhaling as his fingers found her nipples. Then, drawing another heavy breath, she continued, “Something that would break you.”

He stilled.

The air around them thickened and pulsed in time with his erection, the intensity of its sudden rage and drive for dominance on par with the vulnerability she’d so casually asked of him.

She wanted a secret, a weapon she could use if the moment arose—the dark currency he dealt in on a daily basis, that he knew the power of.

She asked for a bit of the shadow he wore like armor, and she knew it, her brown eyes unflinching and bold in the request.

For compromising, this was the price she asked of him—a stake to drive in his heart. To make himself vulnerable.

So be it.

His hands traveled back down and over her breasts and lower, his fingers dancing along the bare skin of her belly until he reached the top edge of her panties. He slid them down as he pressed closer to give her what she wanted.

“No husband on earth has ever wanted his wife the way I want you. Will never stop wanting you... What’s between us, Jenna, goes so far deeper than something as paltry as marriage,” he said, positioning himself to enter her from behind at the kitchen island with the watery light of the morning streaming through. Then, lower, softer, he confessed, “I’ve never cared about anyone or anything as much as I do about you.”

“Sebastian.” She turned his name into a gasped interjection, sharp and his for the taking right as he placed himself at her entrance.

Outside the sky cracked open, rain pounding down from the clouds against the roof and windows.

But he held back at the gate, their breath suspended, her wet heat searing and teasing him. He had given her the stake. Did he risk now laying himself bare?

He resisted for as long as he could, held the line until there was nothing left of him to grip. And then he worshipped her as they both required.

Thrusting inside her, his erection harder than it had ever been in his life, he gave her his greatest fear: the knowledge that she held the power to hurt him, as deeply as his parents.

She met him with every deep stroke, received him with shuddering moans and gripped him for more in exchange for the power to ruin him.

“Sebastian,” she cried again, and he heard the question in the word as much as he felt it in the increasing strength of her body’s rhythmic pulses around him.

He had given her what she wanted, and she teetered on the edge. She wanted to fall.

Entirely in her thrall, he could do no less than give her what she wanted.

The orgasm that ripped through was her strongest yet, gripping him in a vice storm unlike any he’d entered in his long, bacchanalian life. So strong she stripped him of his control, tearing him into pieces as she went on, milking him until he was wrung out and dry.

They collapsed against the island together, their heavy breathing suddenly loud in the soft morning light of the kitchen.

She moved first, her palm slowly creeping across the shining marble surface to intertwine her fingers with his and squeeze. And with the gentle pressure, the tight, angry knot in his chest, the little boy who couldn’t forgive his father for being a fool, loosened.

Returning her squeeze, he drew in a deep breath as he lifted his weight from her back. She straightened with him, snuggling back against his chest instead. He wished he could have said the move didn’t warm him, but lies were a weak man’s defense, and while he might have a weakness in Jenna, he was not a weak man.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close for another moment and breathed her in deep, wanting her only more for the new weapon she held over him.

Straightening, he adjusted her shirt before placing his hands on her hips, holding them with gentle pressure as he eased out of the lock of her body. Her breath hissed out as he did, resisting the movement.

Lodged thick and tight within her as he was, it felt as if higher powers than their bodies protested the breaking of the primal connection.

Moving slowly so that he didn’t chafe her as he withdrew was its own oversensitized communion, and he was present for its entirety until all he could feel was cool air all around him.

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