Page 19

How can that be?
How can a man so deliriously handsome and wildly successful be attracted to me?
With a confidence I’ll never fully embrace, I curl my fingers around the chunky leather material of his belt and then tug him forward, needing firmer contact.
The hiss that strains through Ark’s teeth when the most intimate parts of our bodies clash causes an avalanche of kisses and moans.
While kissing me like he can’t breathe without his mouth on mine, he grips my ass and rocks his hips, grinding against me.I whimper shamelessly as he drives me to the brink of ecstasy without removing a single article of clothing.
The head of his cock rubs at my clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure spasming through me, while his mouth makes my lips tingle. I’m so mindless with need that my hands seek something to grip to ride through the waves seconds from pummeling into me.
“No touching,” Ark snaps out when my hands find solace with his shoulders, his voice pained even while brimming with lust.
With his rhythm unaffected, he gathers my wrists and pins them above my head before his spare hand slides under my skirt.
“P-please,” I beg when his fingertips stop just shy of my damp panties.
I should be ashamed he’s made me so desperate that I’m willing to beg, but the instant his hand slips between my thighs and his fingers flutter past the sensitive skin between my legs, all cognitive thoughts are lost.
“Yesss.”
My thighs shake with more than fear when he rubs the pad of his index finger against my clit. He rolls it ever so slowly, producing sparks strong enough to buckle my knees.
“Ark,” I squeak out breathlessly, scared of the sensation rolling through me. I’ve never experienced it before. It is overwhelming and scary but also blazingly hot at the same time. “P-please.”
With a smirk that will highlight my dreams for years to come, he watches me through hooded lids as I squirm and moan beneath him.
The pure thirst in his eyes alone could get me off.
I’m on the cusp of begging, when my imminent orgasm is ripped away from me by a scratchy, sick-filled voice. “Mommy…”
I freeze for half a second before the maternal instincts I should have never been without kick back in.
Almost cruelly, I free my hands from Ark’s grip and push him away.
My body hates losing his contact almost as much as my heart loathes his expression when I shout, “I’ll be there in a m-minute, sweetheart. Mommy was just…”—I scan the area, seeking an excuse for my erroneous mistake—“making you s-some soup.”
My throat works hard to swallow when Tillie replies, “Okay.” The unease of her one-worded reply makes sense when she murmurs, “But don’t you think it is a little early for dinner?”
Dinner?We’ve not yet had lunch, so why would I be prepping dinner?
As the patter of Tillie’s tiny feet returning to her room trickles into my ears, I stare at the inbuilt clock in the kitchen range, certain we must have had a power outage last week I failed to notice.
I collected Tillie from school a little before noon. It is now 2:55 p.m.
That can’t be right. I can’t lose almost two hours in the blink of an eye. I know we arrived home around noon because I heard the jingle of Mrs. Lichard’s favorite midday show throwing to a commercial through the front door of her apartment. The episodes only run for half an hour.
Ark’s kiss was mind-blowing, but there’s no way it lasted longer than ten to fifteen minutes. The wave in my stomach would have crested multiple times by now if it had been an hour-long exchange.
That can only mean one thing.
Sickness bombards me when I realize how careless I’ve been.
I let a stranger into my home while my daughter was here and then fell asleep.
If that isn’t bad enough, I kissed him when he made himself at home instead of kicking him out.
How could I have been so reckless?