Page 34 of Conail (Members From Money Season 2, #150)

"It would make more sense, don't you think?

" He finally looked over at her, feeling the familiar tug of desire.

The left shoulder was laid bare as the material sagged.

Her belly was pronounced -- the sweater straining in the middle.

She had never looked sexier to him. "I want to be at the next appointment. "

"She usually comes to me."

"Then she can come here. Ready?" Crossing to her, he reached for her hand. He still had not said the words to her, but he was asking her to move in, which was a big step. Telling herself that it did not matter if he said it right now, she went with him out the room and down the spiral staircase.

"Sit." He nudged her onto a barstool, before going to the stainless-steel fridge to examine the contents. "There's soup."

"What kind?"

"I think it's tomato bisque and this looks like mushroom and chives." He dug further. "There's also roast chicken."

"Why don't we live dangerously and have the tomato soup and some of the chicken?" She suggested and had him looking over his shoulder at her askance.

"Both at the same time? It sounds disgusting."

"Hey, no judgment. Heavily pregnant woman here."

"You're right." His grin had her jolting again and staring at the difference it made to his face.

"I'll just turn my head away while you make a pig of yourself."

"You're so going to pay for that insensitive remark."

He hefted out the soup and the chicken. "Was I being insensitive? I apologize."

"Why don't you try again without the smirk?" She suggested. Propping her chin on her palm, she delighted herself in watching as he efficiently popped the soup inside the warmer and sliced chicken.

"How about this?" Before she could react, he leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. "Better?" he asked huskily.

"Much." Her senses were swimming and her knees were weak. Clearing her throat, she tried to speak but could not quite manage it.

She was relieved when he turned back to his task so that she could take the time to compose herself.

He watched her eat, taking two slices of the chicken and having a glass of water. He also poured a glass of juice, and she ate everything.

"I do feel like a pig."

"No comment." Taking the plates away, he stacked them in the sink. "Ready to go back upstairs?"

"No." Taking his hand, she led the way into the living room. "Play something."

"What?" He started to jerk away, but she held on.

"I want to hear you play."

"Absolutely not. I don't play for an audience."

"I am not an audience. I am the woman you got pregnant. And I have been playing classical music for our baby."

Emotions stormed inside him when she said that. "You have?"

She nodded and was so busy pulling him towards the piano, she missed the look on his face. "Play."

"I want you to know that I am doing this under extreme duress." He tried to sound stern but could not quite achieve it. Sitting at the stool, he made room for her and ran his fingers over the keys.

"I haven't done this in a while." He murmured as if to himself.

"How long?"

He looked up at her. "Months. There never seem to be enough hours in the day for it." He started playing a lively jig that had her feet tapping. With a smooth gesture, he switched to something light and sweet that had her enraptured.

"You're very good. Who taught you?"

"Mother." He thought for a moment and then started playing a familiar tune.

"Luther Vandross' 'A House Is Not a Home'. One of my favorites."

"Mine too." He found that he could relax with her outside of the bedroom, and it amazed him enough to want to continue playing.

He also realized that he had never had this with anyone before, not even Michelle.

It overwhelmed him. When she snuggled up against him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

He played several more selections and then stopped.

"Time for bed."

"Hmm." She murmured, contented to just stay where she was.

"Come on."

When she lifted her head, he took her hand, and they made their way upstairs.

He undressed her in silence, and she felt the shift in his mood. His touch was gentle -- his fingers lingering on her skin. Standing in front of her, he ran his hands up and down her arms, his eyes holding hers.

Stepping back, he quickly undressed, his eyes still locked with hers.

Yasmine felt her breath strangling in her chest when he came back to her and knelt.

"Conail. What--"

"Shh." He splayed his hands over her belly. "He's an active one."

"Yes." She bit her lip to stop from gasping as he continued to probe. "No doubt he will be very athletic."

"Hmm. I was a jock in high school." He loved the tautness of her flesh and found himself confounded by how her skin was stretched tight.

"I would never have guessed." She heaved out a breath.

"I was involved in most of the sports. Does it hurt?"

"What?" She looked down at him dazedly.

"Your belly. It's so tight. Is it painful?"

"No." She cleared her throat. "It just feels strange."

"I never thanked you." He pressed an open mouth kiss just as the baby moved.

"Thank me?" She felt as if she was going out of her mind.

"For agreeing to do this. For carrying my baby inside you."

"It's my pleasure. Conail, I cannot stand it."

"I want to please you. Taste you. I cannot get enough of you."

"I need you inside me."

His body jerked. "Soon." He parted her thighs and ran his fingers over her sex. "Do you like that?"

"You know I do."

"And this?" He used a finger to slide between the folds of very sensitive flesh, sending her blood pressure soaring. Her fingers clutched at his hair, digging, dragging as she tried to keep her balance and her sanity.

"Conail -- Oh God!"

"You smell like sex. And honey, two scents that are driving me crazy.

" Bending, he introduced his tongue and had her going unhinged.

Her legs buckled and he helped to ease her onto the soft bedside rug.

He had known they would not make it to the bed.

It was just too far away. And he was too needy.

Parting her thighs, he slid between them, his tongue tracing the swollen flesh.

"I can't. Please, I can't stand it anymore.

" She tried to grab him, tried to ease him up, until he was no longer torturing her.

But then his tongue slid in as smooth as butter and her hands fell limply to her sides.

The climax was vicious and had teeth digging into every crevice and corner of her skin.

She cried out his name, her body convulsing.

She could only stare dazedly when he settled next to her and turned her back to him.

He glided in slowly, easing out again, before driving in until he was deep inside her.

He held her against him, his mouth busy on the sensitive spot at the side of her neck.

Yasmine was disoriented, drunk with passion, overflowing from it.

She came again and this time the flood swept them both away.

He heard someone groan and realized it was him as he flooded her with his seed, washing away the past hurt and pain and coming home.

*****

He let her sleep in. He had tired her out by making love to her twice before allowing her to fall into an exhausted sleep, with her head on his shoulder.

His hunger for her was astounding. He could not stop touching her.

Could not stop staring at her. She was in his arms, in his bed and it felt as if she had been there forever.

Taking a quick shower, he walked back in to get dressed and distracted himself by staring at her again.

Shaking his head, he put something on and made his way downstairs.

It surprised him to see that it was snowing.

Fat, lazy drops of it drifting from a whitened sky.

It was ten in the morning. Deciding against coffee, he put the kettle on for some tea.

He would make a Spanish omelet. His very loyal and efficient housekeeper had left the ingredients out -- all he had to do was to prepare it.

He was just laying the golden omelet on two plates when she walked in, smelling like his body splash and wearing another of his sweaters -- this one the color of smoke.

"I was about to bring you breakfast. Sit."

"Oh, look!" She rushed towards the window to stare. The drifts had turned into a blizzard now with the snow coming down rapidly.

"We're supposed to be getting several inches." He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her thick waist. "It's perfect weather for staying in."

He was nuzzling the back of her neck.

"It is." She turned away from the startlingly beautiful view to wrap her arms around his neck. "You're spoiling me."

"You deserve it." He captured her mouth in a kiss that had them both hot.

"Conail." She whispered against his lips and leaned against him, her heart beating out of control.

"Let me feed you." With unsteady hands, he pressed her shoulders and led her to the counter. "Wheat toast?"

She nodded, barely able to gather her thoughts.

He was turning out to be more than she ever dreamed.

And she wanted him to tell her he loved her.

She needed to hear him say the words. His actions indicated that he was feeling it, but she needed the words.

She also wanted to know if he still loved that woman.

It would pain her to know if he thought of her, so she kept her opinions and questions to herself.

"What's the matter?" He placed the plate in front of her and gave her a quizzical stare.

"You're doing all the cooking." She cut off a piece of loaded eggs and took a taste. "This is very good."

"I can't take the credit." He steeped the tea and added honey, before putting it next to her plate. "I was thinking we could spend some time in the theater."

She blinked at him, the fork suspended halfway to her mouth. "Did you say theater?"

He grinned as he sat across from her. "You'll see."