Page 39 of Dark Desires

“You’re so goddamn sexy.”

His words are like honey, and I watch as he pulls back and pushes into me again, and again. I’m so wet and slick that his thickness slides into me with total ease.

“There you go, gorgeous,” he says, leaning in and kissing my neck. “Just let go. Come for me again.”

That’s all it takes. His cock hits all the right spots, and I reach around, digging my nails into his muscular back as the coils of pleasure unwind, another orgasm flowing through me.

“More,” I say as soon as it fades. “I need more.”

He flashes me a smirk and picks up the pace, pounding into me relentlessly, his hips driving forward with pure power. My moans mix with his grunts and the sounds of skin on skin.

“Come with me,” I say. “Please, I need it.”

“You always know just what to say,Devotcha.”

He drives into me harder, like a machine. The coil of pleasure again winds tighter and tighter.

And then it snaps.

I cry out in total ecstasy as another orgasm rocks through me. My pussy clenches around his thick cock, and that’s enough to make his body go taut with his own climax. Alexei grunts something in Russian as he drains into me, filling me with his warmth.

I lock my ankles together behind his back, holding him in place and making damn sure that he gives me every last drop.

When it’s over, I’m completely undone, sprawled out on his couch like I’ve run a marathon and forgot how to breathe. He slides out of me, kissing me slowly and deeply one last time before rolling to my side, our chests rising and falling.

He’s next to me, his arm draped over my waist, and for a second, I just let myself sink into it—the warmth, the safety, the fleeting peace of pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

But even as I lie there, my fingers idly tracing the lines of his chest, reality’s already creeping back in. This? Us? It’s a mess. And with what I’m hiding, it’s only going to get worse.

The first thing I notice when I wake up is that I’m not on the couch where I passed out last night.

Instead, I’m in a very large, very comfortable bed. His bed. The same bed I woke up in the first time we slept together.

Only this time, he’s sleeping right next to me. He’s face-down, his gorgeous, tattooed back rising and falling with steady breaths. I could watch him for hours.

And I notice that his face is softer in sleep. He looks completely different like this—like the weight he always carries has finally lifted. No smirks, no tension, just peace. It makes me want to curl back under the covers and pretend none of this is happening.

But reality smacks me in the face like a freight train.

Ten weeks pregnant. His baby. My secret. Our mess.

I glance at him again, still dead to the world, and the panic sets in, stealing my earlier resolve. I can’t tell him. Not now. Maybe not ever. If this news were to get out, it could puteveryonein danger.

I’ll figure it out, tell my dad that I hooked up with some random guy and I never got his number. It won’t exactly raise his opinion of his dear daughter, but it’d be a hell of a lot better than ruining this alliance.

I slide out of bed as quietly as I can, grabbing my clothes from where they’d been once again placed neatly on a nearby chair, and tiptoeing toward the door. My heart’s pounding, my head racing. If I can just make it out without waking him, I’ll figure out the rest later.

“Going somewhere?”

His voice stops me dead in my tracks. I freeze, every nerve in my body on high alert. Slowly, I turn around, and there he is, sitting up in bed, his eyes sharp and locked on me.

“Yeah. I need to leave.”

I hold my clothes against my body, suddenly feeling super vulnerable.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, his expression unreadable but his presence filling the room.

“No, Isabella.”