Page 35 of The Mafia's Septuplets
Instead of answering with words, I close the distance between us and claim her mouth in a fiery kiss. She responds instantly, parting her lips under mine as she fists her hands in my shirt. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard, and I see my own desperate hunger reflected in her eyes. “Like that,” I say roughly. “Like I’ll die if I can’t touch you.”
“This doesn’t solve anything.” Her protest lacks conviction, especially when she makes no move to create distance between us.
“Doesn’t it?” I back her against the wall beside her bedroom window, caging her in. “You’re carrying my child, Willa. That makes bonds between us deeper than business arrangements or security concerns.”
She’s at war with herself. I can see it in her eyes when she snaps, “It’s a bond that could trap me in a life I never chose.”
“Or a bond that could give you everything you’ve been afraid to want.” I slide my hand under her sweater, finding warm skin that makes her gasp when I touch her. “Let me take care of you and protect what’s mine.”
Instinctively, she shakes her head and says, “I’m not yours.” Her heart doesn’t seem to be completely in the denouncement though.
“Aren’t you?” I find the sensitive spot below her ear that makes her melt against me and nibble for a moment before saying, “Your body says differently.”
She moans softly. “My body wants things that aren’t good for me.”
“Like what?”
“Like you.” The admission comes out breathlessly and desperate. “Like this.”
She lifts her hands to tug at my shirt buttons with trembling fingers, and I realize the careful control we’ve both been maintaining is about to shatter completely. The knowledge that she’s pregnant with my child has transformed my want into something primal and overwhelming.
“Tell me to stop,” I say with a growl against her throat. “Tell me this is wrong or bad for you right now, and I’ll walk away.”
“I can’t.” Her head falls back against the wall as I work my way down her neck. “I don’t want to.”
“Good.” I lift her sweater over her head, revealing smooth skin and a lacy bra. “I don’t want you to send me away.”
“What do you want?”
“Everything.” I unhook her bra, groaning when I see her breasts. They look bigger than last week, but that could just be my perception altered by knowing she’s pregnant. “I want you to give me everything.”
She helps me with the rest of her clothes, and when she’s naked before me, I take a moment to appreciate the changes pregnancy has already begun to make. Her breasts are more sensitive, and when I cup them carefully, she arches into my touch with a cry that makes my blood burn.
“So beautiful,” I say against her skin, bending to kiss one of her breasts before speaking again. “You’re even more beautiful carrying my child.”
The possessive words seem to snap the remnants of her control. She attacks my clothes with frenzied competence, pushing off my jacket and shirt before working at my belt with hands that shake with need.
When we’re both naked, I lift her higher against the wall to cover her body with mine. The sensation of skin against skin, of her warmth surrounding me, makes rational thought impossible.
“I need you,” she says against my mouth. “I need you so much it scares me.”
“Don’t be scared.” I kiss her deeply, tasting desperation and desire in equal measure. “I’ll never hurt you.”
“You already are hurting me by making me want things I can’t have.” There’s genuine pain in her tone.
It makes me pause to look down at her. “What can’t you have?”
“Safety, security, and a normal life for my child.” Even in the throes of passion, a tear trails from her left eye and slides over her face, disappearing into her hair.
“Our child.” I correct her gently, “And I can give you safety and security if not a normal life.”
She seems torn. “Is that enough?”
Instead of answering with words, I trace a path down her body with deliberate reverence. I press kisses along her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin while I memorize the way she responds to each touch while exploring the gentle swell of her breasts, noting how pregnancy has made them fuller.
I take one nipple between my lips, circling it with my tongue until she arches beneath me with a soft cry. The sound drives meto lavish the same attention on its twin, my teeth grazing gently while I explore the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips. “You’re so responsive,” I whisper against her skin, trailing kisses down her ribs. “Every touch makes you tremble.”
She watches me with heavy-lidded eyes as I continue my descent, pressing my mouth to the soft skin of her belly, where our child grows. The thought sends possessive fire through my veins, making every caress more urgent in a drive to claim her completely.