Page 13 of The Mob Boss’s Bride (Obsessed #9)

I capture a nipple in my mouth, reveling in her gasp, in the way her hands clutch at my shoulders. Six months of learning her body, and still I'm insatiable for her. Still I discover new ways to make her moan, new sensitive spots that make her gasp my name.

"Atlas," she breathes as I pull her to the edge of the desk, tugging her leggings and panties down in one efficient movement. "The blinds?—"

"Closed." I drop to my knees before her, spreading her thighs wider. "I checked when I came in."

Her laugh turns to a moan as I taste her, my tongue seeking out the spots I know drive her wild. Her hands fist in my hair, guiding me, urging me on. I bring her to the edge quickly—I wasn't lying about being fast—but pull back before she can fall, enjoying her whimper of frustration.

"Not yet," I murmur against her inner thigh, biting gently. "Not until I'm inside you."

I stand, unfastening my pants, freeing myself. Her eyes darken at the sight, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in a way that nearly undoes my control. I position myself at her entrance, teasing us both.

"I love you," I tell her, needing to say the words that once seemed impossible for me. "Every part of you. Every day, more."

"I love you too." She wraps her legs around my waist, urging me closer. "Now please?—"

I enter her in one smooth thrust, swallowing her cry with my mouth on hers. The feeling of her around me—tight, wet, perfect—still takes my breath away. I establish a rhythm that's fast but controlled, angling to hit the spot that makes her eyes flutter closed.

"Look at me," I command softly. "I want to see you."

Her eyes open, blue and dazed with pleasure, focusing on mine with effort. I increase my pace, one hand slipping between us to where we're joined.

"That's it," I encourage as her breathing quickens, as her inner muscles begin to flutter around me. "Let go for me, sweet girl."

When she comes, it's with my name on her lips, her eyes never leaving mine, her body arching beautifully beneath me. The sight—my wife, my love, lost in pleasure I've given her—pushes me toward my own release.

But before I let go, something possessive and primal surges through me. Something I've been thinking about for weeks.

"I want to get you pregnant," I growl against her ear, my rhythm faltering as I near the edge. "Want to see you round with my child. Want to watch our baby grow inside you."

Her eyes widen, but not with fear or rejection. Instead, I see something warm bloom in their blue depths. "Yes," she whispers, her legs tightening around me. "Make me pregnant, Atlas. Give me your baby."

The words—her consent, her shared desire—shatter my control. I come with a groan, burying myself deep inside her, the possibility of creation adding a new dimension to our joining.

After, I hold her close, both of us breathing hard, my forehead pressed to hers. "I meant that," I say when I can speak again. "About wanting a baby. Our baby."

She smiles, something soft and wondering in her expression. "I know. I want that too." Her hand comes to rest on her lower abdomen. "A little piece of both of us."

The image—Fern with her belly swollen with my child, my ring on her finger, my name hers forever—fills me with a possessive joy unlike anything I've known.

"We'll need to practice," I tease, nipping at her lower lip. "Make sure we get it right."

She laughs, the sound bright and happy in the small office. "I think we just did."

We dress quickly, aware of the time, but I can't stop touching her—straightening her blouse, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, brushing my thumb over her lips. She lets me, understanding this need I have to care for her, to keep her close.

"I need to open the bakery," she says, but makes no move to leave my arms.

"I know." I kiss her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. "I'll help."

She looks up at me, this woman who has changed everything. My wife. The future mother of my children. The heart I didn't know I needed.

"Forever, sweet girl," I promise, the words a vow more binding than any ceremony.

She rises on tiptoes to kiss me one last time before we face the day. "Forever," she agrees. "My Atlas. My choice."

And as I follow her out to prepare for the bakery's opening, I marvel at how completely my life has transformed. How a forced marriage based on protection became a love story I never dreamed I'd have. How a frightened baker became the center of my world.

Forever has never sounded so perfect.