Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
It seems almost as though this connection between us has been hidden in plain sight the whole time. The thought occurs to me then, sharp and sudden, but I can’t ask him. Not now. Not while his cock is still buried deep inside me and my body is still fluttering around him with aftershocks.
I stare into his eyes, searching them, my pulse kicking even harder. Was he attracted to me before this? Before Salvatore was even in the ground? I was so sure getting with me was just a power play, claiming what the old boss had, taking the crown and the widow in one clean sweep. But the way he’s treating me… the way he’s acting… the gentleness, the patience…
My heart races even harder, a wild, traitorous beat that scares me.
I’m playing with fire.
I know that now without the shadow of a doubt. Allowing myself to think this way, to feel this way, is dangerous. At that moment I do what I’ve always done. Self-preservation. I purposefully go colder.
It’s hard. So hard. His body is still wrapped around mine, warm and solid, his skin slick with sweat against mine, his breath brushing my neck. But I force my muscles to pull back. I unlock my legs, let them drop. I ease my arms from around his shoulders. I feel the shift in him almost instantly, the way his body registers the change.
He pulls out of me, and the loss of him leaves me empty and aching, but I don’t let it show. Things are a little more awkward between us now. So many things are unspoken. He dresses quietly, pulling his clothes back on with efficient movements, then disappears for a moment into the hallway without a word.
I slide off the counter on shaky legs, my thighs slick with both our juices. I dress myself quickly, smoothing down my clothes, then wash my hands at the sink, the cool water a shock on my overheated skin. I start fiddling with the groceries, unpacking bags, trying to focus on something normal so the strange silence doesn’t swallow me whole.
He returns a little while later with a damp towel in his hands. Oh my God! What kind of man is this? He holds it out to me, but I shake my head and resolutely say, “No, no need.”
A long moment stretches between us. The kitchen feels too bright, too quiet. Then he smiles, a small, understanding quirk of his lips, the kind that makes my stomach flip even though I’m trying so hard not to let it.
I want his seed inside me. Not in some romantic way. It’s dirtier than that. Rawer. I want the evidence of him still on me, still in me, while we do something as ordinary as cooking dinner. The thought is unfamiliar and slightly bizarre for me, and I shove it down fast.
“Just in case you’re wondering. I won’t get pregnant.”
“I wasn’t,” he says softly.
He gets quiet after that. Really quiet. He turns back to the groceries and starts pulling things out. I watch him for a second, then realize something else, something bigger.
“Er… We didn’t talk about the event of an accidental pregnancy in our contract,” I blurt out, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “If you want, we can keep it. And if you don’t… um… that’s okay too.”
He pauses, hands still on the counter, then looks at me. His expression is soft, almost surprised, but there’s something steady and warm in his eyes.
“I only want you,” he says simply.
The words land so softly and so quietly that at first, I almost miss how heavy they are. He doesn’t elaborate or soften them with a smile or a joke. He just says it like it is the most obvious truth in the world, while his hands keep moving through the groceries on the counter.
“Kids are a bonus if you want them. Doesn’t matter to me either way.”
I’m shocked. His words hit me like a physical blow. My breath catches hard in my throat, a sharp little inhale that I can’t hide. My fingers freeze on the edge of the bag I’m holding. For one long, dizzying moment the kitchen tilts around me.
Suddenly all I want is to have his kids.
The image flashes through my mind completely uninvited. It is so vivid and bright and terrifying in its sweetness. A little dark-haired boy with Ricci’s whiskey eyes. Father and son are barefoot and laughing as they run through this very penthouse. Ricci scooping the child up and spinning him around until his giggles fill the air. The picture is so clear it hurts. My chest clenches so tight I feel it in my ribs, a sharp, aching squeeze that steals the air from my lungs. My boy.
I want that.
I want it so badly it scares me.