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“Keep… keep doing that,” he rasps against my throat.
My swollen lips curve in a wicked smile. “Doing… this?”
I rock my hips and squeeze around him again.
“Keep that up and I’ll fill you with my cum right this fucking second, baby.”
He grabs my ass, his fingers digging in as he guides me to the rhythm he wants. I’m biting his shoulder, feeling another eye-rolling orgasm building up inside me.
The more I move, the more he moves. We’re on this race toward a finish line neither of us want to cross too soon.
“Daphne…” Pasha’s voice melts into a series of grunts and groans; his thrusts grow harder and deeper. “Fuck, Daphne…”
“I want it.” I don’t even realize I’ve said it out loud—although more accurately, I think I breathe it in a gasp. “I want it. I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad it hurts…”
The table creaks and groans beneath us. I don’t care if it collapses; he’d better not stop fucking me even if it does. I want him, I need him, to ride this overwhelming wave of pleasure with me.
It crashes over us at the same time.
Heat blooms deep inside me and the world goes bright. He’s grunting, groaning, gasping as he pours himself into me. Every spasm milks him and he shudders, his fingers digging so hard into my flesh that I’m certain I’ll be wearing bruises for a while after this.
Not a problem, as far as I’m concerned.
Finally, the orgasms finish having their way with us. We collapse on the table together, a tangle of panting limbs and shivering aftershocks. His face buries between my breasts as he tries to catch his breath.
Slowly, gradually, he eases his hold on me. “You are…” Pasha laughs deliriously against my skin. “You are the best dessert.”
With one last lingering kiss, he eases out of me. I hate how empty I suddenly feel, even as he leaves a new sense of fullness at the same time.
I hate even more the reality that comes crashing down when he moves away to grab his clothes.
What did we just do?
He doesn’t say anything more. Just tugs his pants on and shrugs on his shirt. No glances at me, no more sweet words of affection.
It’s like we just engaged in a mutually beneficial transaction.
Because… we did.
Of course we did.
I can’t believe I was so stupid. I can’t believe I even allowed myself to think, to imagine… But what does it matter? This whole arrangement is strictly business. He needed an heir, and I needed a temporary rescue. We just happened to find what we were looking for in each other’s available resources.
Me, a womb.
Him, a protector.
My face heats with shame. Is that what he thinks of me? A live-in benefit? A convenient outlet?
Quietly, and without sparing him a single glance, I pluck my loungewear from the chairs he threw them on. My panties are the worst reminder of how hard I fell—they’re still damp in the center with my desire for him.
I know he wanted me, too. His is just a different type of desire. One that doesn’t involve emotional connection or monogamy or anything but the pursuit of his next orgasm.
Pure sex. Nothing more.
“Daphne, are you?—”
“I’m fine.” I can’t look at him. If I do, I might actually cry. “I need to go take a shower.”
