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My walls collapsed around him, taking him over the edge with me. He emptied himself into me with heavy, rough grunts.
My God.
We rode out our orgasms together. This man had been doing this to me the entire night. Not once had my pussy rested, and I had loved every second of it. There was nothing quite like a marathon of sex.
Andres pulled out of me and came to lay beside me. His body glistened with sweat after the workout we had just performed. He pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. I hooked my legs over his and pulled him in tighter toward me.
I never wanted to leave this little bubble we had created. I loved this world where he and I just existed.
“What round was that?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“I lost count at 8,” I yawned, the activities of the last few hours catching up on me.
“I think I still owe you 7 more, amor. I did say 15 rounds for all the months we have been married?”
I playfully swatted his chest. “My pussy hurts. Let it rest a bit before you ram it again.”
His laugh rumbled from his chest, echoing into my ear. I could listened to that sound forever. He rarely laughed. The only exceptions were when he was with me or Valerio.
I felt his lips press against my forehead. I could feel the smile through his kiss. His arm wound around me tightly and pulled me in closer.
“Rest for now,” he whispered against my skin. His hand trailed up and down my spine, an action he had become accustomed to performing every day. The tenderness in his actions called to the sleep within my body. My eyes drooped down more and more, until finally, the darkness took me into her embrace.
After our marathon of sex, I woke up to find my husband absent from our bed. He had gone out for a lunch run, seeing as I had slept all through the morning.
I didn’t know why I was so tired lately. I blamed it on the fact that I had the headache of dealing with the Mexicans, who were trying to strike a deal with us to use the harbor. But even then, I found myself more irritable than normal.
I peeled the blanket off my body and got dressed in Andres large lakers jersey that I had found in one of the drawers.
I had only just entered the bathroom when I was hit by this wave of nausea. Within seconds, I found myself heaving over the toilet. My stomach lurched and all the contents I had ingested found their way to the bottom of the bowl.
Disgusting.
When I was done, I trudged my way to the sink to wash out my mouth. I lifted my head and looked at my pale and tired face. I had bags under my eyes that aged me about five years or so, and my cheeks were void of all color.
Christ, I looked like I had been hit by a truck. How did I go from blissful sex hangover to this? My sides hurt from all the throwing up, and the last thing I wanted to do right now was eat lunch.
I ran a hand through my unruly locks and tried to make the nest look somewhat decent, but it was a lost cause. My eyes caught a glimpse of my sanitary box and spotted my tampons.
Oh…
My eyes widened in the mirror. “No. There’s no way.”
I tried to calculate the days in my head and—shit. I looked down at my very flat stomach with equal parts terror and curiosity.
I was on the pill. I hadn’t skipped a single day.
I dug through my drawers and pulled out the pregnancy tests that Martina had stocked for me. I had rolled my eyes at her when she had been stuffing my drawer with them two months ago, but now…
“I’m not pregnant. There is no way I’m pregnant. I’m on birth control and… and… I’m not pregnant! End of story. Get yourself together, Savina.”
I turned from the mirror and took the test. The packet said 1–3-minute wait, and that had to be the longest wait of my life.
When my timer finally went off, I flipped the stick over and…
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
In big bold letters was the word pregnant. I stared at the stick like it was a foreign object sent from the sky.
