Page 112 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

I stood before I realized I was moving, closed the space between us, and pulled her into my arms. Her body was rigid at first, resistant—but I didn’t give her space to retreat.

I kissed her.

Not gently. Not asking permission. I kissed her like I was claiming something that had always belonged to me. Like I could pour every unspoken truth into her mouth and make her understand what I couldn’t say out loud.

For a heartbeat, she was still.

And then she kissed me back.

Her hands came up to my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, and I felt the exact moment she surrendered. Not to me—tous. To whatever this was that had been building since the moment I’d seen her file, since I’d watched her walkinto my shop, since I realized she was carrying my child, and I’d never be the same.

I knew exactly how to pull her in. How to angle my head so my lips fit against hers like we’d done this a thousand times. How to let my hand slide up the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, holding her steady while I deepened the kiss. How to make her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—because right now, she was.

When I finally pulled back, her eyes were still closed, her lips parted, her breathing uneven.

I didn’t give her time to think.

I bent and picked her up, lifting her as easily as a feather. Her weight was nothing—less than nothing. She gasped, her arms instinctively wrapping around my neck, and I carried her inside.

The lakehouse was quiet except for the crackle of the fireplace I’d lit earlier. The flames cast dancing shadows across the walls, warm and golden, and I laid her on the bear rug in front of the hearth.

She looked up at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes wide, uncertain, and wanting all at once.

I knelt beside her and reached for the belt of the robe.

“Amai—”

“Shh.” My voice was low, steady. “Let me see you.”

I loosened the belt slowly, deliberately, and the robe fell open.

Her body was spread before me like an offering. Every curve, every line, every imperfection that made herher. I let my gaze travel over her slowly, taking in every detail.

The stretchmarks that silvered across her hips and stomach, the strength of her body. The soft dents and rolls that spoke to her humanity, her realness. The fullness of her breasts, heavy and perfect, nipples dark and peaked in the firelight. The wayher thighs pressed together slightly, like she was still deciding whether to let me in.

And her eyes.

God, her eyes.

There was wanting there. Fear, yes. Uncertainty. But underneath it all—wanting.

“You’re beautiful,” I said.

She shook her head slightly, like she didn’t believe me.

I leaned down, bracing myself on one hand beside her head, and let my other hand trail down her body. Over her collarbone. Between her breasts. Across her stomach, tracing the lines of her stretchmarks with reverence.

“Every part of you,” I murmured. “Every single part.”

I kissed her again, slower this time, and felt her body relax beneath me. Her hands came up to my shoulders, then slid down my back, pulling me closer.

I shrugged out of my shirt, let it fall to the side, and settled between her thighs. The heat of her was intoxicating, even through the fabric of my pants. I could feel her trembling—not sure if it was from fear or anticipation. I prayed the latter.

I kissed down her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. I took my time, worshipping every inch of her skin, letting my hands map the geography of her body. When I finally took one nipple into my mouth, she arched beneath me, a soft moan escaping her lips.

“Amai—”

“Shhhh,” I said against her skin. “Let me please you, Truth.”