My knees threaten to buckle, but Antonio holds me as the orgasm tears through me.
“That’s my girl.” His voice is strained. “I could do this all night.”
“Don’t you dare.”
Antonio grins, and there’s something wicked in it. “No?”
He withdraws his fingers slowly, making me whimper at the loss. I step back, still catching my breath, and watch as he stands to shed his remaining clothes. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him fully bare and his curved dick already hard.
Sitting back on the edge of the mattress, he reaches for me. I climb over him, letting him guide me into position. This position is easier on my back, and I can control everything.
These past months, he’s learned my body, noting what works and what doesn’t as my belly has grown.
I sink down onto him slowly.
“Deus, Jasmine.”
I brace my hands on his chest and start to move. I roll my hips in a rhythm that grinds my already sensitive clit against his pubic bone, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through me with every circle.
His palms find my hips, guiding but not controlling, letting me set the pace. I lean forward, changing the angle, and gasp as he hits my G-spot.
“Right there?” he asks, voice gruff.
I nod, unable to form words, and he plants his feet on the mattress, thrusting up to meet me. The new tempo is faster, deeper, and I’m climbing toward something inevitable.
The orgasm crashes through me, pulling a cry from my throat. My inner walls clench around him, and he comes with me, groaning my name as he pulses inside me.
I collapse forward onto his chest, careful to angle myself so my belly rests beside him rather than between us. His arms wrap around me immediately, one hand stroking up and down my spine.
We lie there for a while, catching our breath. Eventually, he shifts us both, settling back against the headboard with me tucked against his side, and I drape my arm across his chest.
My mind drifts back to Vegas, the way it does sometimes when I’m this close to him. I’ve never asked him about that morning. Never wanted to know the answer, because not knowing felt safer than confirmation.
But lying here in the aftermath of celebration and intimacy, I can’t stop myself from verbalizing my thoughts.
“You left me in Vegas.”
His hand stills on my back. “I didn’t leave you.”
“You were gone when I woke up. That’s literally the definition of leaving.”
“I went to get breakfast. I had this whole plan, and when I came back, you were gone.”
My head lifts from his chest. “What?”
“I came back. Twenty minutes, maybe less. And you were already gone.”
“I waited, but you never came back.” The words come out quiet.
“How long did you wait?”
“Not long enough, apparently.” My gaze fixes on a point somewhere near his collarbone. “I just... I saw you were gone, and I assumed...”
“I left to get food. I was coming back.” He shifts beneath me, and I feel his hand come up to cup my face, tilting it toward his. “I thought you regretted that night and couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I didn’t know you thought I abandoned you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper.
“When? Before the car accident, you wouldn’t look at me. Every time I walked into a room, you found somewhere else to be. I thought you wanted to forget it ever happened.”
