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His smile was laced with sardonic mockery. “Which is not an answer.”
She huffed out a sharp breath.
“And I don’t need an answer.” He lifted one hand to her chin, tilting her face so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “I know how you must feel.”
“Do you?” Her breath latched in her throat.
He nodded, moving closer. “And I know that marriage between us, though as unexpected as this pregnancy, would have its own… rewards.”
Heat spiraled through Bella, pooling between her legs, then spreading like chaotic little fireworks through her body. She made an enquiring noise that emerged more as a gargled, strangled sound, but he understood, and he smiled, his eyes only slightly sardonic as he bent down and caught her lips with his.
Another noise, this one of explosive passion, burst from Bella, and her lips separated, welcoming his kiss, needing his embrace.
God, how she’d been tormented with memories of this, of how his kiss felt, tasted, moved her. His hands found the waistband of her jeans, separating them before she’d even realized, and she whimpered as he pushed them apart, just enough to provide him access to her feminine core. Lower went the jeans, and his hand pushed inside her cotton briefs so his fingers brushed past the pale hair at the apex of her thighs and found her most sensitive cluster of nerves. At his first contact, she cried out, so sweet and unexpected was this touch, so perfect and right that she was trembling at the knees, almost unable to stand.
And he knew.
He brought an arm around her back, clamping her body in place, holding her upright when she might otherwise have fallen. His fingers moved against her and he watched her, his expression dark, his eyes intent, and she swept her own eyes shut to blot out all thoughts and ramifications, anything other than the intensity of this pleasure.
“Vitalo,” she cried, as pleasure exploded in her gut, and he kissed her again, tasting her impassioned pleas, her delight, tasting it and swallowing it deep down inside of himself. She exploded against him, her body weak and strong at the same time, her pleasure a mark of power and utter submission; her pleasure something she couldn’t resist.
“Marry me,” he growled into her mouth, one hand lifting to capture her hair, tangling in its ends, holding her where she was. “Marry me and I will make you feel like this every single night of your life.”
Sanity returned slowly but completely. He watched the way she shrouded herself in maturity, the way she looked at him with shock, at first, as though awakening from a dream. He saw the way she tried to arrange her face into a mask of cool disdain, when her pulse was still throbbing violently at the base of her throat and her eyes were fevered with desire, and he wanted to rail against all her attempts to sober herself up from the delirious, drunken effects of her desire.
Sensuality wasn’t something to be run from – it was a gift. And desire like this was rare – it deserved to be worshipped and enjoyed.
“Don’t do that,” she said, finally, her voice just a whispered husk.
His eyes narrowed. “When you enjoy it so much?”
Heat flamed in her cheeks.
“I mean, don’t use what I feel against me. If you want to persuade me to marry you, there are other ways than… by reminding me of what… that feels like.”
Pleasure, anticipation and admiration stoked inside of him. “None so effective, I think.”
Her lips twisted into a wry grimace. “Perhaps not.” She swallowed, her throat moving gently beneath his scrutiny. “So you’d expect that… to be a part of our marriage?”
His eyes were teasing when they latched to hers. “Oh, y
es, agape mou. Often.” He leaned forward, so he could whisper in her ear. “I have quite an appetite…”
He felt her tremble against him and his cock jerked inside his pants. He wanted to take her then and there, against the cold timber of her kitchen bench. But not yet. First, he needed her agreement. He wanted this matter formalized before he did anything else.
And Kat? When exactly was he planning on telling Kat he was marrying her daughter? That he’d slept with her and got her pregnant?
“It’s crazy.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed, rocking his hips forward, pressing her to the bench so she could feel the strength of his need for her. “But I’ll bet many marriages are based on far less.”
She whimpered and her own hips pressed forward, and moved from side to side, as though she were trying to create enough friction to enjoy her own sexual release once more.
His arousal tightened; his body was like iron.
“Sexual infatuation is hardly a basis for a lasting relationship…”
“But a baby is,” he reminded her softly. “Think of what we could give the baby,” he said, as his hands slid under her jumper, finding the clasp of her bra and unhooking it. He kept his body hard against hers, and when the bra was looser, he curved his hands around to her breasts, his fingers and thumb tormenting her nipples. Her face was pink and she tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling, her breath coming thick and raspy from between her lips.
