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Katrina isn’t in my bedroom. My pulse speeds up, until I see her out on my balcony. She’s looking out over our backyard, her arms crossed, resting atop her round, gorgeous belly.
“Katrina,” I call her, but she doesn’t turn and come to me as I want, and I smile, clearing my throat.
“How many children do you have?”
My smile grows, liking the way her voice is riddled with jealousy.
“How many men have you slept with?” I counter. I plan to murder each one. Only I get to know what she feels like when she comes and live to remember it.
She pivots and walks toward me, more graceful than any pregnant woman I’ve ever seen, still comfortable in her body like she was the night I saw her painting in her gallery. She’s angry, and I like it. It’s one of the few times I can get a read on her. All the other times, she tries to mask what she’s feeling.
“If you’re looking for another harem girl, you’re going to have to look elsewhere. I don’t shareanything.”
“Youcame tomewith this arrangement,” I remind her.
“We haven’t slept together. It’s not binding.”
“My child inside you says otherwise.” My hand grips her throat, while the other gently lies on her stomach that is carrying my baby. “But if you need me to fight you, I can do that. You remember your safe word?”
And then she shocks me. “I don’t want to fight my husband on our wedding day. I want him to take me like a fucking god, then remind me it’sonlyhim, and he’s all mine.” Katrina threatens my logic and clear thinking. The wordsfuck me like a god, has me puffing my chest out in a way I’ve never felt before.
Our chemistry zaps around us, my thumb brushing over her pulse.
It’s at this moment I decide to give her one of my firsts.
Tonight, it isn’t about fucking. It’s about giving her a small piece of me that no one has ever had, not even my first wife.
I place a kiss on her eyelashes that fan over her cheek. Then, once again, lower on her pink cheek, until I reach her neck. I trail slow, purposeful kisses down the column of her neck. I don’t dare ask her if this is what she wants. Her mind, words, and body are all too contradicting and conflicted.
“You are so beautiful,” I whisper against her soft flesh, and her breath hitches. I walk us backward until her legs reach my bed. That spark she ignited in me flares like a torch. A fog of lust and emotion settles around me as my lips touch her warm skin.
I shouldn’t trust her.
I should be fighting not to show her the real me.
But when she moans and her hands search me out, I’m no longer in the right mindset to keep up all my barriers.
She pushes her breasts into me, and my arms wrap around her to lower her to my bed. Her body sinks into my sheets, her tits like a pillow for my face. Pregnancy has amplified her already perfect breasts, and I can’t wait to have them in my mouth.
I stand back and take my time opening my dress shirt. Her doe eyes watch my fingers as they undo each button. She turns onto her side, her arm propping up her head, getting more comfortable for the show I’m giving her.
I have the sudden urge to calm her fears. “You have nothing to worry about with Eva. She’s my daughter’s nanny.”
“She’s in love with you.”
“She’s like a sister.” I brush off the idea. It’s not like that between us. Eva has been with me since Charlotte was a year old. I would know if she was in love with me.
“A hot sister you fuck?” she prompts with a completely straight face. She’s not trying to make a joke but is actually asking me.
“No. I’ve never touched her.” Even the idea is ridiculous.
“How old is your daughter?”
Ahhh, more interrogation. I finally have her in my house and in my bed. I don’t want to talk about anyone or anything unless it’s about worshiping that body of hers. But at her raised brows, I see clearly she needs some answers for her own peace of mind. “Her name is Charlotte, and she is five.”
“If you already have an heir, why do you want this one so badly?”
I can feel my grin growing with her question. “Because that baby is mine.Youare mine.” I point to her belly, then briefly raise my finger in the direction of her face. Arguing would be so much easier if I didn’t love the way her cheeks flush when she’s mad. Or the way her eyes dilate when I say something she hates.
