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And the pregnancy had shifted in her mind from something she was desperately excited about to something she knew would be difficult to navigate.
But not once did she consider not having the baby. Nor did she wish to accede to her parents’ wishes and give ‘the child’ up for adoption.
Their baby was hers. Xavier mightn’t have wanted any piece of her but Ellie wasn’t about to push that same fate onto the baby they’d made!
Her mind was in knots, her stomach too, so when Xavier strode across the room and pulled up the duvet, letting cold air infiltrate the coziness of the bed, she stiffened, refusing to move, nor to acknowledge that she was awake. And waiting.
Yes, if she was honest, she’d been waiting for this. On tenterhooks, his parting barb from the day before sliding through her mind.
You will join me in my bed each night. And each night you will beg for me again and again. Each night you will apologise to me for what you’ve done.
What the hell was the matter with her that his words filled her with anticipation? The good kind of anticipation?
And yet she wouldn’t admit that. She wouldn’t act on it.
She lay with her back turned to him, facing the wall with the Rembrandt, keeping her breathing level and her eyes closed, and she stayed as close to the edge of the bed as possible.
The bed indented as he moved into it, his weight depressing it in the middle, and then, one strong, thick arm snaked around her waist, pulling her body backwards, so her spine connected with his taut belly. He curled his body – naked body, she realized with an internal moan – around hers. And he held her tight to him.
Warmth surrounded her.
And her heart began to speed up. He held her like that for several minutes and her breathing was shallow as every single nerve ending in her body was aware of his strong, warm nakedness right behind her. His arm around her breasts was a vice but she made no attempt to evade it anyway.
He was pleasingly close to her breasts and without realizing what she was doing, she shifted a little, positioning his hand closer, so that he laughed low and throaty against her ear.
“You are not asleep,” he said, and heat infused her cheeks.
“No,” she whispered.
In response, his fingers began to massage her breasts, teasing her nipples, plucking at them. Gently, so that she wanted more. Needed more.
She bit down on her lip to stop from saying that. You will beg for me. The words raised all her hackles but inside, she was begging. Begging over and over.
His arousal was thick against her rear and she knew that it would be as easy for her to turn in the bed, push her pajama pants down and take him deep into her core.
But what would that say about her will-power?
His hand moved down her body, sliding into the soft, elastic waistband of her pants. She held her breath and then he was teasing her womanhood with his expert ministrations, his fingers massaging flesh that was so very sensitive.
“Are you awake because you are waiting for me?” And though he moved slowly, every touch stirred her to new heights, driving her wild. Then his lips began their assault on the sensitive flesh just beneath her earlobe, and she clamped her teeth together and whimpered. She felt his smile and hated it. How she wanted him! And needed to stay silent on that score!
His fingers found the band of her pajamas next, guiding them from her body and she didn’t say anything. She wanted to roll over and look up at him and beg him but pride kept her still. Just for a moment.
He brought his hand back to her breast and when his fingertips connected with her nipples this time, she arched her back, a soft movement that was involuntary but oh, how she needed to move! He was setting her body alight and there was no way she could simply lie there.
He understood. He pushed up to kneeling and then came to straddle her, gently nudging her onto her back so that he had full access to her front. His hands found the buttons to her shirt and began to undo them, slowly, his eyes holding hers with a sardonic mockery that should have turned her cold – except she was used to it now.
He was teasing her with the lightness of his touch.
Moving so slowly when he knew a fever was burning in her blood. He was waiting for her to beg. He wanted to hear her plead with him.
She bit down on her tongue, staying silent, even when he split the shirt open and revealed her breasts to his hungry gaze and the power of his desire almost knocked her sideways. Even when his large palms cupped her breasts and his arousal nudged at her nakedness, and she needed him to take her with a desperation that terrified her.
It was his mouth that did it.
His lips connected with the flesh of her breast, his stubbled chin rough on her softness and his tongue warm respite from the cold night air. He rolled his tongue over her peaked nipple and words danced, unbidden, from her tongue into the room.
“Please, Xavier,” she moaned, lifting her hands and pressing them to his back. Where once his flesh had been smooth and soft she found ridges now, bumps and twists of flesh that were the physical remnants from the crash that had heralded their end.
