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It’s too much. I’m so happy ithurts.
“Keep going,” I gasp, and Rufus growls in approval. He’s squeezing my legs hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises, and there’s a crick in my neck, but I don’t care.
Does he really want this baby? Does he really wantme?
Dark eyes flick open, and the painter scowls like he can hear me doubting.
“This is mine,” he rumbles, claiming my slit with one long lick. “And so is this…” A broad hand travels over my swollen belly. “And so is this.” His palm spreads over my heart. “Never doubt it, Helen.”
I nod, dazed, and inhale sharply as his thick fingers crook inside me. He’s been dragging this out, working me into a sweaty mess, but now I’m climbing, climbing,climbing, up to the clouds and the crows and the thin mountain air.
My body arches off the cushions, rigid and trembling.
Rufus grunts. Teeth graze over my clit.
“Oh.”
“That’s my girl,” he says, deep voice rough, fingers working me as shudders wrack my limbs. “Fuck, look at you. So goddamn perfect when you come. So perfect every minute of the day. Jesus Christ.”
My head is tipped back, neck straining. Every atom in my body pulses, and when I finally slump back on the chaise lounge, my heartbeat thumps in my ears.
So damp and sticky.
So freaking thrilled.
And I want more.
“Can we—?”
“God, yes.” Rufus staggers to one side as he launches to his feet, his bad leg buckling. I reach for him, but he’s already waving me away. “Leave that. I don’t give a shit if my leg drops off, sweetheart, I’m getting inside you right now. Stop giggling, you imp.”
I help him out, sort of. Mostly I yank on his shirtsleeve, weak with laughter, until Rufus shrugs the whole thing off and stands before me in only dark pants.
His chest is hard, dusted with dark hair. Ancient scars criss-cross his ribs from that horrible fall.
“Next time,” he says, working his belt buckle open with a clink, “I’ll do it properly. Get us both fully naked; lay you out on a bed. Next time, I swear I’ll do this right, but Helen, if I don’t feel you stretch around me in the next thirty seconds, I swear to God—”
“Thisisright,” I interrupt as Rufus sits on the cushions beside me, strong thighs spread. “And it’s probably better for the baby if I’m on top, anyway.”
His pants are open, and I watch, dry-mouthed, as he draws his length from his boxers. It’s as thick and no-nonsense as the rest of him, with a ruddy head and a thatch of dark hair at the base. My lower belly clenches with want.
Needthat inside me ASAP. Like, yesterday.
“Think this sofa will hold us?” I ask, swinging a leg over the painter’s lap. The chaise lounge groans beneath us, floorboards creaking, because Rufus Grangemoor is a big, brawny man, and I’m a tall woman, no tiny handful either. Especially with my new hitchhiker.
My hands brace on his shoulders. His bare skin is burning hot. And he’s just sohuge, so stern, and every touch from him feels like worship. This is the best.
“It had better,” Rufus says, staring between my thighs as I line us up. His rigid shaft jerks against my palm. “Otherwise this whole hotel is firewood.”
Ha. “You wouldn’t dare. I want to raise our family here, Rufus Grangemoor, so you’d better get baby-proofing.”
He snorts. “Yes, ma’am. Maybe you’ll marry me, too.”
My heart sings, and I fight the biggest, cheesiest smile. “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”
“The luckiest.”
And everything goes still and quiet as I sink down on his length. The heaters rattle. A breeze whistles past the windows, and the sunshine is warm on my bare skin. Rufus stares at the place where our bodies join, his jaw slack as I take him inside, inch by inch, and when he remembers to breathe, chest jerking, I give a wobbly smile.
