Page 39 of The Heir Affair

‘You deny me for three days, and yet you expect instant gratification…’ Clasping her head with his other hand, he captured her lips, his tongue tangling with hers in a dance of dominance and submission.

She kissed him back but choked out a sob when he removed his hand from her panties. Before she had the chance to beg, he scooped her into his arms, strode out of the surf, and across the sand until they reached the sofa under the trees.

Placing her on her feet, he kneeled to hook his thumbs in the wet panties. She had to steady herself on his shoulder as he lifted one foot then the other to strip them off. When he stood, towering over her, she could see the ruthless desire in his face, feel it in the rigid erection pressing against her belly. But as she reached to circle his neck, he grasped her wrists and turned her away from him, folding his arms around her, the erection now nestled against her back.

‘I want to take you so deep you will feel me everywhere,’ he murmured against her neck, his low voice guttural with tension, but also rough with desire. ‘But I don’t want to hurt the baby.’

‘Y-you won’t,’ she managed as emotion bloomed alongside the visceral heat, the concern in his voice touching something deep inside her.

Memory swirled as she recalled their first time, and the care with which he’d eased inside her, aware of his size.

‘Good,’ he murmured, but then he bit into her earlobe. Raw sensation pulsed in her sex, focussing her attention back on the pleasure that he had denied her.

Taking her hands, he placed them on the back of the sofa, forcing her to kneel on the seat, the strident erection brushing her bottom.

‘Tell me if it is too much,’ he groaned.

Awareness shimmered through her as he held her hips, the huge head pressing against her entrance from behind. He slid deep, in unbearable increments, her slick flesh easing his way, until he was seated to the hilt.

She sobbed, her muscles clenching, and releasing, struggling to adjust to the thick intrusion, the stretching feeling overwhelming. But then he cradled the mound of her pregnancy, caressing the tight skin, and whispered into her hair.

‘I love what my child has done to you,’ he murmured, his voice husky with need. ‘You are mine now, always, in the only way that counts,’ he finished, the words so low it was as if they had been wrenched from his soul.

The emotion rushed back, pressing against her ribs like a boulder, wrapping around her heart—the connection she had sensed all those months ago like a band now around her chest, restricting her breathing.

He pulled out, then rocked back, again and again—faster, harder—until he had established a firm, unstoppable rhythm. Her fingernails dug into the sofa cushions, her body shaking as the vicious climax barrelled towards her, each thrust so deep it felt as if he could touch her heart.

His grunts matched her moans, the pleasure building, drawing, tightening like a vice, until his hands moved from her belly to caress the perfect spot at last.

The orgasm—hot, basic, delirious—tore through her body. She cried out, the fierce pleasure exploding in unstoppable waves, like the tide slapping against the rocks.

He shouted out his own pleasure behind her, his body covering hers as they plummeted into the beautiful, bright oblivion together.

But as he pulled out of her, her knees buckled. He yanked her back, cradled her against him, turning so she collapsed on top of him on the sofa.

They lay, together, spent, drained, her body shimmering with the vicious afterglow, her skin slick with sweat, her mind drifting.

He shifted, to press a kiss to her cheek, then spread his hands over the place where their baby grew.

‘Okay?’ he asked softly.

She nodded, unable to speak as the boulder resting on her ribs rose up to choke her.

And the words he’d said in the heat of passion reverberated in her heart.

You are mine now, always, in the only way that counts.

Did he mean that? Did she really matter to him now, the way she hadn’t mattered to anyone for so long…?

She tried to contain the desperate surge of hope. But the wave of emotion pressing against her ribs felt too huge, too wonderful to be cautious.

So she basked in it, let it warm her heart, while the sun warmed her skin.

She closed her eyes, and gave herself up to the foggy feeling of blissful exhaustion… While the dreams she had convinced herself she needed to forget flooded back in again, regardless.

CHAPTER TEN

The rest ofthe day passed in a haze of hormones while Poppy attempted to focus on the stupendous sex and not her wayward emotions.