“Mmm.” His lips buzzed where they were pressed to my skin, the vibration settling in my core.
But when I felt the hem of my nightgown being lifted, I withdrew, batting his hands away. “Stop.”
To his credit, Gio immediately removed his touch, staring at me with concern alight in his brown eyes. “What’s wrong?”
My eyes slammed shut as I breathed, “I won’t be able to relax enough to enjoy this if I’m worried the whole time about you seeing how fat I’ve gotten.”
“Are you serious?” My husband reared back in disbelief. “Rory, have you forgotten that we fucked just last night? I can’t imagine your body has endured a significant change in the past twenty-four hours.”
I fixed him with a glare that told him I was deadly serious before pointing out, “That was in the dark. You couldn’t see”—I circled a hand over my gigantic bump and swollen breasts—“all of this.”
The man had the audacity to snort. “Might not have been able to see it, but I could feel it.”
I shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge, the arm around my waist holding me immobile when I tried to pull away. With his free hand, he rubbed at the bulge straining against his fly.
“You want the truth, Rory?” He quirked an eyebrow in challenge.
“Not particularly,” I muttered under my breath.
“Never in our entire marriage have I been more attracted to you, more turned on by your body than I am right now.” He palmed the swell of my stomach. “This makes me so hard, makes me want to get you pregnant over and over and over again. As many times as I’m able.”
“Gio.” His name came out on a frustrated huff.
“And these.” He groaned, cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing the peaked nipples, sending sparks of ecstasy straight to my core. “They’re so fucking heavy. I want to suck on them all day long in hopes of getting that first taste of milk.”
I couldn’t bite back the whimper that clawed its way up my throat. His words painted a picture that had wetness coating my inner thighs.
“I’m desperate to worship my fertile goddess. Please say that I can.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say yes, but the insecurities swirling around in my brain weren’t easy to banish.
“I want to . . . but—”
A finger pressed to my lips cut me off. Eyes blazing as they roved down the length of my body, Gio said, “But nothing, Rory. Repeat after me: You. Are. Beautiful.”
My eyes slammed shut, my words barely a whisper. “I am beautiful.”
“Louder,” he commanded.
“I am beautiful.”
“Louder!”
“I am beautiful!” My cry echoed off the high ceiling.
Gio stroked the side of my neck. “That’s my girl.” Rising from the chair, he pressed his lips to mine, speaking against them. “On your knees in the middle of the room.”
His deepened voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I obeyed at once. Rushing around the desk as quickly as I was able, givenmy current condition, I dropped to my knees, both hands folded in my lap.
“Good.” The praise came as he dug into a drawer, retrieving a long length of silk. He held it up for my inspection. “Will you let me use this on you?”
It had been so long since he last tied me up—before I ran away—and I nodded eagerly, desperate to relinquish control, to let him dictate my pleasure.
Discarding his cashmere sweater, he unbuttoned his fly, easing the zipper down, and sighing in relief when his cock was set free. He gave it a few firm pumps, teasing the piercings with his thumb until a pearl of precum beaded at the tip. My tongue darted out involuntarily, the phantom taste of him causing saliva to flood my mouth.
“Is this what you want?” Gio taunted as he stepped closer.
My head bobbed on an exaggerated nod. “Please.”
