“I…” My voice wobbles. I swallow and force it out. “I took a test.” Anthony goes perfectly still. The silence after those four words is loud enough to drown out the noise coming from the restaurant outside. His thumb shifts minutely against my cheekbone. “And?” My heart bangs against my ribs so hard it hurts. “It was positive,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
For a fraction of a second, his expression cracks, something raw flashing across his face so fast I almost think I imagined it. Shock. Relief. Hunger, maybe. A kind of stunned intensity that makes my stomach drop. Then his eyes look down, but not to my mouth this time, but lower, like his body remembers exactly where he’s been, like the wordpregnantjust rewired everything inside him. When he looks back up at me, his voice is lower, rougher. “Say it properly.”
“I’m pregnant,” I say, the words tasting unreal. His inhale is sharp, like he’s been punched. Then his hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers curling there with possessive steadiness, and the look in his eyes is scorching: desperate, urgent, and overwhelmed.
My pulse spikes. “Anthony—” His mouth crashes into mine before I can finish. It’s not slow, not careful, just hungry—a desperate clash of lips and teeth and tongues. My back hits the counter hard, my hands gripping the front of his jacket, and his fingers sink into my hair, tightening, tilting my head back. The marble digs into my body, but I don’t care.
I’ve kissed Anthony Voss at least a hundred times now. This isn’t kissing; this is different. His free hand glides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, his fingers digging into my bare skin hard enough to make me wince. I bite at his lip in retaliation, drawing a groan from him, the sound vibrating against my mouth.
“Say it again.” His voice is rough, raspy,wrecked.
“I’m pregnant.”
The word lights something inside him. He hoists me up onto the counter, yanking my hips flush against his in one rough motion. My legs lock around him as his mouth finds my throat, his teeth scraping against the spot that makes my breath catch, and I don’t care about the faucet digging into my side or the fact that we’re in a public fucking bathroom. All I feel is him, the hard press of his cock beneath his slacks, and the heat of his hands sliding against my skin.
“You knew,” he says, his fingers hooking the gusset of my underwear and pulling them to the side, “and you didn’t fucking tell me?”
“I was going to,” I whimper, gasping as his thumb swipes down my slit, already slick from his touch. “Tomorrow?—”
He kisses me again, swallowing my words, his thumb pressing harder, little circles making me dizzy. My hips jerk forward, chasing the sensation, but he pulls away before I can even start to build.
“Fucker,” I whine.
His grin is razor sharp. “Turn around, princess.”
I don’t hesitate. I slip off the counter and spin, my hands hitting the marble, and his palm presses between my shoulder blades, bending me over onto it. His belt clinks behind me, and before I can even get a full breath in, I feel the blunt, hot head of his cock press against my entrance.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
It’s too much. The stretch shouldn’t shock me anymore, but it does, and I have to cover my mouth just to keep from whimpering as he splits me open. He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. He just fills me, his grip bruising my hips as he bottoms out with a groan. The mirror rattles with every thrust, my reflection foggy and blurred from my breath, but I can still see my flushed cheeks, my dilated eyes, my hand grasping my mouth. He leans over me, his breath hot on my neck. “This is what you get for hiding that,” he growls, his teeth grazing my skin.
I whimper, half laughter, half delirium. “You’reinsane—” A sharp slap lands on my ass, making me jump. “Keep talking, princess. I dare you.” I do. Gasping, babbling, his name tumbling from my lips as my knees threaten to buckle. The pleasure builds too fast, too bright, the counter digging into my hips, the sound of the restaurant fading to nothing as the roaring in my ears gets louder and louder.
“Come for me,” he orders. “Come on my cock, April.”
My knees give out as my orgasm hits me like lightning, and I muffle a shriek with my hand, his arm holding me upright enough that he can keep going, keep fucking me, keep striving for his own release. His breathing gets faster, his grunts a little louder; he’s close, so close?—
A knock sounds at the door. We freeze immediately, both of us going still as statues, no breathing, no sound. A second passes, and then another. Anthony exhales raggedly against my back, and the knock sounds again.
“Yes?” Anthony calls.
“Mr. Voss?”
My cheeks heat like I’ve been set on fucking fire.
“Your first course is ready.”
I fully bury my face in the crook of my arm to keep from dissolving into full-on laughter, almost choking from holdingback. His grip tightens on my hip, the muscles in his arms flexing as he holds himself still. “Fuck,” he says to me, then turns his head toward the door, raising his voice. “We’ll be out shortly.”
Silence answers, then the sound of footsteps retreating.
I giggle. Fully giggling, his cock still inside me, and his chest rumbles against my back, a quiet chuckle slipping free, his lips trailing lazily over my clothed shoulder blade. “You are fucking insane,” he mutters, but he’s smiling. I can hear it in his voice, can see the hint of it in the fogged mirror.
“Me?” I laugh, feigning offense. “You’re the one who started this!”
“Mm, and you’ll end it,” he grins, tilting my head back so unnaturally that he can press a kiss to my forehead upside down. “Just not here. After dinner.”
I should feel overwhelmed or embarrassed, but all I can manage to feel is relief.
