“Tommy!” I come hard around his cock, my pussy squeezing him with her own rhythm, my nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood.
He pounds my pussy through it, his jaw set. Grabbing my hair at the top of my head, he yanks my head back, baring his teeth. “Fuck, I’m going to fucking fill that pussy—”
Slamming into me, he bites into my neck hard as his cock pulses inside me, each spasm eliciting from him a guttural groan. I cry out, wrapping my arms around him, as he breathes heavily into my neck and slowly begins to quiet.
One last shiver rolls through him and he groans, snapping his hips, his cock filling me to the hilt, forcing a gasp from me. He presses his forehead into mine, his eyes closed, then kisses me deeply.
“I love you, too, Tommy,” I murmur against his lips, closing my eyes. I can feel the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile as he slides out of me and releases me slowly. He reaches down and pulls my jeans and panties back up, fastening them before doing the same for himself.
My legs are trembling as he takes my hand and pulls me roughly out of the elevator and through the lobby, cutting straight through the crowd.
Before we reach the massive concrete doors, he stops. The world around us keeps moving, people filing in and out of the lobby around us, but we stand still, a rock in the stream, our eyes on each other.
He stares at my mouth then claims it with his, his hand cradling the back of my head. His other hand slides down my side to my thigh, pulling it up around his waist. I lose myself in the feel of his hands on my body, his warm chest heaving against mine. In this moment, there is nothing but him, his mouth, his hands.
When he finally pulls back, breathless, I get it. I understand what he means about seeing no one and nothing but us when he’s touching me. There’s only us.
In that moment, I know in a way that I can’t articulate how much he loves me, still, now, even after all our years apart, even after what happened to me. And I know that when I tell him about the pregnancy, he will understand.
He releases me with a low growl and tucks me into his side as we head out of Dragovari Tower. The valet brings our car, but as soon as we merge into traffic, Tommy is on edge.
Without warning, he cuts across three lanes and turns right, cutting off oncoming traffic. Horns honk, tires screech, as people swerve to avoid him. I clutch the arm rest and glance at him, but his eyes are darting between the rearview mirror, the side mirrors, and over his shoulders, as he drives.
“Make sure your seatbelt is on, baby,” he murmurs.
His focus is absolute as he weaves in and out of traffic, making turns, speeding up, slowing down.
I’m frozen, clinging to the arm rest, my body rocking with the movements of the car when it happens.
Everything goes quiet.
My vision blurs around the edges.
The rocking of my body becomes the rocking motion I felt when I was kidnapped, tied to the bed.
Then the voices:
“Is she pregnant yet?”
“It doesn’t happen that fast.”
“Should we inseminate her?”
“Do you want to provide a sample?”
“I’ll bring in Mr. Abbiati tonight.”
“He’ll provide as many samples as you need.”
Mr. Abbiati….
By the time we pull into the underground garage, I’m trembling so hard I can barely unbuckle my seatbelt.
Tommy is saying something I can’t hear, and I turn toward him. Concern is etched on his face as he unbuckles my seatbelt for me. It’s not until he cups my face in his hands and kisses me, grounding me, that I come back to the present.
I blink up at him, dazed. He looks terrified.
How do I tell my man that there are no more ‘ifs’?
