"You want my children," I repeat, and the words taste like possession.
"Yes."
"You want to carry them."
"Yes." She is close, I can feel it, her body tightening around me, her breath coming in short, broken gasps.
"Every morning you'll wake up in this bed." My voice is low, my mouth at her ear. "And every morning I will look at you and know you chose me. That you walked across a room and claimed me. That the children sleeping down the hall exist because you were brave enough to step into my world and stay."
She breaks. Her orgasm hits her, and she cries out, her body clenching around me in pulsing, rhythmic contractions that pull me over the edge with her. I bury myself inside her as deep as I can go and I come with a force that whites out my vision.
We lie tangled together afterward. Her head is on my chest. My hand is in her hair. The penthouse is silent around us,holding us in its dark and empty spaces like a vessel waiting to be filled.
"I'm not going back to the guest room," she says.
I tighten my arm around her. "No. You're not."
She tilts her head up and looks at me. Her eyes are soft and fierce and sated and still hungry, all at once.
"I'm keeping you," she says, and she says it the way I have been saying it inside my own head for days, like a fact of nature, like gravity.
I pull her closer. I press my mouth against her hair. I think about children and permanence and the aching, empty rooms in this house that have been waiting, all this time, for exactly this.
For exactly her.
Claudia
I wake slowly, cocooned in warmth and the heavy weight of an arm draped across my waist. Sunlight filters through the heavy curtains, casting a soft glow over the room that still carries the faint scent of last night's activities. My body feels deliciously used, a pleasant ache between my thighs and along my muscles reminding me of everything that happened. I’m in Rovin's bed. I’m his.
For six years I wanted this. Six years of watching him at galas and fundraisers, of imagining his hands on my skin while I touched myself alone in my room. Six years of dreaming about the kind of power and permanence only a man like him could give me. Now it is real. I belong to him completely, and the knowledge settles warm and deep inside me.
I turn my head carefully. Rovin lies beside me, his face relaxed in sleep in a way I have never seen before. His dark hair is mussed, his broad chest rising and falling with steady breaths. The sheets pool low around his hips, exposing the hard planes of his torso and the trail of dark hair leading downward. Heat blooms low in my belly as I remember how he felt inside me, stretching me, claiming me.
My fingers itch to touch him. I trail them lightly over his shoulder, tracing the lines of muscle there. He stirs. Emboldened, I shift closer until my breasts press against his side. The sheet slips away from my body as I move, and the coolair makes my nipples tighten. I press a soft kiss to his collarbone, then another lower, tasting the salt of his skin.
Rovin's hand tightens on my waist. His eyes open, dark and immediately focused on me. "Claudia," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep and desire.
"I waited so long for you," I whisper against his chest. "Every night for six years I thought about this. About waking up next to you. About feeling you like this." My hand slides beneath the sheet and I find exactly what I’m looking for. His hard, hot length, ready for me.
He rolls toward me in one fluid motion, pinning me beneath him. His weight feels perfect, grounding and possessive. I part my thighs instinctively, welcoming him as his cock bumps against my core.
"Tell me more," he says, his mouth brushing my ear. "Tell me what you imagined."
I arch up into him, gasping as his hand cups my breast and his thumb circles my nipple.
"I imagined you taking me in your bed, on the floor, against a wall, on a table. Everywhere. Claiming every part of me in every way. I touched myself thinking about your mouth on me, your hands holding me down while you fucked me more and more because you couldn’t get enough of me and I couldn’t get enough of you."
His groan vibrates through his chest. He kisses me deeply, his tongue stroking mine with deliberate hunger.
"You’re mine now," he says against my lips. "No more waiting."
He begins to trail his lips over my jaw, down my neck and onto my collar bone. “Do you always get what you want?” he asks,rolling my nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, sending little zaps of pleasure throughout me.
“I suppose,” I say. “But I work hard to get it. You were always just a fantasy. Someone I thought would never be within my reach.”
He sucks my other nipple into his mouth, my back bows off the bed. His cock leaves a sticky, wet, trail of precum over my thigh where it touches.
“So why didn’t you have other relationships?” he asks. “Why did you keep this perfect pussy neglected of what it deserves?”
