Gripping my hair in his fist, he presses the tip of his cock against my lips. I quickly wet him with a circle of my tongue and then take him in deep, bracing myself with one hand on his hip. With the other, I hold his shaft tightly, moving him in and out of my mouth until he’s breathing in quick little pants.
“Fuck yes…” he groans.
His pleasure quickens my pulse and spreads warmth through my limbs. Relaxing my jaw, I take him even deeper while tugging at his pants to lower them past his thighs. Armani grabs my head with both hands and starts moving his hips, trying to take control of the pace. Pushing against his hip, I hold him back and glance up at him, narrowing my eyes in rebuke. He eases up, but his gaze is so dark with passion that I can’t help but moan as I run my tongue over the thick vein underneath his cock. God, I wanted this.
I work him until he begins to swell in my mouth. His eyes are closed now, and I’m certain he’s completely lost in his own head, not that I mind. I love having that power over him. Knowing that I’m making him feel that way. Suddenly, his eyes open, and he pulls away and moves me so I’m lying on my back with my ass at the edge of the bed and my feet on the floor. Seconds later, my pants are down and he’s slipping inside me.
“Armani,” I pant helplessly as he pumps in and out. “Yes.”
God, he feels good. Why does he feel so good? Every single time.
I wrap my arms around his neck and Armani lowers himself over me and kisses me with a searching, passionate hunger. Almost as if he wants me to lose myself the way he did.
Of course, it works. It always does with him. A few short breaths later and I’m drunk on his lips and the strokes of his tongue, nodding as he pulls my shirt up to my neck and pushes my bra up over my breasts. His hot mouth drops to my aching nipples, his thumb circling my clit as his thrusts get faster, harder, wetter.
Moaning, I arch my back as he works me to the brink of orgasm. His lips find mine again and as we kiss, as we fuck, as we hold each other tight, I’m utterly consumed by him. I feel something new beating between us, too. Something rich and full and promising.
It’s…it’s…
But whatever it is gets lost as my climax crests and crashes like a wave, hitting me hard and fast.
I cry out, barely aware of Armani finishing until he’s bracing himself on one arm, his head resting against my shoulder. As we catch our breath, I absently run my fingers through his hair, becoming acutely aware of all the places our bodies touch. His cock still inside me. His thighs pressed against mine. His chest warming my side, his free arm casually draped over my breasts. Usually, he’s quick to move away after sex, but this time he lingers and the tender feeling I had earlier returns.
He finally looks at me and runs a finger along my cheek. Hope flutters in my belly. Is he finally going to say he loves me? Or at least admit that he has feelings for me?
“I want you to know that I will always…” he begins.
My pulse is pounding. This is it.
“…take care of you,” he finishes. “After everything is said and done, you and the baby will want for nothing, regardless of any…ulterior motives.”
Jerking my head back, I sputter, “Ulterior motives? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Armani pulls away from me and gets up, leaving me disheveled and cold.
“It means that nothing changes the fact that you’re going to be the mother of my child. Therefore, I’ll always look out for your best interests. Make sure you have a nice home. A good vehicle. Credit card with a generous limit. Whatever you need.”
The post-sex endorphins I was feeling explode and die. I’m caught between the joy of hearing that Armani will always be there for our child and the sick feeling in my gut at knowing that he’s promised me nothing more than that.
Sitting up, I pull my shirt back down over my breasts and grab my underwear off the floor. As I slide them back on quickly, I feel my heart pounding, my stomach twisting sickly.
“What exactly are you saying? Just spit it out,” I say, my tone harsh.
He’s dressed again, his shirt still open, tending to his hair in the dresser mirror.
Without looking at me, he answers, “I’m saying that I still don’t know if you did this on purpose, but that even if you did trick me into having this baby, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m committed to taking care of my child and his or her mother.” He finally turns to face me. “As for our arrangement, as I said before, it will still expire as agreed. I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”
“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” I say icily.
His cold words—and the detached efficiency with which he just delivered them—have left me with an ache in my chest that feels like a knife wound.
I’m hurt and furious and I don’t try to hide it from him, not that it would bother him to see it on my face. I can’t believe I was actually entertaining the thought that he might come around to the idea of being a family. Nothing could be further from the truth.
With one last glance in my direction, Armani finishes buttoning up his shirt and grabs his jacket on the way out the door.
I turn my back so I won’t have to watch him leave.
Maybe it’s a good thing that our marriage has an expiration date, after all. Because honestly? I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.
