Page 76 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

I stood and paced again, my hands trembling, my mind spiraling.

What if he was hurt?

What if he was bleeding out somewhere, and I was just sitting here waiting like an idiot?

What if⁠—

A knock on the door.

My heart stopped.

I froze in the middle of the living room, staring at the door like it might disappear if I blinked.

Another knock. Firmer this time.

I moved.

My legs carried me across the room, my hand reaching for the deadbolt, my breath caught in my throat.

I opened the door.

And there he was.

Amai.

He was wearing different clothes from earlier—black jeans, black shirt—but they were disheveled now, dusty, torn in places. There was dried blood on his shirt, dark stains that looked almost black in the dim porch light.

His eyes were dark, intense, dangerous.

But when he saw me, something softened.

The predator became a man.

I didn’t hesitate.

I launched myself at him, my arms wrapping around his neck, my mouth crashing against his.

He caught me, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me against him, and I kissed him like I was drowning and he was air.

I was the aggressor this time.

I was the one who couldn’t wait, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about anything except the fact that he was alive.

He was here.

He came back.

I pulled at his shirt, my fingers fumbling with the buttons, and when they didn’t come fast enough, I yanked hard. Buttons scattered across the porch, pinging against the wood, and I didn’t care.

I needed him.

Needed to feel his skin, his heartbeat, the proof that he was real.

Amai’s hands moved to my dress, pulling it up, his fingers rough and urgent against my thighs. I gasped into his mouth.

He walked us backward into the house, his mouth never leaving mine, and then he kicked the door closed with his foot—one powerful motion that made the frame shudder.

Between kisses, he reached behind him and locked the deadbolt.