Page 77 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

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Even in the heat of passion, even with his hands on my body and his mouth devouring mine, his priority was keeping me safe.

I smiled against his lips.

This was love.

This was what it felt like when someone chose you, protected you, made you the center of their entire world.

“Truth,” he murmured, his voice rough. The sound of my name on his lips sent heat flooding through me.

“Don’t talk,” I whispered. “Just⁠—”

He kissed me again, harder this time, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, and I moaned.

My hands moved to his chest, pushing the ruined shirt off his shoulders, and it fell to the floor in a heap. His skin was warm under my palms, his muscles hard and defined, and I traced the lines of his body like I was memorizing him.

There were scars—old ones, new ones, stories written in his flesh—and I kissed each one I could reach.

His hands moved to the straps of my dress, sliding them down my shoulders, and the fabric pooled at my waist. I wasn’t wearing a bra—hadn’t bothered when I was just waiting at home—and his eyes darkened as he looked at me.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re so beautiful.”

I felt heat rise in my cheeks, but I didn’t look away.

I wasn’t ashamed.

Not of my body, not of the way it had changed with the pregnancy, and not of the way he was looking at me like I was something sacred.

He lifted me, his hands gripping my thighs, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. My back hit the wall, and he pressed against me, his mouth finding my neck, my collarbone, the curve of my breast.

I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

His beard scratched against my skin, rough and perfect, and I arched into him, needing more.

“Amai—”

“I know, baby. I know.”

His mouth closed over my nipple, and I cried out, the sensation shooting straight through me. He was gentle but insistent, his tongue circling, his teeth grazing, and I felt myself unraveling.

“Please,” I whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine.

“You sure?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

He carried me to the couch, laying me down gently, and then he pulled my dress the rest of the way off, his hands sliding my panties down my legs.

I was bare before him, vulnerable and exposed, and he looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

He stripped off his jeans, his boxers, and then he was naked, too, and I couldn’t look away.

He was all hard muscle and dangerous edges, his body a weapon honed by years of violence and survival. But when he touched me, his hands were gentle.