Page 78 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

He knelt between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs, and I shivered.

“I need to taste you,” he murmured.

Before I could respond, his mouth was on me, and I gasped, my back arching off the couch.

His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, and I felt myself coming apart under his touch. He knew exactly what to do, exactly where to touch, and I was helpless against the pleasure building inside me.

“Amai—oh, God⁠—”

He didn’t stop. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me in place, and his mouth worked me over until I was trembling, gasping, begging.

“Come for me, Truth,” he said against my skin, and the command in his voice sent me over the edge.

I shattered, my body convulsing, his name a broken cry on my lips.

He didn’t give me time to recover.

He moved up my body, his mouth finding mine, and I tasted myself on his lips. It should have been embarrassing, but it wasn’t. It was intimate. Raw. Real.

He positioned himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said.

“It won’t be.”

He pushed inside, slow and careful, and I felt the stretch, the fullness, the way my body opened for him.

It was perfect.

He was perfect.

He stilled once he was fully seated, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ragged.

“Fuck, Truth. You feel⁠—”

“Move,” I whispered. “Please.”

He did.

He pulled back and thrust forward, and I moaned, my hands gripping his shoulders.

He set a rhythm—slow at first, deliberate, like he was savoring every second. His hands moved over my body, touching, claiming, and worshipping.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against my ear. “You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

He groaned, his hips snapping forward harder, and I cried out.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Amai. Only yours.”

He kissed me, deep and possessive, and then he was moving faster, harder, his control slipping.