Page 100 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 4

“I mean it, Truth,” he said, shifting Tru to his other arm. “Did you see that? My daughter knew right away that man was full of shit. She don’t even like the nigga, just like her daddy. Daddy baby can already spot a fuck nigga. Ain’t that right, my chunky?” He bounced Tru, who was now smiling.

I couldn’t help it; I let out a loud snort of laughter. “She’s three months old, Amai. She doesn’t have an opinion on family bullshit.”

“She got Landry blood,” he said with complete conviction, kissing the top of Tru’s curls. “She know a snake when she smell one.”

“Lord hammercy.” I shook my head.

The rest of the night flew by with me cleaning and Mama arguing with Amai about what the Saints would do this year.

By nine o’clock that night, we were back in our own world at the Garden District house.

The heavy iron gates were locked, the high-end security system was armed, and the house was quiet. Up in the nursery, Trumai was sound asleep in her white oak crib, full from a warm bottle and tucked beneath a soft knit blanket. The baby monitor on my nightstand glowed with a faint green light, broadcasting the steady, rhythmic sound of her tiny breathing.

I walked out of the master bathroom wrapped in a short black silk robe, my skin smelling of warm vanilla and eucalyptus from a long, uninterrupted shower.

Amai was sitting on the edge of our king-sized bed in a pair of black satin bottoms, his dark hair still damp from his own shower, scrolling through security reports on his tablet. When he looked up and saw me, the tablet hit the nightstand with a thud.

His dark eyes raked over me, starting from my bare legs up past the tie at my waist to my bare collarbone. His raw, feral gaze made my stomach do that familiar, delicious flip. My body knew a time was about to be had.

“Come here,” he ordered.

I didn’t rush. I walked over slowly, letting the silk part just enough around my thighs as I stepped between his spread knees.

Amai didn’t waste time. His large hands slid under the hem of the robe, his calloused palms gripping the meat of my thighs, pulling me flush against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply with a low, possessive groan that vibrated against my skin right down to my cat.

“You smell like home,” he murmured against my pulse point.

“Amai…”

His hands moved up to untie the silk belt, parting the robe and letting it slide down my shoulders to pool on the floor. His hands smoothed over my hips, over the soft, lingering fullness of my postpartum stomach, his touch reverent and heavy.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his thumbs tracing the faint silver stretch marks curving over my hips. “Perfection.”

“I still got baby weight,” I murmured, feeling suddenly vulnerable under the sharp intensity of his gaze.

Amai looked up, his expression dead serious. “I like every single extra pound. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever put my hands on, and I’m about to show you.”

He lifted me effortlessly, laying me back against the cool Egyptian cotton sheets, following me down until his heavy, muscular frame was hovering over mine.

When his mouth met mine, it wasn’t the frantic, desperate kissing from when we were running from bullets and bomb threats. It was slow, deep, and devastatingly thorough. His tongue swept inside my mouth, tasting me, claiming me, while his fingers tangled in my curls.

He took his time. He worshiped every inch of my skin with his lips—kissing down my throat, over the swell of my breasts, trailing his mouth down the center of my belly to the inside of my thighs. By the time his mouth found the center of me, my hips were arching off the mattress, my hands clutching his broad shoulders, my breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.

“Amai, please…” I whined, my fingers digging into the muscle of his back.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled against my thigh, looking up at me with eyes black with lust.

“You,” I gasped. “I want you inside me. Now.”

He moved up over me, aligning his hips between my thighs. He pushed inside in one long, agonizingly slow stroke, filling me completely. I threw my head back, biting my lip to keep from screaming as the overwhelming fullness stretched me open.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

I opened my eyes, meeting his dark, dilated gaze.

“I’m going to give you the world, Truth,” he rasped, beginning to move with a steady, punishing rhythm that made the heavy headboard thud against the wall. “No more contracts. No more brothers. Just me and you.”

“Just you,” I cried out, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Always you, Amai.”