Confessions of a Pregnant Cinderella

Skye wasn’t even sure how her legs were still working. It was a relief to do his bidding. Lazaro’s green eyes blazed with heat as he looked at her body, all the while his hand moving up and down that proud column of flesh.

She was overcome with the desire to do something for the first time in her life but was far too shy. She wanted to know how he would taste in her mouth...on her tongue.

Oblivious to her fevered imaginings, Lazaro came onto the bed and moved between her legs. He dispensed with her underwear the same way he had his own—efficiently. She was panting, almost begging, as he looked down at her. And then, gently, he pushed her legs apart. She felt nothing but intense desire as she watched him lower his head to press kisses along the insides of her thighs, before coming closer and closer to where the very core of her pulsated with pleasure/pain.

When his mouth touched her there, his tongue flicking out to explore her slick folds, she almost bucked off the bed. He put his hand on her belly, holding her still, and his other hand under her buttocks, angling her so that his tongue and mouth could push her right over the edge of the cliff she was clinging to, shattering her into a million tiny shards of pleasure so exquisite she was barely aware of him seating himself between her legs.

He entered her in one smooth thrust on the last ebbing wave of her orgasm. Skye had no time to recover, but she found she was already greedy for more pleasure, clutching his buttocks, winding her legs around his waist. She could feel her inner muscles clamp around him, as if loath to let him go ever again, as his powerful body surged in and out in a timeless rhythm.

This was more than she remembered, if possible. Maybe it was just pregnancy hormones heightening every sensation, but Skye didn’t think so. It was Lazaro, uniquely. And his effect on her.

* * *

/> Lazaro was in heaven and hell simultaneously. He was in heaven because no woman had ever had this effect on him, and hell because he hated this sense of being out of control. Tasting her essence, feeling the contractions of her orgasm against his mouth and tongue, had almost been the death of him.

He drove deep and hard into the snug embrace of her body, but even as he did so any illusion of taking back control was fast unravelling. Her breasts rubbed against his chest and she clasped desperately at his buttocks. He lifted her thigh, holding it over his hip, and he could see how she bit her lip and entreated him with her eyes to have mercy...to let her fly.

Only when he saw that she was as crazed as he felt did he push her over the edge and let his own pleasure rush through him in hot waves so powerful he couldn’t hold on to any semblance of control any more.

He was undone.

When Lazaro woke it was late afternoon. Skye was draped over his body, much as she had been in Dublin. And once again—disconcertingly—it didn’t make him feel claustrophobic.

At that unwelcome revelation he extricated himself from her embrace. She made a sound but then turned on her side away from him, not waking. Lazaro stood up and looked down at her body, his eyes roving over the dips and curves, wondering what it was about her that got to him so uniquely and turned him into some kind of primal animal he didn’t recognise.

It was only small comfort to know that Skye had been similarly affected.

He’d never had a lover like her before. He’d never known a woman to give herself so fully and passionately. Most lovers he’d had had been obsessed with making sure their body was angled a certain way, never fully letting go.

When he’d seen Skye in that room earlier, a moment before she’d noticed him, she’d been standing sideways, her profile illuminated by the sun. In particular he had seen that small rounded belly. For the first time since she’d told him she was pregnant he’d felt the reality of it punch him in the gut. It had made him dizzy for a moment.

He’d told her he wouldn’t touch her again. And yet within minutes of arriving back at the hacienda he’d been devouring her like a man crazed with lust. He’d forgotten why he was so angry with her. He’d forgotten everything.

But now he remembered.

Damage control.

This was a situation that he couldn’t run away from—as had just been made painfully clear.

Lazaro went into his bathroom and turned the shower on to cold. He gritted his jaw as the icy needles slammed into his body, willing the cold water to douse the lingering heat in his body.

He told himself that the fact that they had chemistry was something that could no longer be denied or ignored. And perhaps it was a good thing—because when he told Skye his plans for the future he wouldn’t be afraid to play dirty if he had to.

She would submit to his will. She had to. She owed him.

* * *

It was dusk when Skye woke from the deepest slumber she could remember in months. She felt disorientated, and it took her long seconds to get her bearings and realise she wasn’t naked in her own bed. She was naked in Lazaro’s bed. And then it all came rushing back, along with the after-effects of pleasure. Aching muscles. Tender parts of her body.

The room was empty, just one low light casting shadows. Skye groaned. She’d been so angry with Lazaro for leaving her here, and yet within minutes she’d been climbing him like a tree and all but begging him to make love to her.

He’d told her that it wouldn’t happen again. That their relationship wasn’t about this. But clearly there was a force between them stronger than his will and her better judgement. It was little comfort to know that he was as affected as her. He must resent her for it.

Skye got out of the bed and picked up the detritus of her clothes, her face burning when she thought of how desperate she’d been to get naked. She pulled on her jeans and top and tiptoed back to her own room, stripping off again and diving straight under a hot shower. As if that could wash away her humiliation.

After drying and plaiting her hair, to keep it out of her way, Skye dressed in clean jeans and a top, flushing again when she thought of how Lazaro had been so scathing about her attire.

She hated to admit it, but he’d got to a very secret part of her that had always felt conscious of not being more feminine. She’d noticed the women who came into the restaurant sometimes and envied their sense of style. Women like the impeccably coiffed Leonora Flores de la Vega.