The Billionaire's Pregnant Fling (Jameson Brothers 2)

It was the right thing to say. "You think so?" she laughed. She practically melted into his hands, and Eddie couldn't restrain himself any longer. He pulled her down off the pedestal and in against his chest; after a moment, he let her slide slowly to the floor. He was enjoying the feel of her in his arms a little too much, and found that now that he had her, he had no immediate plans to let her go. Zelma cleared her throat and turned her back to allow them a bit of privacy.

"Thanks, Eddie." Margot's beautiful face beamed up at him, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. When she raised herself up on her toes, he knew he was in danger of never relearning. She touched his face tenderly, then canted her head and leaned in.

Margot's kiss was completely unexpected. Her lips grazed his, and he gave a startled, sharp intake of breath; before he could voice his surprise, or do something equally idiotic to ruin the moment, she pressed in closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel the line of her smile, and the way her lips still pouted generously enough to meet with his. His hands found her waist, and he yanked her in roughly against him. Minutes ago, a part of him had been afraid of letting his need show; now, he wanted Margot to feel exactly what seeing her in that dress had done to him. His cock stirred to life beneath his belt, and her tongue flicked past her lips to give his own tongue a playful taste.

She pulled back before he could lose his senses completely. Now it was Eddie's turn to clear his throat and turn away as Margot addressed Zelma.

"I really feel as if I could inspire a standing ovation in this dress." She dropped a wink as Eddie coughed. "I think we'll take it."

Chapter Seven

Margot

Margot had been the inspiration for one of Eddie's standing ovations before. She sat alone in the backseat on the car ride home from the salon, gazing out the window at the bright smear of city lights. She had borrowed one of her father's cars for the time being; generally, Margot liked to exert her independence (and daring, her mother seemed to think) by taking cabs and Ubers, but ever since word of her pregnancy had gotten out to her parents, they had insisted on chauffeuring her around. Margot found that she didn't mind it as much as she did when she was a teenager: the driver was always professional, and always silent. Her rides around the city allowed her some much-needed time to think.

To reflect.

It was getting harder and harder to resist the pull of reliving her first night with Eddie. As much as she tried to exist solely for the 'here' and the 'now' and not worry about the future, that philosophy was a recent development. The old Margot—the Margot of only a few months ago—would have been five steps ahead of Eddie already, making sure every appointment was in place, making sure he was on-time and mentally present.

Boy, how things have changed.

Margot sank back into the cushiony upholstery and let the flashing city lights lull her. They reminded her of the colorful flashing of the expensive drinks ferried by the waiters at the party… the party…

Her father's party had been in full swing by the time Eddie Jameson arrived: late, as usual. It gave him an excuse to wear that puppy dog look that begged forgiveness--his second best look. Margot had known Eddie arrived before she even laid eyes on him. There was always a change in the air, a noticeable shift, whenever a Jameson brother showed to a party, and Eddie's aura was distinctive. Even the soberest member of the New York City old money elite couldn't help lighting up a little, or letting slip a chuckle that sounded dusty from disuse, at something Eddie said or did.

When she finally caught sight of him, he was already looking at her…or drinking her in, Margot felt, with a blush at the memory. His eyes had burned so hot, and his thoughts had been broadcast so plainly on his face, that for a moment she had looked away to make sure her father wasn't in the vicinity to see. Then she had navigated toward him through the room full of crowded bodies.

By the time she arrived, Eddie was wearing his first best look: he smoldered. And Margot felt herself be

gin to heat on the inside by proximity to him. They didn't stray far from one another's side for the rest of the evening. Even when he was engaging in conversation with a different group than her, Eddie kept his finger hooked in her sleeve. The wine flowed. She started ordering her drinks on the rocks.

Then, when there was a lull in the attention being paid them, Margot and Eddie had slipped out.

She still remembered the way they had stumbled, giggling, against the threshold to her room. Eddie had put out a hand to prevent her from striking her temple against the doorframe, and Margot… Margot had surged upward the moment he brought himself within kissing distance. Their mouths had collided imperfectly, needfully…but it didn't matter. It was their first kiss, yet they had mapped each other's lips so many times before with their eyes, it felt like a joyful homecoming.

Eddie had backed her into her bedroom. He had never been inside it before, but he seemed to know the layout just fine in the dark. His intuition carried them to the bed. His hands stripped the straps of Margot's dress from her shoulders, and reached around back to unhook the secret bra in almost the same sweep. His lips never relented. He kissed her neck as if he wanted to devour every inch of her. "You smell so good," she recalled him murmuring, and it sent a shiver racing down her spine to hear the echo of his words even now. Alcohol may have muddled their decisions that night, but every meaningful moment came into crystal-clear focus still. She recalled the way he had let her bra slip from her breasts, and how its descent had mirrored her own slow fall back down onto the bed. She had found herself caged by the arms she had caught herself admiring more and more the older they got; when she reached out a hand to squeeze a band of muscle, he flexed in response.

She remembered that Eddie had fallen back on his haunches. His hands had slid up the lean plane of her stomach to palm her breasts; he held them for a moment, as if he couldn't believe he was really touching them, before gripping with surprising possession. Mine, his hands seemed to suggest, and Margot had arched into him in response.

Yours, her body agreed. All along I've been yours.

When he could bring himself to let go of her breasts—they were peaked and aching from the teasing of his fingers—Eddie rocked back again and whipped off his dinner jacket. What followed was a jumble of limbs and laughter as they speedily untangled themselves from their remaining clothing. Evidence of the formal evening lay on the floor beside the bed.

The bed rocked beneath them. Eddie pinned her wrists, kissing every inch of her as if she was a hors d'oeuvre he had brought home from the party to relish in private. Margot writhed and struggled and laughed beneath him, until a steely look crossed his face, one she had never seen before. Her laughter dissolved to disbelieving moans after that as his mouth laid claim to her by inches. By the time he had arrived at the bed of curls nestled between her legs, she was shuddering with the intensity of her need.

His tongue flicked along the inner folds of her labia as he continued his private tasting. Margot sighed happily and lay back, letting her head fall against the pillow. He swirled his tongue, then thrust, pushing hard against her clit, making her breath catch and her voice soar with the height of her need. When she couldn't take anymore, she reached down for him and pulled him back up to kiss him fervently. She remembered their bodies shifting, Eddie bracing himself…

And then he had entered her. The first moments of sex had never felt so goddamn good, and Margot wondered if they ever would again with a man who wasn't Eddie Jameson. The tension, the torment, she had felt every time she looked at him, melted away in one hot rush. His cock was thick and seemed to almost pulse within her—or was that her own heartbeat?

When he began thrusting between her legs, she thought she would hit the roof. She grabbed for his shoulders; they were already slick with perspiration, but at least it was something to hold onto. The bed lurched beneath them and knocked against the wall. She cried and begged and pleaded incoherently, but Eddie seemed to know exactly what it was she sought. At every turn he found a new angle, a new rhythm, that no lover before him had been intuitive enough to discover… and Margot knew she was done. No man would ever outmatch him in her bedroom. This might be her only hit and she was already addicted.

When she came, her knees quaked, and she clenched her thighs around his surging hips. Eddie kept pumping, prolonging her release, making her cry his name again and again until he groaned her own in answer. He had come in a hot jet—she had felt his seed rush deep inside her—but she hadn't thought of anything at the time except how good it felt and how complete she was.

They had fallen, spent and laughing, into a sweaty heap. The ceiling above Margot spun, but she hadn't been certain it was the alcohol making the world whirl. She had half-expected Eddie to try and stumble back into his clothes and out the door, so that any suspicion of their night together might be avoided; instead, he had thrown an arm over her, pinning her to the bed, and lost himself in kissing her shoulder until he fell asleep. She had tried to remain awake beneath him, to memorize every breath, every detail, but had found herself slipping hopelessly into unconsciousness before long…

"… miss?"

Margot blinked slowly. The car had stopped moving. The driver was standing at her elbow now, the door pulled open, revealing a snapshot of familiar curb. Her apartment building loomed large above the street. It was a beautiful, efficient building. Margot wouldn't have lived in any other kind.