“Oh.” She shot up in her chair. Hannah still wore the teal bikini underneath a cover-up of a delicate, sheer cloth. “Then I need to get dressed. You should have woken me,” she said, trying to sound stern and failing.
“Not to worry.” Kyril put out his hand and helped her up. “You’re dressed to perfection. This is our yacht, after all.”
* * *
“I was surprised,” Kyril admitted forty-five minutes later as they made their way slowly through the third course of the evening—beef medallions so tender Hannah let every bite dissolve on her tongue. They’d made it to dinner in ten minutes—she’d insisted on changing into an evening dress that swung around her knees—and at first it felt like a blind date. She’d finally been able to relax after the salad course, when Kyril began to feel more like a man than a force of nature. She’d asked him how he felt, back in the train station. “It was shocking news, but what’s more—” He sipped at his glass of sparkling water. “I didn’t expect to feel so protective of our child in that initial moment.”
Hannah laughed. “That’s not so surprising. You’re always protecting everyone.”
Kyril laughed with her, and the conversation veered to one of his brothers in Al-Dashalid. Before she knew it, the plates were empty, being cleared away, and dinner was over. How had the time flown so fast?
Hannah stood and for the first time in her pregnancy, noticed a dull ache in her lower back. She pressed a hand to it, her brow wrinkling.
Kyril was at her side in an instant. “What is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She waved him off. “My back. It’s a little sore. I’m sure it’ll pass.”
“I know what will help.” Kyril put a gentle palm around her waist and drew her toward the outer deck. “Another dip in the pool. It’s heated—it’ll feel like bathwater on your back.”
“That sounds like heaven on Earth.”
Kyril didn’t hesitate—he reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, exposing the matching bra and panty set she wore underneath. His hands on her skin ignited something at the base of Hannah’s belly. She shivered against his palms.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “The water’s warm.” He grinned. “But you won’t want those things to get wet.”
Why did she suddenly feel so shy? It was Kyril, after all, and he was the father of her child. She pretended bravery and stripped off her underthings, dropping them in turn to a poolside chair. When she looked up again, Kyril was naked. She got a flash of him in all his glory, and then he leapt into the pool with an enormous splash.
Hannah sputtered as the water made contact. He was right—it was warm.
Kyril surfaced and laughed, his voice ringing out over the waves. “Are you afraid of a bit of warm water? Come in.”
“Never afraid,” Hannah called, and she leapt in after him.
r /> The moment she broke the surface, Kyril’s arms went around her, and for the first time since those heady nights in Al-Dashalid, his mouth conquered hers, answering that fire in her belly.
He had backed her up to the side of the pool by the time she managed to break way. “Kyril, we're out in the open, maybe we shouldn't," but her hands automatically gripped his shoulders instead of pushing him away. Why couldn't she resist this man?
“We will,” he commanded, and Hannah couldn’t help it—she let her legs rise around him, hugging him to her.
Kyril pressed his mouth to her collarbone, and she tilted her head to the side, her hair trailing in the warm water, letting him trail kisses up to the side of her neck. The pull for him ratcheted her arousal up with an answering flush, and she felt him smirk against her heated skin. She wanted to deny him for his arrogance but then moaned as he stroked her spine, bringing her desire to a fevered intensity. Kyril’s thick cock teased at her entrance under the water, sending jolts of desire between her legs. Hannah rocked her hips, more insistent by the second, but Kyril held back. The next kiss they shared was a desperate, searching duel of tongues and lips.
Hannah broke away and looked him in the eye. “Please, Kyril. This is torture.”
“What is?” he asked playfully, leaning forward to tease her bottom lip between his teeth.
“You—making me wait like this, it’s—” She bucked her hips against the heat of him. His crown thrust in an inch.
“A delicious kind of torture?” he murmured wickedly in her ear. “But you look so beautiful when you…”
“When I what?” Her own voice sounded far away. Hannah wriggled her hips, moving them slowly through the water—anything to get more of him inside.
“When you beg for more.” He chuckled, his lips pressed against her ear, and she shuddered against him.
"At this rate, the baby will be born before I ever get my orgasm."
With an answering growl, he gave it to her then, all at once, a thrust that filled her so deeply her moan echoed over the lapping waves of the pool.
Kyril found his rhythm, and Hannah held on for dear life, her fingers digging into his shoulders. God, it was good—the pleasure rising, rising with every movement of his hips. Hannah found herself on the verge of release and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out everything but the sensation of being utterly taken, utterly treasured.