Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted 2)

Would he really rip her out of it? That had her panting. “I don’t care about it at all.”

She had another change of clothes upstairs.

His smile was filthy. “Perfect. Anyone else in the house?”

She hadn’t thought to check. “I-I don’t know.”

Pierce cursed under his breath. “Oh, well. I don’t care anyway.”

He lifted her and carried her up the stairs, kicking in the door to the first bedroom at the top and flipping on the light switch, illuminating the soft recessed lighting overhead. The walls were gray except for one, which was decorated with a big photographic mural of a pink rose. He set her down on a black-and-white geometric rug, less than a foot from a rumpled bed. Since she’d changed in here earlier, her bag sat in the corner.

She’d barely found her footing when she heard fabric rip and felt a draft of cold air rush along her back. Suddenly, he spun her around, jerked on the sleeves, then tore her bra away. Less than ten seconds, and she was bare from the waist up.

If she helped, she could get the other half naked in less time.

“Holy shit.” Pierce groaned as he cupped her breasts in his big palms. The feel of him cradling her was electric. She needed to be naked faster.

As she reached behind her middle to untie her sash, he dipped his head, seized her lips, and tasted her tongue. Just as she lost herself in the purely masculine flavor of his kiss, he jerked away and bent to her breasts. “Fuck, you have the prettiest nipples. I could suck them all day and still want them in my mouth more.”

She’d feared she would never see him again, so having his hands on her and his dirty words filling her head felt more like a fantasy than reality. But he was here with her. For her.

Never in a million years had she imagined she would fall in love with a man like Pierce. Over the last month, insidious fears had forced her to imagine her life without him.

It had nearly killed her.

He laved her nipples. Her back arched. All thought stopped.

“Please…”

“Hmm, you beg so pretty in that sweet little voice.” His tongue circled the other bud before he dragged it deep into her mouth, eliciting a moan that rushed from her lips and dipped straight between her legs.

“Pierce!”

He didn’t answer, simply kept plundering her nipples, alternating them into his mouth, against his tongue, as he yanked at the zipper near the small of her back, holding up the rest of her dress. After it fell with a quiet hiss, the flouncy fabric began to slide down her thighs. Pierce gave it another brute-force shove. It puddled around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but her kitten heels and her plain cotton underwear.

“Step out.” He held out his hand, his gaze utterly fixed on her belly.

When she did as he demanded, he tossed the dress to the other side of the bedroom—never taking his eyes off her. Then he grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt behind his neck and shucked it off. He was so shredded now that every muscle stood out, hard and delineated.

Brea couldn’t keep her hands off him.

As she brushed her fingertips over his steely pecs, he caught her wrists. “Don’t. If you touch me, my restraint won’t last.”

She blinked up at him, falling into those black eyes she wanted to lose herself in forever. “I don’t need your restraint. I just need you.”

He groaned and shoved her back onto the bed, his body big and hair-roughened and smelling like man covering hers. “And I need you, pretty girl. So fucking much. My life meant shit before you.” He dropped his hand to her belly and knelt between her legs. “And this one. Boy or girl?”

Brea lay back on the mussed bed, her eyes misty and full of love, her lips softly pouting, her breasts ripe. He’d never seen her look so beautiful, and his cock was screaming at him for relief. But One-Mile palmed her belly and waited for her answer, breath held.

A primal urge way beyond sex filled his veins. Because he could finally see that she was pregnant? Unlike the last time he’d laid eyes on her, there was no denying it now. He couldn’t stop touching her bump, couldn’t resist the need to press his lips against their child. The baby was months from birth, and he already loved their little one. Would gladly lay down his life to keep him or her safe.

That blew his mind. He’d never wanted to ever become a father. After a shitty role model like his, what sort of lousy-ass excuse for a dad would he be? He’d always refused to put a kid through the hell he’d endured to find out. But somehow, learning that Brea was pregnant had changed everything. And during his long two months in Mexico hunting that violent motherfucker Montilla, thoughts of Brea and their baby—of their future—had fueled him when nights were long and cold, when food was scarce, when he felt so fucking lonely he’d wanted to scream.