Pregnant by the Commanding Greek

‘I don’t want your pity.’ All that emotion emptied again. He couldn’t stand to see the sympathy in her eyes. ‘I cannot be pitied. Look at everything I have, everything I’ve done.’

‘Yeah, you’re amazing,’ she whispered. ‘But you don’t let people in.’

‘Why would I want to?’ He turned to look back at the sleeping dog.

Yet he knew he had to—his own child was the game changer. And it was happening too soon. He’d never wanted one, but now one was on the way and he wanted it to have everything he hadn’t and still didn’t have. Self-sufficiency was key to his own existence, yet he was human enough not to want that for his own child. Thank goodness the baby had Ettie.

He tried to be calm, to breathe, to think. But his heart thundered and his lungs hurt. His whole chest was still bound in tension.

Leon stood so still, Ettie almost believed he wasn’t breathing. But as she neared, she could feel the vibrations rolling off him. She sensed the power he was exerting to hold back and press everything back down deep. He’d been appallingly hurt and she’d had absolutely no idea. He’d hidden it so well, for so long.

She might not have had a father, but she’d had a mother who’d loved her, who’d at least wanted the best for her. And she’d had her sister.

Leon had been utterly isolated. The witch hadn’t even let him keep his dog. His father hadn’t stood up for him. The horror of it broke her heart. That he’d been treated as a project, not a person.

While she’d grown up with nothing but love, he’d grown up with everything but. No wonder he was remote and controlled and untrusting. And right now she knew he regretted saying anything at all. While there mightn’t have been physical marks, there were definitely emotional scars. Five minutes beneath a frigid torrent of water must’ve felt like an eternity. Two hours in a dark cupboard for a small boy must’ve been pure hell.

‘Leon—’

‘Don’t.’

She knew he was withdrawing. Rebuilding his walls to shut her out again. She couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.

‘Don’t think that this is going to change everything just because you’ve told me a few things,’ she said, trying to reach him. ‘We’re just getting to know each other, that’s all. That helps build trust.’

‘Don’t actions speak louder than words, Ettie?’ The strain was evident in his hoarseness. ‘Can’t you trust me already? I’m not your dad or your ex. I haven’t left you.’

Not physically. But emotionally he was walking out of that door. And he was turning the focus from himself to her, to help his escape.

‘Leon—’

‘Have I betrayed you?’ he flared.

‘No.’ She welcomed the resurgence of his emotion and stepped closer. ‘But there’s action and there’s action.’

His default response was to close down all intimacy other than the physical. It was the only way she could think to keep him here with her.

‘Look,’ he cleared his throat, ‘you’re going to make a wonderful mother, Ettie. I know you’ll care for this child in a way I was never cared for. But I can only do what I do.’ He frowned as if he was struggling to think. ‘I’m good at taking control in a crisis.’

Yes. Because his whole life had been a crisis. He’d been locked for ever in a fight for survival, to win, to be free. When had he last taken the time to just breathe? When had he ever let someone else make the calls and shoulder even a little bit of his burden?

‘You have to take control because you’ve never had anyone you could count on.’ She placed her hand on his chest.

He didn’t reply. The agony churning in his eyes, the blistering beat of his heart beneath her fingers, said it all. He didn’t trust anyone. She didn’t blame him; she had trust issues of her own. But maybe in time he could learn to trust her? Maybe—eventually—they could be a true team?

‘Can’t you relinquish control to me?’ she asked softly, spreading her hand wider and slowly sliding it down his chest. ‘Just once?’ She felt his muscles tighten beneath her touch, saw awareness flare in his eyes.

‘Are you still feeling insecure about your sexual experience?’ he asked gruffly.

No. This wasn’t about her. But this was the language she knew he understood and it could be their starting point, right?

‘Don’t you know what you do to me?’ he asked harshly as she slid her hand to his belt and twisted her fingers to release the buckle.

She shook her head. That was what she wanted most of all—to see him. To know him. ‘Let me see.’ She lifted her chin and dared him, unfastening the buttons of his shirt without hesitation. ‘Let me do it.’

He didn’t stop her. But he didn’t help. Like a statue ablaze—the tension thrummed from him as she pushed back the two halves of his shirt so she could see—touch—his burning skin.

‘Just let me,’ she whispered.

She reached up on tiptoe and kissed along his jaw, aching for the years of sufferance and isolation he’d endured. He didn’t lower his chin to meet her lips with his.

‘I don’t want your sympathy,’ he growled, rigid and angry.

‘Just as I don’t want your money,’ she answered.

He pulled back his head to look down at her then. ‘This isn’t about money.’

‘It isn’t about sympathy either. This is about caring, Leon.’ She cupped his jaw with one hand, and slid her other over his chest, tracing the strength and heat. Skin on skin. ‘This is about you opening up and letting me in. Let me in.’

‘You don’t need to take care of me.’

‘But you get to take care of me? Next you’ll try telling me not to breathe,’ she muttered back at him. ‘Screw your control, Leon.’

With a sudden forceful push, she pressed him against the wall. His eyes widened and his hands automatically spanned her waist.

‘I’m taking control.’ She kissed her way down his chest. Her own passion was unleashed. She wanted to truly touch him. She wanted to show him—

‘You think?’ He hauled her back up to kiss her hard and deep, his anger igniting.

‘I know,’ she said when she tore her lips free.

A crazy kind of confidence she’d never before felt fired through her veins. She knew what to do. What she wanted. She showered his body with kisses, with light, teasing touches of her fingertips, with swirls of her tongue, before letting her lips slide closer.

Her own heat increased the more she heard his uneven breathing, the more she felt his tension build. She stepped back for a moment to slide her own clothes off. Slowing when she saw the way he was leaning back against the wall, his feet planted wide apart, watching her strip. She was no real beauty, definitely no model-type, but clearly it didn’t matter.

Only when she was fully naked did she step forward again. She unzipped his trousers, pulled them and his boxers down. She knelt in front of him as he’d knelt before her only last night.

She heard his growl—of warning, of want. She smiled and kissed closer, closer, but she didn’t take him in her mouth. Not yet. It was enough to let him enjoy looking. She saw his hands curl into fists, his knuckles whitening. He liked what she was doing. But he was still holding back. She didn’t want him to hold back.

She licked up the length of him and then looked up. ‘Lie down.’

He shot her a look but complied with her request.

Ettie simply stared for a moment at the sheer magnificence of him outstretched on the floor before her. He still said nothing but his raging erection and ragged breathing were all the encouragement she needed. Her mouth watered and that confidence flooded her again.

She straddled him and ran her hands over his body. He was so still. Letting her. Yet resisting her inwardly. He’d learned such control. He needed to unlearn it.

And she just needed to touch him. She was firm. Gentle. Reverent. Then rougher. As she released her grip on