Resurrection of the Heart (The Society Trilogy 3)

Within seconds, she's rocking, tugging on my hair, crying out as her orgasm rips through her. She clenches around me, toes curling into my back, hands falling loose as her body nearly collapses in the aftermath.

I hoist her up into my arms as I stand, adjusting her body so her legs are wrapped around my waist. She watches me, face soft and relaxed as I fumble to get my dick inside her, sliding around the wetness and pushing the head deeper and deeper until I've sank all the way in.

I release a contented sigh, rolling my hips against her, and she reaches up, pulling my face down to hers. We kiss as I fuck her and hold her, and I can't stop it.

I can admit that her hands on my body, her lips on mine, feel better than anything else ever has. Her pussy may as well have been molded for my dick. It's so warm and soft I don't ever want to leave.

I'm too drunk on this feeling to unpack the meaning behind it. So I just thrust. In and out until she's crying my name, coming for me again like she wanted. And then it's my turn as I bury myself inside her and groan out a release that seems to last for minutes. I'm still rocking in and out of her as my dick begins to soften, come dripping down between us.

She reaches up and touches my cheek, warmth in her eyes. Something happens at that moment. It feels like I'm being electrocuted, and all I want to do is get away. I'm thinking about it already, setting her upright and telling her to go to sleep while I go to my office. But Ivy seems to sense this weakness in me, and she cuts it off before it can sprout wings.

"Let me wash you. You've had a long day."

She wiggles free from my arms, and my dick falls sad and limp against my thigh as she reaches for the soap and squirts it into her palms. While she lathers, I turn away, offering her my back as I try to catch my bearings. When I feel her hands on me though, all my fleeting thoughts fall away.

“I didn’t mean it,” she says quietly. “What I said about you being in love with yourself. I just… it came out all wrong.”

“I’ve forgotten about it already,” I lie.

She doesn’t reply, and we settle into silence as she washes me like one might detail a car. Slowly tracing over the ink on my skin, examining every line and swooping curve. It's something I never would have allowed anyone at one time, but with her, I don't mind it. I want her to know this part of me, even though I can’t understand why.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

She's halfway through the front of my body, already teasing my dick again when I reach behind her and grab the soap.

"Your turn."

She frowns like a child who's just been told playtime is over, but she gets over it quickly enough when I start by massaging her shoulders. I wash her arms and breasts and slide my soapy fingers between her legs, to which she reacts with a soft moan. A side effect of the hormones, I tell myself. But when I reach her belly, splaying my palm across the small curve taking shape there, it hits me unexpectedly.

We are making a human together. A tiny human that will have her qualities and mine. It chokes me up unexpectedly, and I hope she can’t see it. This is just the natural order of things. This is what we were supposed to do as husband and wife. But right now, I feel oddly... proud. And content.

"You're thinking about how you impregnated me, aren't you?" She rolls her eyes.

"It was quite the accomplishment," I remark without reservation.

"It's biology, Santiago."

"And the De La Rosa virility," I argue.

Her smile fades as her palms come to rest on my forearms. "What will happen if this baby is a girl?"

"Then we will have a daughter," I answer, not understanding her point.

"But it won't be the same as a son." Sadness tinges her voice.

"Do you want a boy?" I furrow my brows.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," she huffs. "I'm saying you do."

"I want a boy," I agree. "We will need male heirs, certainly. But I want girls too. A mixture would be good."

Her eyes widen. "How many babies do you think we're going to have?"

"As many as I can put inside you."

She does not look amused as she shakes her head. "I'm not a baby factory."

"I know. But you have to admit it isn't a chore to make them."

"Make them, no. Carrying them around for nine months and raising them? Yes, that will be a lot of work."