He exhaled. “I wish you’d let me scrape the rust off your heart, Story.”
He pulled away and I felt the loss of his touch like stark winter wind. I was left shivering with goose bumps—aching, needy.
He held out his arm for me. “Let me hold you for a while, little wife.”
Hold? For months I’d been nothing but need, and he is the only thing that could sate it.
But I slide into his embrace.
A little while later, Grayson rubbed cocoa butter on my stomach, somewhere else in his head. He slid his soft touch near my breasts, then down deep, but never touching where I needed most. All the while, his eyes were far away, staring out at the moon as I grew hotter and hotter.
“What are you thinking?” I rasped.
His dark eyes slashed to mine. “If I can fuck you when you’re this close to having my baby.”
I swallowed a cough. “Oh.”
He grinned, wolfish, but continued the same taunting motion with his hand. Up and down, slow, and never touching the parts I wanted most.
“Fuck me. Please.”
Grayson froze, his palm on my stomach.
“It’s been so long, please. Bruise me everywhere.”
Grayson continued the same motion like I hadn’t even said a word, ignoring me, but his cock jolted against my ass.
“Do you not want me anymore because I look different?” I whispered my fear aloud.
“You look different because you’re pregnant with my child.” His voice caught on a growl and he grabbed my hand, dragging it behind me to his throbbing erection. “Does this feel like I don’t want you?”
My lips parted, wet. “So why won’t you fuck me?”
He turned me on my side, pulling me flush against him. He held me, arms enveloping me. Everything was Grayson. I could see our future together, lying in this bed that had first been our stolen secret from reality.
He pushed aside my curls, kissing my neck.
“Can I fuck you in the ass when you’re pregnant?” His hand rounded my belly and he slid his thumb inside my ass like I was a doll to use, his words filled with bored curiosity. While I was burning up inside.
“Yes!” I gasped. “Do it. Please.” I pushed farther back into him.
“I don’t think I can, little wife.” He filled me up more, two fingers scissoring inside me. I scythed my nails into his thigh and he didn’t so much as flinch.
“You can.”
Blind with it. Begging. All I could feel was him.
That bored tone twisting my stomach up in knots.
“Nah. Because when I fuck you like this, I want to go hard.”
I groaned at the mental image, coupled with the hard thrust of his thumb.
“Do it,” I begged, my throat and voice ragged like the beat of my chest. “More.”
He slid out of me.
“This is all you get, Snitch,” he gritted. “Stop pushing it.”