His

by Amanda Faye

  Her eyes widen at my words, a tiny gasp slipping from her lips.

  "You threatened Daddy? What did you say to him?" she asks me with wonder in her voice.

  I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, and I twist my neck on my shoulders, working out the kinks.

  "You didn't hear? I thought that maybe that was why you got sick." At her awed expression, I continue. "You know, besides the whole pregnancy thing. I didn't behave very gentlemanly there for a few minutes."

  Now that my blood has cooled, and the logical part of my brain has kicked back in, I'm genuinely embarrassed by what I did. Not that I wouldn't do it again. And, again, after that. But I could have handled it better.

  "Now, I have to know what you said," she coos, an excited light to her eyes.

  "Some other time, maybe," I mumble as I feel the blood rush up my throat again. "I just want to put it out there, that I'm sorry for my behavior.

  "You have nothing to apologize for, Matt. Nothing. Your behavior was honor personified. I'm just sorry, again, that we asked you to be here at all."

  "Stop. I'm tired of the apologies."

  I had gone with her to the twelve-week ultrasound. Besides the fact that her OB is in my building, I didn't want her to be alone. She must have apologized for inconveniencing me every five minutes. The truth of the matter was, I couldn’t think of a place I would have rather been. Watching her child's heartbeat on that screen was one of the happiest moments of my life. Not to mention, I now know she's having a girl, and she doesn't.

  "I don't want to hear them," I say, "and you don't need to give them. But we should talk about you and the baby," I say, then hesitate for a heartbeat, "and us."

  There's that word again. Us. Fuck, does it do things to me.

  "Okay," she breathes, pressing her lips together.

  I gather my courage and barge into battle.

  "I'm a doctor."

  She smirks at me, lips half curved into a smile.

  "Really, I hadn't noticed."

  I power on, ignoring her teasing.

  "I own my own home. You know my parents, my sister. I've loved you since you were a little girl."

  She gasps at that, and I realize I went too far, too fast.

  I chuck her under the chin. "Come on, Susie Q, you love me too, you know it."

  She looks flustered, and something passes through her eyes.

  "What I'm trying to say here is that I am in—one hundred percent. I know you didn't ask me, and I'm basically forcing myself on you. But if you want this, I do too. Like, I really want it."

  I want you so bad I'm willing to trick you into marrying me. God, I'm a bastard.

  "I don't understand," she says, genuine confusion on her face.

  "Let me help you raise this baby. Let it be mine. We can live at my place. Actually, we'd need a bigger house. Two rooms just won't cut it. We need a nursery, and you need an office. We can find one that has two masters if you want. We can get married. It'll get your parents off your back. Hell, mine too. They are desperate enough for a grandchild, that they may consider stealing one. Though, I guess, that's kind of what I'm doing now."

  Shit. I'm stealing a wife and a baby.

  I don't know what she sees on my face, but she burst into giggles, covering her mouth with her hands to try to keep them contained. I laugh along with her, smoothing her hair back behind her shoulders. Big belly laughs escape us, and she collapses against my chest, tears of laughter slipping down her cheeks.

  Until suddenly, the laughter stops.

  But the tears continue. Soul shattering, earth-quaking sobs are wracking her body, and I gather her to me, stretching out on the bed as she sobs away all the heartache caused by this evening.

  My anger rises to the surface again. Anger at her father, her brother. Anger at a society that would dare belittle a strong and independent woman for being brave enough to journey into parenthood alone.

  Her tears cool my heat to a simmer, reminding me that this isn't about me. It's about her.

  I rub her back, whispering nothings into the top of her head. How brave she is, how much I love her. Things she can't hear or understand over the sounds of her tears.

  Her weeping slows, then stops, the shuddering of her body calming into something resembling peace.

  "Thank you," she whispers, face against my neck for the second time tonight.

  I reply the only way I can.

  "Marry me," I say, trying to put everything I can't speak into those two little words.

  She looks at me, face inches from mine. Body pressed against me. Lying in the bed I slept alone in last night.

  Something akin to hope passes over her features, and I bring my hand to her face, smoothing away her hair. I need to buy her a pack of rubber bands. If I'm going to be this close to her, I want to see her smile.

  "Marry me," I say again, and I'm not embarrassed at all by the pleading tone my voice takes on. "Please."

  She pushes to her elbow, using her hand against my chest to do so. Her eyes are bright, and I swear she's starting to glow.

  The hand on my chest rises to my cheek, and she cups my face in her palm, running her thumb over my cheekbone.

  "You know you'll be stuck with me then," she says, a playful lilt to her voice.

  "Oh, God, yes," I reply, with perhaps a touch more enthusiasm than the situation strictly warrants.

  She stares into my eyes, and I try to convey how happy it would make me to be her husband, even in name only.

  "Well then, Matthew Lucas Taylor. Yes, I would love to be your wife."

  And, more surprising than anything else that's gone down tonight, Susie Q brings her lips down to mine and kisses me.

  Chapter Six

  Suzanna

  His lips are rough to the touch, and my first thought is I should give him my Chapstick. But then he traps my bottom lip between his, and I immediately change my mind.

  I've always liked it a little rough.

  He rolls from his side onto his back, taking me with him as his arms tighten around my waist.

  I try to deepen the kiss and crawl my way onto his lap, but he freezes underneath me, tilting his chin until it forces us to break apart.

  "We don't have to do this," he pants, his body giving the lie to the words. He's hard against me, long and thick. His pecs heave, and I feel his galloping heart from my position draped across his chest.

  I try not to let the disappointment show on my face. Of course, Matthew doesn't want me. He was trying to be kind, and I— Oh, my God. I am such a fool.

  "I'm so sorry, Matthew," I cringe, as I lever myself off him. "I didn't mean to—to push myself on you. I understand if you're not interested in me like that."

  "What?" he snaps out with panic on his face. "No, oh no. Oh God, no," he babbles, rising on his elbows.

  One minute I'm trying to push myself off him, the next thing I know Matthew has both hands around my arms and is flipping our positions.

  With a whoosh of my breath, I'm on my back underneath him. His hands are digging into my arms, pinning me down on the mattress.

  It's just this side of painful, but I'm sure he doesn't realize he's doing it. I'm not sure whether it scares me or I love it, which scares me even more.

  Matt's gaze rakes over me, finally registering my nakedness, minus the dark slick material draped across my body. My nipples, always so sensitive these days, tighten into peaks, pulling the tender flesh until I want to cry out. The fabric, instead of hiding my arousal, only makes it more apparent.

  "I—" his voice cracks, deeper than I've ever heard it. He pauses and clears his throat, then swallows and clears it again. I follow the motion with my eyes, watching the muscles in his neck flex and bulge, tightening my hold on the bedspread underneath me.

  "I wasn't saying stop, Susie Q. I was trying to say that's not why I asked you to marry me. I don't want you thinking that I want to marry you simply to—" and he stops, seeming to hesitate on his words. "I don't want to take advantage of you.
Or for you to think you have to do this, simply because I asked you to be my wife."

  And if that doesn't set every straight woman's panties on fire, she needs to get her head checked.

  His gaze wanders down my form, and I realize my robe, his robe, has started to loosen, pulling away from my shoulders.

  I'm covered, but barely. And I'm not wearing any panties.

  His eyes heat and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. My desire pools in my center, all those glorious pregnancy hormones are making my craving for him sharper and tighter. My skin breaks out in goosebumps, and I shudder under the weight of his gaze.

  He clears his throat, the fight for command of his emotions clear.

  "Do you trust me?"

  There's weight behind his question. I feel it as it sinks to the bottom of my soul. Do I trust him? I've already trusted him with everything. What's one more thing?

  "Yes," I say, and I'm proud of the power behind that word.

  "Susie Q," he growls out, and the sound of it licks across my skin. "May I touch you?"

  I don't usually like to be touched. I've rarely been intimate with a man without the aid of alcohol to loosen my limbs. But Matthew asking permission to lay hands on my body lights me up like the sky on the fourth of July.

  He's had his hands on me most of the evening, and all it's done is made me crave him more.

  "I would like that very much."

  "Are you sure?" he whispers, fingertips digging into my arms.

  Instead of answering, I reach up between his grip and loosen the tie holding the robe together. As my blush colors my skin, I bare my breasts to the room.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  A look of pain crosses his face, and his fingers dig into my arms before he lets me go, climbing to his knees next to me. He grasps the edges of the robe, slowly covering my skin, fingers grazing against me as he does so. I make to sit up, but he holds me down with a hand on my shoulder.

  "Let them see you in my bed," he whispers in my ear, before climbing off and heading to the door. He adjusts himself, hiding the evidence of his arousal, and then opens the door wide enough that I can be seen from the hallway.

  My mother stands stiff, a bevy of assistants behind her. She glances at me on the mattress, and some unknown emotion passes over her features. Then the Vice President's wife is back, and she stands tall and proud once more.

  "Usually, we wouldn't allow you to share a room outside of holy matrimony. But that ship has sailed, I suppose. I've brought your things from your room, dearest. I thought you might prefer to sleep with your fiancée.

  How strange, to hear her say it so plainly. I started this day an unwed single mother, and am ending it with a fiancée, in the bed of the boy I've loved since I was eight.

  She doesn't speak to me, instead, staring at a spot between Matthew standing at the foot of the bed, and me. He placed himself there as soon as he opened the door—an extra barrier between them and me.

  With a flick of her wrists, the housekeeper and maid walk in, each carrying a suitcase. They head to the closet and chest, putting away items they only packed minutes ago, without being asked. More of a mother to me than my own ever was, Mrs. Fleming sneaks me a wink when Momma isn't looking.

  "Thank you, Mother," I reply from my spot prone on the bed, "that was very kind of you."

  She nods at me regally, as if she's a queen offering favors. "Of course, dear. Anything to make this time easier for you."

  Matthew's scoff is audible.

  "Breakfast is at nine o'clock. We expect you both there. There is a lot to discuss."

  She looks around the room, ensuring that all within her grasp is how she likes it, then leaves without another word, her trail of staff following in her wake.

  Matthew follows her to the door, shutting it soundly behind her. He stands there for a moment, and the tension in the room rises. His shoulders hunch, then spread, as if he's made his decision.

  He turns the lock, and the simple gesture turns my belly to butterflies and pulls things tight in my core.

  The blue in my mind, vast and everlasting, bleeds and blends until red fills the space. The color of passion, the color of love. The color of blood.

  "Where were we?" I say, pulling on the tie of the robe.

  Without a word, Matthew walks towards the bed, yanking his shirt off over his head.

  Chapter Seven

  Matthew

  I shouldn't be doing this. As the door closes on Mrs. Belle's back, my fingers tingle, feeling fleeing from my extremities.

  Susie Q is pregnant. She's vulnerable, hormonal. It's the height of dishonor to take advantage of her like this after the night she's had. Though, what sort of man would I be if I didn't trust her to know what she wants?

  I flick the lock on the door.

  It takes more strength of mind then I thought possible to pivot on my heel to not pounce on her. She pulls the ties on my robe, so slowly it hurts, purring against the comforter as she bares herself to me. With a twist of her shoulders, it's off her entirely.

  "Where were we?"

  I yank my shirt over my head, closing the distance between us, but the sight of her bare pulls my feet to a stop.

  "You're gorgeous," I heave, all the breath knocked from my lungs.

  I've spent so much time trying not to imagine what Susie Q looked like naked, I'm not adequately prepared when I finally do.

  Her hair is drying in tangles around her head. I want to dig my fingers into the mass and pull until she's arching underneath me. Her brown eyes glow, sparking in anticipation of what is to come. She sucks her lips in between her teeth, and I want to bite them until she moans into my mouth.

  Pregnancy has caused her body to blossom.

  Her breasts, supple and round, sit heavy on her chest, darkening nipples puckered tight under my gaze. Her belly has grown since I saw it at the ultrasound. The line marking her pregnancy is evident, trailing from belly button to the patch of hair guarding her clit. I want nothing more in life than to lick my way across it.

  Her knees spread, and I get my first glimpse of her inner thigh. Her skin is pale and freckled, and I catalog the minor scars and imperfections, smiling as their origin stories run through my brain.

  To make love to a woman I've loved all my life, someone I know everything about, but have never kissed before this night. It's a heady feeling.

  Forbidden. But, oh, so right.

  I shed my pants, letting them drop to the floor. After a moment's hesitation, I slip off my boxers as well.

  She's watching me, eyes taking in every detail. She doesn't miss a thing, catches every thought that flicks across my face. For all that she didn't follow the family business, she was trained in observation by the best. She can read every emotion I feel before I can register it myself.

  As she watches me come to terms with the boundaries we've already crossed, and the ones I'm getting ready to leave in the dust.

  She's mine. I've already claimed her. By the end of the night, it'll be branded against her skin.

  I move, joining her on the bed.

  I want to lick her. To taste her. But first, I need to kiss her.

  I climb close to her, oh so close, leaving just a breath of space between my body and hers. The tension in the room is palpable, and the air feels thick and tacky as I suck it into my lungs.

  Gently, I place a finger under her chin, tipping her head until the expanse of her throat is exposed to me. Her eyes close, and her body arches, trying to follow the motion of my fingers.

  Leaning in, my breath whispering against her ear, I husk out, "I've wanted to do this for years." Then I move my lips to hers.

  I claim her mouth, tasting her lips, and exploring her with my tongue. Her hands rise to my head, pulling and pressing me to her.

  It's only a kiss, and yet she's frenzied, body trembling underneath me. Her response to my touch sets my blood to boil. It also gives me a purpose.

  I leave her mouth, and she whimpers at the loss.r />
  I flatten my tongue, licking broad stripes down her neck and across her shoulders. Her collarbones are next, and I lay little kisses against her skin.

  She digs her hands into my hair, trying to hurry me along. But now that I'm here, I won't be rushed.

  "So impatient," I playfully scold, allowing my lips to ghost over hers before working my way down again.

  "You can't imagine the fantasies I've had about having you under me. Or over me. I'm not picky."

  She mewls underneath me, body arcing in search of deeper contact.

  "I'm taking my time," I growl against her skin, tongue lapping against her breast's side. "I may never get the opportunity to get you like this again. I won't be rushed."

  "I won't be teased," she pants, and before I realize what's happened, I'm on my back with Susie straddling my hips.

  She kisses me, rough and biting. Her tongue swirls against mine with an urgency that fills my bloodstream. Her nails dig into my scalp, fingers tugging on my hair.

  "The last time I had sex," she whispers harshly against my face, "was when I made this baby. I need to replace the memory of his touch with yours."

  I moan into her mouth, my hands relentless over her back.

  "Consider it done," I snarl, and with a hand on her hip and a hand in her hair, I flip her, so she's on her back again.

  "Mine," I growl, as I spread her legs and settle in the cradle of her lap. "You're mine now, mine tomorrow, mine for the rest of our lives."

  I pierce her, pushing aside the gentleness for another time.

  "Yes," she cries out as I bottom against her core, and it's all the confirmation I need.

  I set a pace that's quick and sharp, thrusting into her with precision. I'm fierce in my passion, and any other time I'd worry about causing her pain. But if she needs to forget, then I'm going to give her something to remember.

  I want to savor her, to bask in the glory of my triumph. But I have the rest of our lives to do that. Tonight, she needs to know that she belongs to me.

  She quivers underneath me, nails digging into my back to the point I know I'll be marked tomorrow.