Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Yeah, you love being mine. Don’t you?”
I couldn’t have answered even if I’d wanted to because he kept me collared around the neck while he powered into me. Over and over again, with my hips lifting up to meet each thrust until my pussy spasmed and tightened around him as a scream tore from my throat. His fingers dug into my neck briefly at the sound and then they were gone and he exploded right along with me.
My orgasm was so powerful my whole body shook from the force of my release. I couldn’t have moved if my life depended on it. Luckily, I didn’t need to do anything except slide into Brandon’s arms after he slipped out of me and rolled onto his back.
“Mmm,” I sighed, cuddling into his hold.
“I stand corrected.”
I tilted my head lazily, peering up at him from hooded eyes. “How so?”
“Dirtying you up isn’t a shame. It’s the best damn thing ever.”
A tired giggle burst from my lips, and I peered over his chest at the last container of chocolate mousse. “I’m pretty sure dirtying you up is the second best thing, but I’m too tired to prove it tonight.”
“I can always get you more another time.”
My lips curved up in a smile because I knew he would. Either that, or I’d surprise him one night with some. My last thought before I drifted off to sleep was that it was a shame to waste any of the mousse. Sadly, I was too tired to eat it myself, even without putting it to even better use by smearing it on all of Brandon’s sun-kissed skin.
When I woke up in the middle of the night and raced towards the bathroom, I found a reason to be happy I hadn’t had my turn with the chocolate mousse. On my knees with my head hanging over the toilet bowl, I threw up everything I’d eaten the night before. I hated puking, and I’d never been able to do it quietly, which meant Brandon woke up to the sound of it.
“Poor kitten,” he murmured, rubbing my back with one hand as he held my hair up with the other. “I hope the Chilean sea bass you ordered wasn’t bad. Food poisoning fucking sucks.”
“Mmmhmmm,” I agreed weakly, while thinking about the conversation I’d had with Anna in the bathroom about her pregnancy. I had a feeling my puking had less to do with bad fish and more to do with Brandon’s super sperm.
SEVENTEEN
Brandon
For the second morning in a row, I woke up to the sound of Carly being sick in the bathroom. If it had ended after the first day, I would have stuck with the food poisoning theory, but I was becoming convinced it was something else altogether. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d succeeded in fucking my kid into my sweet fiancée. I wanted to hop up onto our roof and shout to everyone that this caveman had done his job and bred his woman.
I gathered up her thick, red hair and held it away until her stomach was empty. Then I helped her brush her teeth and take a shower. By the time she was done, her color had returned and she seemed to be completely recovered.
Definitely pregnant. I suppressed the urge to smile like a loon or beat on my chest.
The doorbell rang and I left Carly with a kiss on the forehead to answer it. My mother shoved her way past me, practically knocking me into the wall.
“Where is that beautiful daughter-in-law-to-be of mine?” she asked as she hustled into the living room.
“Hello to you to, Ma,” I responded dryly.
“Hello, hello.” She waved dismissively and headed back towards the bedrooms when it was clear Carly wasn’t in the front. I followed behind her, shaking my head at being ignored by my mother in favor of Carly. To be fair, I’d ignore everyone else for her too. But still, she should spare a minute for her baby boy.
“Carly!” she exclaimed happily, lifting on her tip toes to grasp Carly’s cheek and bring her down a few inches for a kiss. “We have a lot to do, my dear. Pack a bag and we’ll be off.”
“No, no fucking way,” I declared, then yelped when I received a hard pinch on the arm from my mother.
“Brandon!” she scolded.
I smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Mamma. But, Carly will not be sleeping anywhere but our bed tonight. I don’t care about traditions and shi—stuff.”
Ma put her hands on her hips and glared at me. Despite being twenty-three-years-old, a mafia enforcer, and a soon–to-be husband (and father?), I shrank back from her anger. I gave her my best smile, but she just shook her head.
“Smiles and puppy-dog eyes won’t change my mind, Brandon. You are already living in sin”—her eyes narrowed suspiciously—“and likely put your baby in her belly, out of wedlock. You will keep to the tradition of spending the night before your wedding apart.”