His Forbidden Pregnant Princess (Mills & Boon Modern) (Conveniently Wed!, Book 21)

by Maisey Yates

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Her dark brown hair was a riot of curls, those generous curves calling to him.

  Every time they’d been together it had been frantic as if they were both afraid one or both of them might come to their senses and put a stop to everything. This was different. There was a look in her eye that spoke of seduction. Seduction certainly hadn’t been involved in any of their previous couplings.

  He swore, beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt, until Sophia held up a delicate hand. “Not so fast.”

  “You will not tease me,” he growled, taking a step toward her.

  “I don’t want to tease you.”

  “Then why are you stopping me from ravishing you? Because you know all I can think of is ripping that dress off you.”

  “You keep doing that to me,” she scolded.

  “Perhaps I think white isn’t your color. Or perhaps I think the clothing doesn’t suit you. But then, the conclusion could be drawn that I simply don’t think clothes in general suit you. I’ve often wondered why I never cared for the image that the palace stylist had cultivated for you. And obviously the new one has done better. But I think the real reason is quite simple. I like you better naked. And part of me always knew that I would.”

  She looked down for a beat, those long, dark lashes fanning over her cheekbones. The only sign that she was perhaps not as confident as she appeared.

  But then she looked up at him, those brilliant, defiant eyes meeting his. Sophia. Always there to challenge him.

  “I’m happy to get naked for you, Luca,” she said, the way her lips formed the sounds of his name sending an illicit shiver down to his manhood, making him feel as though she had licked him there.

  “But what?”

  “I require a forfeit.”

  “A forfeit?” He paused for a moment, the only sound coming from the distant waves crashing on the rocks below, and the thundering of his heart in his ears. “Well, now, that is very interesting. Do you wish me to get down on my knees and worship at the cleft of your thighs? Because I’m more than happy to spend an evening there.”

  “No. That would be too easy. For both of us. I will take off this gown in exchange for one thing.”

  “What is that?”

  “You have to tell me one thing you have never told another soul. It might be enough for you to pretend that we only just met, Luca, but it is not enough for me.”

  His stomach curdled. Going sour at the thought. Because there was only one thing that sprung readily to his mind. There was no other living soul who knew what had happened to him, even though at one time someone certainly had known.

  Well, perhaps there was another living soul who knew. Whether or not Giovanni was dead or alive wasn’t something Luca was privy to. He didn’t want to find out. He hoped the man was dead. If he wasn’t, Luca would be far too tempted to see to his demise himself.

  Though, considering the scandal that had just erupted, perhaps murder would be surmountable. Or at least not so glaring in the face of all this.

  Still. He was not going to tell Sophia.

  He gritted his teeth, casting his mind back to something... Anything that he might be able to tell her. So desperate was he to have her naked.

  “I was rejected by the first girl I ever cared for,” he said. “Though I use the words cared for euphemistically here, considering I didn’t know her at all.”

  That wasn’t something he often thought about. What had happened the night of the ball. Before he had been violated. When everything had been simple and he had been innocent in many ways.

  “What?”

  “There was a girl who came to a ball that my father threw. There were dignitaries from all around the world.” Which was what had allowed his mother to sneak her lover into the palace.

  A man that Luca had met on a few occasions and had gotten a terrible, sick feeling in his stomach whenever he spoke. He had sensed that he knew the relationship between Giovanni and his mother. But then later he wondered if really that disquiet that he felt had to do with the fact that Giovanni was a predator. A predator who had set his sights on Luca.

  “There was a girl called Annalise. She was beautiful. Her father was a dignitary in Morocco and they were visiting the palace for our grand party. I was entranced by her. She refused to dance with me. But then we spoke for a while. I led her out to the garden, and I tried to kiss her. She dodged me, and I ended up kissing a rosebush instead.”

  Sophia laughed, clearly not expecting the story. “You were a prince.”

  “And she was unimpressed with me.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Sixteen. I believe she was eighteen.”

  “Oh, no,” Sophia said, laughing. “You were punching above your weight.”

  “I had imagined that being the prince in the palace in which her family was staying might lend me an edge.”

  Sophia giggled, ducking her head, the expression making her look young. Making him feel young. As if perhaps he were that boy he had been that night. Innocent. Full of possibilities. To love, to be loved.

  Living a life that would not ultimately culminate in the moment when his mother proved her lack of care for him.

  But perhaps living the life that his head appeared to be at that point in time. Golden. Glittering. One of a privileged, infinitely fortunate prince who had the world at his feet.

  Though, in this moment, he would give the world in place of Sophia.

  “I like her,” Sophia said. “A woman who was not impressed with you just because of your title.”

  “The same can be said for you, I think,” he said, taking a step toward her. She took a step back.

  “If anything,” Sophia said, “I have always found your status to be a hindrance. Imagine what it would have been like if we would have met under different circumstances.”

  “You would still be younger than me,” he said. “So it would still take time for me to see you differently.”

  “All right. What if you met me at seventeen, instead of at twelve?”

  “Perhaps I would have asked you for your phone number.”

  She laughed. “That’s so startlingly benign. You and I have never been afforded anything quite so dull.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “I must warn you,” she said. “I don’t intend for tonight to be dull, either.”

  “I believe we have started as we mean to go on.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Your dress,” he said. “I have given you my forfeit. You owe me mine.”

  She said nothing. Instead, she raised her hand, brushing the thin strap of her dress down so that it hung loosely over her shoulder. And then she did the same to the other side. The diaphanous fabric barely clung to her body, held up by those generous breasts of hers. He wanted to wrench it down, expose her body to his hungry gaze.

  But this was her game. And he was held captive by it. Desperate to see what her rules might be.

  He had grown into a man that most would never dream of defying. That was by design. But Sophia... She dared. And he wanted to see what else she might dare.

  “I believe it was for the entire dress,” he pressed. He stood, curling his hands into fists, his heart thundering so hard he thought it might burst through a hole in his chest.

  She made him...

  She made him wild. And he had not been wild for a very long time.

  “I suppose it was,” she returned. “Though I see that you are standing there fully clothed. And it doesn’t escape my notice that the first time we were together you were also mostly clothed, while I...”

  “Your dress was still on. Technically.”

  “I was exposed.”

  “All the better to enjoy you, cara.”

  She shivered, and he was gratified by that response. “Well, I want to enjoy you. I want you naked.”

  She lifted her chin, her expression one of utter defiance. Defiance he wished to answer. Though he had a fee
ling that his little beauty’s boldness might end if he actually complied with her request.

  For all that she was playing at being in charge here, for all that she was a responsive and generous lover, she was still inexperienced.

  He wondered how long it would take for that to not be the case. How many times. How many kisses. The number of moments he would have to spend in her bed in order to strip that inexperience from her. That innocence. Until she would look at him boldly when he removed his clothes, until she would no longer blush when he whispered erotic things in her ear.

  He looked forward to the progression, but he was not in a hurry. For now, he would enjoy this.

  More than anything, he looked forward to the fact that there would be a progression, rather than a one-off and a garden alcove, like he had imagined it would be.

  He gripped the hem of the black T-shirt he was wearing and dragged it over his head, casting it to the floor, making similar and quick work of the rest of his clothes. Until he stood before her with nothing on.

  She did shrink back, only slightly. He had been correct in his theory that she might still find the sight of him without clothes to be a bit confronting.

  He spread his arms wide. “And here I am for you, cara mia. Where is my reward?”

  She turned around quickly, and if it wasn’t for the heavy rise and fall of her shoulders, he might have thought it an extension of the game, rather than a moment where nerves had taken over.

  But then she lifted her arms, taking a slow, indrawn breath, the fabric of the gown slipping, falling to her waist. Exposing the elegant line of her back, the twin dimples just below the plump curve of her ass. Still covered by that flowing dress.

  He gritted his teeth, holding himself back. He wanted nothing more than to move to her. Than to take control. He ached with it.

  But he waited. Still, he waited.

  She placed her hands at her hips, pushing the fabric down her slender legs, revealing the rest of that tempting skin.

  And then, his control was lost.

  He walked up behind her quietly, careful not to give her any indication of what he planned to do next.

  Slowly, very slowly, he reached out and swept her dark hair to the side, exposing her neck. And he kissed her. His lips pressed firmly against the center of the back of her neck, careful not to touch her anywhere else.

  She gasped, a sharp sound of need winding its way through the breath.

  He drew back, pressing the back of his knuckles to that spot between her shoulder blades, following the indent of her spine down low. She squirmed, wiggling her hips, and he gripped her left side with his hand, holding her still as he followed his journey down all the way until his fingers pressed between her thighs, finding that place where she was soft and wet just for him.

  He moved his hand back upward to cup one rounded cheek, squeezing her hard as he slid the hand that gripped her hip around her stomach, pulling her up against him so that she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her lower back.

  “I’m growing impatient of games,” he whispered into her ear, capturing her lobe between his teeth and biting her gently.

  She arched against him, her lovely ass pressing into him.

  She wiggled.

  “If you keep doing that, Sophia,” he said, “you’re going to push me to my limit.”

  “Perhaps I want to find it.”

  “I’m not sure you do.”

  “I don’t want your control,” she said softly. “I don’t want you to be solicitous and careful. I know that you are a man of honor, Luca. But I feel that there is no place for honor between us just now.” She arched even farther into him. “Indeed, there’s not much room for anything between us. It’s just our skin, our bodies, pressed against each other.”

  He pushed his hand down toward the apex of her thighs, those downy curls beneath his fingers the filthiest pleasure he’d ever experienced in his life.

  He pushed down farther, brushing his fingers over that sensitive bundle of nerves, through her folds, finding the entrance to her body and pressing his fingers inside her. She let her head fall back against his shoulder, relaxing on an indrawn breath.

  “Is this what you wanted?” he asked. “You want me uncontained? You want me out of control? As if it has not been so from the moment I first laid my hands on you in that garden?”

  “You are far more controlled than I would like,” she gasped.

  “Control is a good thing,” he said. “I think you will find.”

  He swept his free hand up to cup her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb. “You will benefit from my control,” he rasped, drawing his cheek down the side of her neck, over her shoulder, well aware that his whiskers were scraping delicate skin. She moaned. A clear sign that she quite liked his control in the right venue.

  “But I don’t have any,” she whispered.

  “Is that what you think? Sophia, you have had control of me for far too long. My thoughts turn on the sway of your hips, my focus shifting with each breath you take in my presence. How can you not know this?”

  “You said I was your sickness,” she breathed.

  “And indeed it is true.” He kissed her shoulder. “There is no cure. I am a terminal case. But I have accepted this.”

  “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to—” she gasped, her breath hitching as he pressed his fingers deeper inside her “—feel about that.”

  “Feel this,” he said, thrusting his hips against her backside again. “And feel the pleasure that I give you.”

  She reached up, grabbing hold of the hand that was resting on her breasts, as though she was trying to get him to ease his pleasuring of her. As though it was too much. He collected that wrist, holding it in his hand like an iron manacle, and then he took hold of her other hand, bringing them around behind her and holding them fast, pinning them to her lower back as he continued to toy with her between her legs with his free hand.

  She shifted her hips. “You’re holding me prisoner now?”

  “It seems fair. I’ve been held captive by you for years now.”

  “Luca,” she breathed his name, total capitulation to what was happening between them. He worked his fingers between her legs faster, stroking her slickness over her clit before bringing his fingers down to the entrance of her body again, delving deep. The waves of her release seemed to come from deep within her, her internal muscles pulsing hard around his fingers as she found her pleasure.

  He propelled her out onto the balcony, up to the edge of the bath. He tightened his grip on her stomach, lifting them both down into the water, prepared by her already. And there they were calm out under the stars again, only this time, there were no people. Nobody in a nearby ballroom to come out and discover them. No one at all.

  He sat on the edge of the tub, whirling her around to face him, wrapping her legs around his waist, the slick heart of her coming into contact with his arousal.

  “Out here,” he said, “if you scream no one will hear you. Only the stars.”

  Those stars. That brightness. Her brightness.

  “Then I suggest you do your part to make me scream.”

  He moved both hands down to cup her butt, freeing her wrists as he did. She moved her hands to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as he moved them both across the tub, the slick glide of the water over their skin adding a sharpness to the sensuality of the moment.

  “You want to scream?” He moved them over to the glass edge of the tub that overlooked the sea and turned her, maneuvering her so that she was in front of him, facing the water, the reflection of the silvery moon over the waves.

  “Hold on to the edge,” he commanded.

  She did so without arguing, though there was a hesitancy to her movements that spoke of confusion. She would not be confused for long.

  He pressed one hand to her hip, and with the other, guided his erection to the entrance of her body. He pushed into her in one decisive thrust, grabbing both hips and pullin
g her back against him, the motion creating ripples in the water.

  She gasped, leaning forward, her breasts pressed against the glass, her hands curved around the edge like claws. She bowed her head over the tub. He reached forward, grabbing hold of her dark curls and drawing her head back, none too gently, as he found her throat with his lips, kissing her, then scraping it with the edge of his teeth.

  He rode her like that, one hand gripping her hip tightly, his blunt fingers digging into her skin, the other holding her hair as he thrust into her in an endless rhythm that pushed fire down his spine and sent pleasure through him like a river of molten flame.

  He felt when her thighs began to quiver, when she got close to release. And he slipped his hand to her furrow again, brushing his fingers over where she was most sensitive, not stopping even as he felt her release break over her. Not stopping until she was screaming herself hoarse into the night, out over that endless ocean, up to the stars.

  Into the darkness.

  Into his darkness.

  And when his own control reached its end he grabbed hold of her with both hands, holding her steady while he poured himself into her. His despair, his need, his release, nothing like a simple achievement of pleasure, but the sharp edge of a knife, cutting into him, making him bleed.

  Reducing him. Right there in front of her. And there was nothing that could be done about that. Nothing he could do to fight it.

  He reached out, holding on to the edge of the tub, bracing himself for a moment while he caught his breath. She looked over her shoulder, those eyes connecting with his. She looked... She looked as undone as he felt, and he could not ignore the question in them. The need. To be held.

  He gathered her up in his arms and carried her across the tub and they stepped out onto the balcony. There was a large, fluffy towel folded up on a shelf adjacent to the tub and he grabbed hold of it, wrapping it around her and holding her against him as he brought her back into the bedroom, depositing her onto the center of the bed.

  He didn’t bother to dry himself, coming down beside her completely naked as she wrapped the edges of the towel more firmly around her body.

  She rolled onto her back, letting out a long, slow sigh. She had the towel pulled over her breasts, but it parted just above her belly button, revealing that delicious triangle at the apex of her thighs. He was not going to disabuse her of her illusion that she might be covered.