His

by Amanda Faye

  Good.

  The world can see I belong to her too.

  Her pussy is tight, the dampness from her arousal swathing my cock in her juices. Her belly, swelling from the life growing inside it, rubs against my abs with every thrust. It heightens my desire to leave my brand on her heart and inside her soul.

  I fold myself around her, bending to pull her nipple between my lips. It's full and tight, and she keens as I flick the sensitive bud with my tongue. She tastes like sex and sweat, and I can't wait until her breasts swell and leak and fill my mouth with sustenance.

  She mumbles against my head, and I hear too much and begging for more in the same sentence.

  I suck my way back up her throat, ensuring I leave a trail with the proof of my conquest.

  She curls herself around me, arms tight, and ankles locked around my back. My hips snap against her, hard and fierce. I gather her in my arms, holding her to my heart.

  Her panting turns to cries, loud and soulful in my ears. I cover her mouth with mine, licking, sucking, twisting our tongues together.

  She's building, tightening, straining against me, and with one hand on her face, holding her against my lips, I slip the other between us, fingers fast and firm against her clit.

  She explodes, body bowing underneath me, cries reaching the ceiling.

  "Matt," she mewls, and I swallow her sound, taking it into myself and placing it close to my heart. I chase my orgasm, using her body as I will. Motions sharp and uncoordinated, I spill myself inside her as she trembles in my arms.

  "Mine," I say, as my chest heaves on top of her, pinning her underneath me.

  "Yours," she pants, grip so tight I don't think she'll ever let me go.

  Mine.

  Chapter Eight

  Suzanna

  I'm warm.

  Too warm.

  I try to push the covers off, only to be met with sinew and muscle instead. My eyes snap open, panic coursing through my veins before I remember where I am. And what I did.

  "It's just me, Susie Q," he whispers against my ear, and, while my instinct is to flee, my body relaxes against him. "It's just me."

  It's Matthew.

  Matthew's arms are wrapped tight around me, and the coarse hair on his arms and belly is foreign against my skin. I jerk in his embrace, momentarily startled at the contact.

  Instead of letting me go, though, he tightens his hold on me, sliding down to cup my burgeoning baby bump.

  "You're safe," he whispers in my ear, and my body melts against him.

  Of course, I'm safe. I'm in Matthew's arms. Of all the people in my life, he's the only one who's ever cared about my comfort— who puts my needs first.

  He curves himself around me, lifting his hand from my belly just long enough to gather my hair and tuck it under my head, then returns to caressing the form that holds my child.

  "I'm sorry I scared you."

  His hand is moving up and down, thumb grazing my stomach in long smooth strokes. He places little kisses on my neck, lips trailing up and down and over me.

  "You didn't."

  It's the truth. I scared myself when I surrendered to him so quickly last night. I scared myself by the depth of the feelings I let escape during our coupling. I scared myself by spending the night in the arms of another person.

  I've never spent the night with someone before. Never. I'm sure I did as a child. I must have at some point. But it was so long ago that I have no memory of it.

  I've never had a man in my home before—in my bed. When the urge for sex got too strong to be ignored, I made arrangements and filled the need.

  Like a business transaction.

  I have rules in place for a reason, and for the most part, pregnancy excluded, those rules have kept me safe.

  Not only did I break them all last night. I broke them for Matthew. Enthusiastically and with a smile on my face. The thought alone makes me want to run in the other direction.

  Though, by the way he trembled under my touch, I have a feeling Matthew broke a few rules of his own.

  Still no more substantial than an apple, the child makes itself known by the continuous pressure on my bladder. I can't feel the baby yet, but that doesn't stop me from peeing a hundred times a day. It's only going to get worse too. The thought makes me smile. I never in a million years thought an unexpected pregnancy would make me so happy.

  "I have to use the potty," I say, and feel him chuckle behind me.

  "This isn't a ruse, is it? To escape me. If I let you go, do you promise to come back?"

  My smile widens, filling my chest with happiness. How is it, despite what little time we’ve spent together over the years, he alone knows me best?

  I roll in his arms, turning to face him. His fingers resume their grazing, nails lightly brushing up and down my back. My eyes roll up in my head, while I enjoy the pleasant sensations it sends up and down my spine.

  He's looking at me, and I wish I could ask what he sees.

  "Yes, I promise to come back. I don't have a room anymore, remember? Besides, if you don't let me go, you're liable to get peed on."

  His eyes twinkle, amusement shining from their depths.

  "I'm not usually into that sort of thing, but if it's the only way to keep you by my side, then I can run with it."

  I throw my head back and laugh, which only makes me have to pee more. I push away from him, and he lets me, rolling to his back with his hands behind his head.

  I crawl to the edge of the bed, turning to see him as I slide to the floor.

  The sheet is covering his crotch and one leg. That's it. With his arms bent at the elbows and his washboard abs on full display, he looks well fucked and sated.

  It's a good look on him.

  I take my time in the bathroom, hunting my hairbrush out of the toiletries bag the staff brought last night. I brush my teeth, wash my face with one of the wipes, then slather on a layer of moisturizer. I'm debating about taking a shower when Matthew yells from the bedroom.

  "Did you fall in? Should I come and rescue you? I'm getting cold without your heat."

  How ridiculous can he be?

  A final glance in the mirror says it doesn't matter. I'm still smiling ear to ear. I flip my head upside down, gathering my hair at the top of my head. I secure it in a messy bun, up and away from my neck.

  "Would you rescue me from the toilet?" I quip, leaving the bathroom door ajar when I leave.

  "I'd rescue you from the moon if it meant I'd get you back in bed."

  I crawl in from the opposite side, closer to where he lies. He doesn't reach for me; he just enjoys the view of me slinking up to his body.

  "We're supposed to be down for breakfast any minute now."

  His eyes harden but thaw just as fast.

  "I don't give a shit what your parents want. Not anymore. We'll go down to breakfast when we're good and ready."

  Yesterday, the thought of someone speaking like that about Daddy would have scared me to death. Now it turns me on.

  He moves the sheet aside, giving me my first glimpse of his glorious physique this morning. He's much more muscular than the button-downs and polo shirts give him credit.

  "Come here."

  I slither in next to him, rubbing my ass against his crotch as I settle myself against him. His body responds immediately, growing and lengthening against my backside. I reach behind me and circle his girth in my hand, enjoying how it fills my palm.

  He groans against my ear, hands reaching to cup my breasts.

  "May I touch you?" he sighs, hands hovering just out of reach.

  I nod with enthusiasm, tightening my grip on his dick.

  My breasts used to be of average size—nothing particularly special about them. Now though, my bras sit tight across my flesh, digging into my sides. They're growing as quickly as my stomach is. My nipples, never sensitive before, now send fireworks and explosions through my body at the slightest provocation. It was the first indication I had that I was pregnant. I started sh
owering in a sports bra, because the stream of the water was too much for me to handle.

  His lips latch onto my skin, where my shoulder curves into my neck. He sucks, then twirls his tongue in a circle.

  My breasts fill his hands, and he massages them with his fingers, pulling sounds from my throat I didn't know I could make. When his fingers find my nipples, the skin across them already pulled tight and achy, Matthew squeezes with the gentlest of pressure, causing me to arch and moan against him.

  His cock, the same one that speared me with such vigor last night, leaks into my palm, and I spread it down his length with what little coordination I have with my hand behind my back.

  I rushed him last night. Desperation and desire releasing a side of myself I keep hidden away. Like the gentleman he is, he’d let me run the show. As hot as it was, I'd be willing to bet strictly carnal pleasure isn't typically his thing.

  This morning, he's back to his original plan of action. He's in charge now, and he'll do as he pleases.

  Matthew tips my head back and to the side, and as soon as I'm within reach, he kisses me. Deep and dark and sensual.

  With one hand playing my breasts like a musical instrument, the other slides down my body, palm petting me like velvet. Matthew's fingers find my center, and I spread my legs for him, giving him all the access he needs.

  His fingers part me, and I whimper at the touch, craving everything and anything he's willing to give. I can hear how wet I am, the sounds of his fingers running through my slickness. It only makes me wetter.

  "Fuuuuck, Susie Q," he growls out, slipping a finger into my entrance. I buck into his touch, hips snapping against his palm. He thrusts into my hand, then pushes it away entirely, dick trapped in my ass cheeks' swell.

  He pulls on a nipple, giving it a sharper tug, soothing the sting with his palm before repeating it. His fingers gain speed, thumb rubbing my clit, and the competing sensations send my body into overdrive.

  Thanks to hormones, and years of pent up desires, I'm hypersensitive to every thrust, every caress, and my orgasm builds taut and wild inside me.

  "Can I fuck you?" he rumbles in my ear, and I twist my head again to give him my response, twining my fingers in his hair as I climb inside his mouth with my tongue.

  He leans me forward with a palm on my hip just enough to give him room to work, then lines up with my pussy, slowly edging himself inside.

  I don't want it slow. I want it fast and hard, and I rock myself onto him.

  His control is slipping fast, and I smile into his kiss, delighted that he's as desperate for me as I am for him.

  My head is on his arm, and he reaches around me, grasping my hand and linking our fingers as his hips start to move and thrust. I wrap my other arm around them both, holding our entwined hands to my chest.

  His free hand always moves, rubbing my breasts, my hips. His hand is enormous, and he radiates energy and dominance as he twists my body how he wills. He holds me still against him one moment, only to pin me forward to change the angle of his penetration the next.

  I've never let myself be in a situation where another person pinned me. He's not that much bigger than me, but the raw power exuding from him makes him seem twice his size. Suddenly, I'm praying he'll keep me trapped underneath him forever.

  Why did it take so much to push us together finally?

  He releases my mouth, lips trailing kisses over my sweaty skin. The room is alive with the sounds of our lovemaking, my whimpers, his grunts. The sound of impact as he buries himself inside me and the echoes of my slick as he pulls himself back out again.

  I can smell the sex in the air.

  I wish I had a mirror.

  His hand trails to my clit, touching himself as he fucks into my slit and then rubbing frantic circles across my nub, pulling wave after wave of pleasure from me. He releases my hand, only to latch onto my torso, holding me to him as he pins me to the mattress, half on my belly and half on my side. I spare a fleeting moment to wonder if this is still safe for the baby, but he'd never put us in harm’s way.

  Color bursts behind my eyes and my orgasm explodes across my skin.

  I flex and twist, pushing myself against him, and his fingers dig into my flesh as he bucks against my back.

  "Fuck, Suzanna," he moans against my neck before he latches onto my shoulder blade, sucking the meat into his mouth.

  The use of my real name sets me off.

  His hand finds my breasts again, and I start to twitch anew, as he pushes me through my first orgasm and into another.

  His thrusting slows, and his weight lessens on my back, but his fingers never stop their movement, and his mouth never leaves my flesh. I'm building again, the sounds of him whispering my name against my skin setting my body on fire, but it's too much. Too soon. My mind and body both need a moment to recover.

  "Stop, stop, stop," I pant, covering his hands with my own to cease the overstimulation of my body.

  His growl is visceral in response.

  "Why do you make me do that?" he begs, lips against my ear. "You spur me through it, with your dripping little cunt, and your pouting, begging mouth, when you know I want to take my time."

  Suddenly, I don't need any time to recover at all.

  "Sorry," I pant, heart, thundering out of my chest. "Today is not that day," I gasp, trying to control my sudden onset of giggles.

  "Tomorrow doesn't look good either," he chuckles out.

  Before I know it, we're lying side by side in the bed, holding each other through laughter.

  Chapter Nine

  Matthew

  It's well after ten o'clock by the time we're showered and making our way down the stairs. Susie Q is wearing a purple sundress, her hair in a tail at the base of her neck. If you look close—you don't have to look that hard at all—you can see the evidence of our lovemaking scattered across her shoulders.

  I wasn't thinking about it at the time, but it's sure to make a statement this morning.

  I dressed casually, because the Belles always prefer a more formal atmosphere, even while on vacation. When you're in the public eye, there's no such thing as a break.

  I've heard David say that exact phrase more times than I can count over the years. So, I'm in cargo shorts, a polo, and flip flops. David despises the sandals.

  I lace our fingers before we leave the bedroom and keep a hold of her as we make our way through the house. Silence falls when we walk into the formal dining room, all eyes falling on us.

  "Took you long enough," David grouses from his spot at the head of the table, and I freeze in my tracks, anger simmering at the surface, before Susie Q slides closer and slips a kiss on my cheek.

  If my anger doesn't melt away, it at least diminishes into a more tolerable level.

  "I apologize, Daddy," she replies with more respect than I could have managed. "I slept poorly last night. Matthew was giving me time to recover."

  The only response she gets is a grunt.

  Everyone has already eaten. They're waiting for us. There's only the Belles and Alex and Julie still at the table.

  I pull a chair out for Susie Q, getting her settled in, and grab the chair next to her, immediately pulling her right hand into my lap. Thank God she's left-handed.

  Alex is staring at me as if his look alone could turn me to dust. For the first time in a dozen hours, I remember that Suzanna isn't just Susie Q; she's my best friend's little sister. Fuck a duck on toast. I'm going to have to talk to Alex.

  Julie is grinning as if we just told her it was Christmas instead of the Fourth of July.

  "Well," says Mrs. Belle, an emotion I can't quite place in her voice.

  "Well indeed," grunts David, and there's no such mystery in his tone.

  "I'm not sure what the problem is, Daddy," Susie Q begins as I start piling food onto her plate. I pick up the percolator, silently asking her if she'd like a cup of coffee. She holds up her thumb and finger, indicating a tiny amount.

  I take one of the delicate c
hina cups the Belles insist on using, fill it halfway with coffee, and the other half with tea. When I reach for the sugar, she shakes her head no.

  "Matthew comes from a good family. You're friends with his parents. You still golf with Mr. Taylor once a month. He owns his own home. He's a doctor for heaven's sake. I'm not sure why you would have any objections to this whatsoever."

  I smirk to myself when I realize she's giving her father the same litany of excuses I gave her last night as to why we should get married. Somehow it sounds so reasonable coming from her.

  "Suzanna, dear," Mrs. Belle speaks up, and I'm mildly surprised to hear her say anything on the subject. Mrs. Belle is usually a seen and not heard sort of wife. At least in front of other people.

  "Matthew's suitability is not what we're displeased about."

  "Displeasure," David grumbles from his end of the table. I shoot him a nasty look, and he gives me one right back.

  "The issue here," Mrs. Belle emphasizes, trying to speak over the staring contest her husband and I are competing in, "is the way this all came about. Your father and I don't understand why you felt you had to keep your relationship a secret. Nor do we understand why you felt it was acceptable to get pregnant outside of wedlock. That is not what we are about Suzanna. That is not what this family is about. That is not the sort of example we want to set for this country."

  Knowing me better than we'd ever have admitted twenty-four hours ago, Suzanna digs her fingers into my thigh, effectively stopping whatever burst of anger I was going to explode with.

  But when David looks to speak, I lose my temper anyway. My hand slams down on the table, startling everybody in the vicinity.

  "What Suzanna does with her life, and her body, is none of your Goddamn concern. Or the country’s for that matter. Not that you've ever given her any concern her entire life. If it didn't affect you in some way, you never gave a shit."

  David gathers air in his chest, ready to throw down over the breakfast table, but Julie cuts us off.

  "Enough!" she shouts into the room. "What's done is done. It can't be changed. What we need to focus on is what's going to happen moving forward."