Chapter 2 Mia
TWO
MIA
THREE MONTHS LATER…
He’s watching me. He always is, but this morning I feel it like a live wire between us, and I’m not sure why.
Did I do something?
Is he mad at me?
No, he’d tell me if I’d upset him.
And yet he’s clutching the spatula like he’s trying not to snap it.
I lean against the counter island, the sun streaming in through the huge floor to ceiling windows behind me. The Tribeca skyline dominates the view. High-rises and brick fill my view, a mix of old and new. Familiar and reassuring.
Home.
But it’s not the horizon I’m looking at. It’s the pancakes forgotten on the stove that are about to burn.
“Are you serving those char-grilled?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
He frowns, then follows my line of sight. “Fuck,” he mutters, pulling the pan off the heat.
What has my husband’s jaw flexing like he’s fighting against the wildness inside him?
I pick an apple out of the fruit bowl, just to give my hands something to do. “You want to go out for breakfast?”
He cuts a glance over his shoulder, pancakes forgotten. “You’re not pregnant.”
I blink. Then I do it again. Because what does that have to do with eating? “What?”
Jensen lets out a sigh that could wake the dead. “You’re not pregnant,” he repeats.
I glance down at my stomach like it’s suddenly going to be round and full, but it’s flat under my shirt. Maybe a little bloated. “I… um… I know.”
And I do. I’m the one who has been dealing with sore boobs and weird mid-cycle bleeding since I came off birth control three months ago.
But I’m also the one who has benefitted from Jensen’s insatiable appetite to impregnate me. So I’m not complaining. I’m still a little sore from our bedroom gymnastics last night.
Since the gallery event, my husband has made fucking me an Olympic sport. I only have to catch his eye and whatever I’m wearing is shoved out of the way and he’s inside me like he’s possessed. I can’t count how many pairs of panties he’s ruined in the last month alone.
Not that I mind. I like his animalistic desperation more than I should—more than is sane.
My gaze slides to the dining table behind me.
Yesterday morning I didn’t even get one sip of my coffee before he had me spread me out, among the syrup and bacon.
Jensen kissed every inch of me, then pushed my thighs apart and thrust into me like he was trying to fuse our souls together.
He left me dripping on the wood while he went to grab a cloth.
Then he cleaned me up like I was something holy.
I cried. Of course I did. He ruins me and worships me in the same breath. Sometimes, I don’t know how to hold that.
I track him as he rounds the counter, braced for whatever he’s about to do. My traitorous pussy flutters. Is he going to fuck me against the counter? On the tiles?
Yes, please.
My mouth is dry, my gaze locked on him. He’s tall and brooding, handsome as sin and twice as deadly when it comes to my desires.
Jensen claims my space like it’s his own. His scent in my nose, his heat warming me. He’s so big I barely reach the middle of his chest.
And the way he looks at me?
Predatory.
I’m his. Always.
His hand settles on my nape, warm and firm, strong and mine. Then he pulls me in for a shattering kiss. His mouth isn’t tender. It’s bruising. His tongue pushes past my lips, tangling with mine.
I whimper when he cups me between my legs, pressure blooming like shockwaves through my pussy. My body turns to water, heat pooling low and pulsing between my thighs where I’m already achingly desperate for him.
“Diane could walk in.” I lift my hips, pressing harder into his hand, which makes the protest fall flat.
Our poor housekeeper is going to need therapy if Jensen keeps railing me all over the penthouse. Three days ago, she walked in on me, bent over the arm of the couch, my hands bound behind my back while he thrust into me like a pneumatic drill.
She’s going to demand hazard pay.
Or quit.
I wouldn’t blame her for either.
“Then she’ll get a show,” he murmurs against my throat.
I press my hands to his chest to steady myself. “You’re traumatizing her,” I say, even as I tilt my head to the side, deepening our kiss.
“She’ll live.” He rubs my clit through my pants, which are damp with my arousal. I gasp, grabbing his wrist—to stop him or hold him in place, I don’t know which. “I’m going to fuck a baby into you,” he says between kisses.
My brain short circuits when he talks like that. There’s something so primal, so fierce about the way he wants to get me pregnant.
I didn’t think I’d be into it, but I am. Very fucking into it.
He slides under my waistband and trails through my wetness. I clench so hard I swear I strain my uterus.
“Jensen.” I don’t know what I mean to follow his name with. Every word I’ve ever learned falls out of my brain when he pushes two fingers inside my pussy. I groan, gripping his biceps like they can anchor my trembling legs.
“I’m done waiting, Mia. I want you pregnant now.” He breathes into my neck. “I want to see your belly grow, touch your bump under my hands. I’m going to fill you until you’re leaking my cum down your thighs. I’ll put so much of my seed inside you that your body has no choice but to let it take.”
My lips part in stunned silence. He talks dirty to me all the time, but yeah, that has my body quivering.
“You’re disgustingly filthy.” I whimper as my body stretches around his fingers.
“And you love every dirty word I say to you.” My walls clamp around him in response. “Let’s get this beautiful body ready to take all of me.”
My thighs spread wider as he plunges deeper into me. It feels like he’s trying to enter my throat from inside my uterus. I ride his hand, circling my hips until my groans stutter out of me.
“I’ve only been off the pill a few months,” I pant out. “It can take time.”
Unsurprisingly, Jensen hums, as if my answer doesn’t work for him. Of course it doesn’t. Jensen Rivers is a man used to controlling everything, but my uterus is out of his hands—and mine too.
We just have to let nature do its thing.
And until it does, he’s going to fuck me like he can will my swollen belly into existence.
My thoughts obliterate as his thumb presses against my clit. I cling to him, sure if I let go I’ll collapse into a puddle at his feet.
Then I detonate.
It’s a blinding, brutal snap that steals the breath from my lungs. I suck in air like I’m drowning, clawing at his arms, holding on for dear life.
I clamp around him like an iron band, and when he slips his fingers from my pussy, my walls seize up, gripping nothing, desperate for him back where I need him most.
He takes my wrists in his hands, kissing one, then the other, before he guides me over to the stool in front of the breakfast bar. I don’t know what he’s going to do, and that makes my pulse quicken.
There are three stools in front of the counter, no backs, just padded seats. He pulls two together, checks they’re not wobbly and then moves me into position like I’m a doll.
His fuck doll.
My boobs end up pressed against the padded seat of the first one, my belly on the second. He lines me up, until my legs are dangling, unable to touch the floor. My head hangs low, my hair almost brushing the floor when he pulls my ponytail holder out.
“Jensen?”
He bends and kisses my temple. “I’m going to take care of you,” he says so softly I let go of my uncertainty. I trust him.
He’ll never do anything that pushes me too far. Everything Jensen does is for my pleasure.
I stare at the tiles beneath me, the weight of my body pushing into the stools. I hear him walk away and I wait, breathing carefully as the anticipation crests through me like a wave.
A moment later, I hear him padding toward me and then he’s in front of me, his feet and legs all I can see without straining my neck. He brushes my hair back, even though it flops forward again.
What’s he going to do?
He takes my wrist and lines it up with the stool leg beneath my shoulder.
The silk of his tie skims my skin, making it heat and burn at the same time.
My heart races as he ties my wrist to the wood, then does the same with the other.
They’re tight, but I can free myself if I want to.
I won’t. I’m exactly where I want to be—at the mercy of a man who knows how to undo me and then put me back together.
He makes a sound low in his throat when he straightens and I wonder what I look like, spread out for him. “Do you have any idea how perfect you look? Strapped down just for me.”
I feel like I’m about to be sacrificed to his ravenous cock. It’s hard to draw in a full breath with the pressure of the wood against my chest, but I forget about that as he lifts my shirt up my back.
Oh my word.
My leggings are next, pulled down with aching slowness, and then my panties follow. Cool air kisses along my heated pussy and I clench around the hollow emptiness inside me. I need him to spread me, to fill me.
I bite my lip so hard I’m sure I’m going to draw blood.
“Please,” I whimper, the word falling from my mouth before I can stop it.
He groans like a wounded animal. “I love when you beg for me, princess.” There’s a caress over my bare ass, and my skin heats. “Say please again and let me worship every inch of my beautiful wife.”
“Please, Jensen. Fuck me.”
I don’t care how shameless I sound. Dignity left the building the moment he strapped me to our breakfast stools. Now, my body is ready for him to use.
“Ask me to ruin your cunt, Mia. Ask me to fill you so full of me you swell with my cum.”
I’m pretty sure my legs would dissolve if I wasn’t lying down. His mouth is disgusting and fuck me, I love it. Every dripping word is a love letter of his devotion to me. I’m not just his wife. I’m his everything.
“I want you to fill me up,” I pant, and save me, I do.
He hums, his fingers still trailing over my ass and spine, close to where I need him, but never there. Not yet.