CHAPTER 18
Samia
“You didn’t use condoms,” I announce, sitting on the edge of the bed as Kian walks out of the adjoining bathroom.
I’ve seen him in every state of undress by this point.
A few hours ago, he railed me against the kitchen island. Then, he carried me to bed to do it all again, and then, a few more times, over different surfaces around the apartment. But seeing his lower half wrapped in a towel low enough to display those breathtaking hip dips that are protruding and veined, plus the trimmed arrow of hair disappearing into the towel, leaves my tongue dry and my eyes goggled out of my head. The man is a walking sex poster.
The devil smirks as if reading the route of my sinful thoughts, approaching on silent feet, running a smaller towel over his hair until it’s a shaggy yet beautiful mess.
Maybe all the orgasms have loosened my tongue because I keep going.
“All six times, Kian. That’s six times the worth of risks!”
“Six times I came inside of you,” he confirms arrogantly, “yes, I know, dreamgirl. I was there for the pleasure. You came nine times.”
Like he needs to remind me.
My downstairs business is so tender I might never become a prima ballerina now. Fortunately, that dream ended in elementary school when I realized I had to take dance lessons instead of watching my favorite cartoons.
Kian towers over me, and his fresh scent does wondrous things to my equilibrium. Thankfully, my butt is sitting, or the Kian effect might have weakened my kneecaps.
“Why do I keep seeing you clenching a towel like your life depends on it?” his eyebrows bunch over his low-lidded stare. I glance down and relax my fingers on the towel.
“One time. It’s been all of one other time you’ve seen me holding a towel over my boobs, and that was only hours ago, you dramatic Irishman.”
He flashes me a devastating smile before striding to the walk-in closet attached to the bedroom. The bedroom is larger than my whole apartment, and I thought I had a pretty sizeable place until I came here. Several times now, I’ve wandered in there to see our clothes on opposite sides of the hanging rails, like I can’t honestly believe I’m living with a boy.
Kian drops the towel at the door, throwing it into a hamper, and gives me a peek at his steel-like ass cheeks, and I swallow my whimper. Just as I whip off my towel to slide into the panties and lounge sweatpants I already collected from the closet, he returns to the doorway. Smirking, he watches me hurriedly climb into my underwear.
It’s not awkwardness, exactly. Not after I brazenly spread myself out on the kitchen island like I was toast waiting to be buttered, but Kian brings out my shyness, like he sees all my thoughts and enjoys flummoxing me.
He’s wearing only black track pants molded to his long legs. In the process of pulling a gray t-shirt over his wet hair, he says, “You aren’t using birth control.”
I gawk for a second, standing only in lavender panties that came in a cotton pack of four. What can I say? Sometimes I want my underwear to cover all my ass cheeks and not floss me all day long. My model mom would be shocked knowing I’m wearing off-the-rack panties. Everything in her closet boasts designer labels. I’ve always envied her for her style, but I learned I could only dance to my fashionable tune.
“How do you know that?”
He winks. “I know a lot about you.”
Right. Right. He knows all about me, and I’m still learning about him.
“Have we always taken risks like this?”
“Are you worried? You getting pregnant doesn’t worry me, Samia.”
The suggestion of me becoming pregnant is so outrageous that I feel like my eyes are about to pop out of my skull. My hands fly to my stomach; fingers splay as if I can already feel a red-haired tiny villain in the making forming in my womb. Then, I hear him lightly chuckling, and my head rears up to stare at him.
“My sperm isn’t that fast, sweetheart. He’s probably still swimming like an Olympian right now. Give him time to complete his mission.” He dares wink in my direction.
I’m frozen in place. My feet are hot-glued to the floor. My lips work like a guppy fish out of water.
I’m not scared exactly, but it’s close, so when Kian grabs the cream-colored lounge pants from the bed and drops to his haunches in front of me, widening them so I can step in, I do it instinctively, holding onto his shoulders. He helps me into the hoodie next and then kisses my forehead lovingly.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” I finally use my voice.
“So some tell me. Do I want to see you pregnant with my kids one day? Sure as fuck do. You’ll be hot and beautiful, and I can’t wait to spoil you and indulge you until you’re sick of the sight of me. And if you wanna use and abuse my body because your hormones are raging, then I’m up for that job, too.”
Who is this man, seriously?
He goes on.
Just as well, because my tongue has dried to the roof of my mouth in shock.
“I enjoy coming inside you, dreamgirl. Best fucking feeling this world has ever given me. You’re the only one I’ve had sex with without protection. Until you, it had been years since I slept with anyone; the moment I desired you, no other woman existed in my world – that’s the honest truth, Samia. You can sign into my medical records if you need to see I’m not carrying diseases, but I would never take risks like that with you.”
I’m shocked to the core. He’s been celibate for years?
I believe him.
And if we’ve been having sex for however long already, we must have both been tested anyway, so that gives me peace.
But I’m not about to get pregnant by accident, so we have to stop being so careless. Even if Kian is hot as sin, and I can’t seem to resist him when he gets his hands on me, it’s like my brain empties of logic and reason.
“No more risk-taking,” I say. “I’m firm on this, Kian. The pill messes up my hormones, so you’ll have to wrap that weapon up from now on. I’ll even buy the condoms.”
“Baby,” he smirks, so dark all my sexual organs clench like he’s fucking me again. My pussy has muscle memory, so she knows now and wants more, even as tender as she is. “You flatter me.”
My eyes drop to his lap, and sure enough, his cock is half-hard inside the sweats. I don’t know how he has the energy to get hard again.
He approaches, cups my face, and kisses me so gently I melt into the carpet.
“But no, I reject that idea. I like coming in my girl, filling her to the brim, and watching it dripping out of her pulsing pussy when she’s still shaking with her orgasms.”
I blink, unsure I’ve heard him right. “You…you can’t reject it.”
He smirks. “But I did.” Another kiss, a little corner lip nibble. “You enjoy my come, too. Admit it. You went wild, bouncing on my lap, trying to drag it out of me.”
“Oh, my god.” That is all I can exclaim.
If I were wearing pearls, my fingers would be clutched around them for his unfiltered audacity in reminding me how I climbed on his lap, slipped him inside me, and took the ride of my life until he shot his climax deep. It had been a euphoric sensation to make my disciplined man lose it, with his face buried in my chest and fingers biting into my hipbones.
“No more sex for you, Kian MacNamara!” With haughty confidence, I boldly announce my words, chin held proudly. I have the final say, and I walk off.
And his laugh follows me.
So does Kian moments later, and he catches me around the waist, plopping my ass on top of the same island.
“Not this again.” I roll my eyes but bite my smile as he nestles in between my legs until we’re two puzzle pieces fitted together. My hand goes to his hair, stroking it from his forehead.
“You’re a menace, Kian, but getting pregnant now is not ideal. I don’t want to be a single mom. My dad would shoot you all over Manhattan. And then there would be a big trial, bringing shame to the Madsen name, which would embarrass my mom. The press will hound me in the donut shop, and I’m just not about that life.” I say dramatically.
His lips twitch. “Thought about it, hm?”
Yes, naturally. It’s how fast a woman’s mind works.
He kisses my chin, then my nose, and liquifies me when he nuzzles my mouth.
“Listen to me, you crazy, beautiful, cranky woman. If I’m lucky one day to get my baby put deep inside you.” Unf, he makes my knees sweat and shake. Is it possible to fall in love with dirty words? If spoken by Kian MacNamara, then yes. “You sure as fuck won’t be a single mother. I should tan your ass for thinking it.”
“In every alpha-based romance book, the hero only wants the fun part of knocking up his woman because he thinks it’ll trap her.” I absentmindedly run my fingers through his untamed hair while Kian stares at me, entirely focused on what I’m saying. “There’s rarely any mention of him actually…you know, parenting with her.”
I know it’s only a silly conversation, but there’s some truth in what I’m confessing. I’ve seen it happen to others. It’s not a life I will ever choose. Parenting is a joint effort in every aspect, not only in the making part. I was fortunate to have equal parents, but I know it’s not the same for everyone. It’s why it’s a surprise how I’ve been so carelessly having sex today and not caring about protecting myself from becoming a mother before I’m ready.
“I’ll parent, baby. I always helped with the twin gremlins.”
“Jeez. Listen to us. It’s not even that.” I bend the truth. Kian’s babies are stuck in my head, invading every corner, just like he does with his gigantic presence. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
“You told me your worries.” He kisses me. “And I eased them by letting you know I’m ready to dad our babies. School drop-offs, recitals, doctor visits, the whole nine yards.”
Ohh. I’m going to faint. Or die. I don’t dilute the nervous laugh escaping me. He’s crazy, that has to be it. I wonder if his parents had him tested at all.
But then I prove I can match that sexy Irishman in all his craziness when I exclaim, “If you dare get me pregnant, you’ll have to marry me. I’m a traditional girl, Kian.”
I want to retract the words and stuff them into my stomach as soon as they’re airborne. My face stains red, so hot I feel my skin burning as Kian smiles oh-so-slowly and then steps out of the confines of my legs.
“Deal. We’ll get married ASAP, baby.”
What?
WHAT?
I’m sure the ringing in my ears is a sleeper cell brain tumor being triggered to life as I swivel around on the counter, nearly falling to the floor in my haste to see what Kian is doing. But all he’s up to is pulling food from the fridge and tossing it on the chopping board closest to him.
“That’s not funny. I was joking, Kian, you know I was joking. Take it back now.”
I hold the counter like a raft.
Rather than set my mind to rest by agreeing that we were both having a laugh, he flashes me a wicked glint, broader now as he continues dumping ingredients.
“Kian!” I stamp my foot.
He doesn’t mean it.
Right?
He’s not talking about us marrying…like now? Soon? Is he?
“Save that for later, Mrs MacNamara.” He says calmly, like his intestines aren’t all twisted up in sticky, excited-but-scared-witless knots like mine. “Let me feed you first. You’ve burned a lot of energy today. Gotta build my girl up to birth my Irish babies.”
It’s astonishing to think that after surviving a traffic accident, my life would ultimately end in the warm kitchen of a luxurious penthouse at the hands of a captivating Irishman.
I’m screwed.