Chapter Twelve #2
Constantine nodded, his expression softening, a quiet warmth in his gaze that seemed to eat her up.
“Wait,” Aliyah said, a new thought cutting through her stunned joy. “You want to adopt her?”
He shrugged, a subtle movement of his broad shoulders, but he couldn’t hide the color that streaked his cheeks. “If she’s your daughter, then she’s mine too. Isn’t that the arrangement we made?”
Aliyah’s heart exploded in her chest with happiness, a dizzying, overwhelming rush that made her lightheaded. She saw the truth in his eyes, clear as the lamplight glowing softly around them.
He wanted this with her. This family they were building. This life. However they had started, whatever intentions he had harbored, he was in this now.
Was that enough for her?
She wanted to tell him about the pregnancy—she knew she should—and yet, even though this was her demand out of their marriage, she didn’t want to bring their unborn child into this yet.
She wanted it to be just her and him. Even if it was a pretense, even if she was playacting for tonight.
She realized he was watching her carefully, a question in his dark eyes. She bent her head to his knee, reaching for his hand, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his palm. The skin there was rough, calloused, but so familiar.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she whispered.
He clasped her jaw, his touch a bit rough, but she didn’t care.
He shook his head. “Don’t. You were right that day.
I would have done it just to get Rose away from that greedy uncle of hers.
” He laughed, a short, sharp sound with a serrated edge.
“Not that I regret for one second that I used it to trap you.”
The arrogance in his smirk made her laugh, a genuine bubbling sound that surprised them both. “Oh, don’t worry, Constantine. I won’t mistake you for a hero and fall for you again.”
The words sounded bittersweet to her, for it was too late.
She was already falling, had already fallen.
“I want to jump up into your arms and kiss the hell out of you for this good news. But maybe I can offer you something better,” she said, keeping her palms flat on his thighs, feeling the solid muscle beneath her hands.
He frowned, his brow furrowing. “What?”
She laughed again, a little breathlessly. “I’m bad at this seduction part. But words are better, ne?”
Heat awakened in his eyes, a slow burn that mirrored the sudden tension in his bare shoulders. “What’s your offer, agapi?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“I want to go down on you. That too was something I refused you once, remember?”
Slowly, deliberately, she moved her hands up his thighs, her fingers brushing against the hard, hot length of him poking up against his sweatpants.
Her throat dried, a sudden, desperate thirst consuming her.
His hips thrust up, an involuntary tilt forward, a silent demand. “Take me out,” he said, his voice thick with desire.
Aliyah licked her lips, her gaze fixed on the bulge. His stomach rippled as she pushed the waistband of his sweatpants down. His erection popped out into her waiting palm, thick and hot, throbbing against her skin.
“Stroke me, agapi. Let me feel how much you want to do this.”
She nodded, her hand fisting around him, the rough skin of his shaft a delicious friction.
His head was thrown back, the veins in his corded neck standing out in relief as she stroked him up and down.
A single drop of pre-cum beaded at the broad head, glistening in the lamplight.
Leaning in, feeling a damp gushing at her own core, Aliyah licked it off.
He tasted of salt and musk, a primal, intoxicating flavor.
Constantine’s groan was guttural, a deep, animal sound. She barely clamped her lips around the thick head and sucked before his hands were under her shoulders, pulling her into the bed.
Fear, sharp and cold, beat at her. Aliyah tried to slap his hands off. “Stop it, Constantine. You’re pulling at that wound again.”
He had her flat on the bed, his thighs straddling her hips, pinning her. A few drops of water flew from his still-wet hair, landing on her too-hot skin.
His cock swung around, thick and veiny, and Aliyah had to force herself to look at his wound.
Thankfully, the white bandage looked clean, undisturbed.
She threw her arms above her head, arching her torso up as his fingers grabbed the hem of her old T-shirt and began rolling it up. Her breasts jostled, full and aching.
“Why did you stop me?” she said, her skin already prickling with need, the cool air of the room a delicious contrast to the heat building between them.
His hungry eyes lingered over her breasts, and as if in response, her nipples tightened into fat, eager tips.
His palms covered them fully, the abrasive skin of his hands scraping deliciously against her nipples, and Aliyah was already lost. “I don’t want to waste myself in your mouth,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.
“We have other important goals, remember?”
Aliyah shied her gaze away from his as he tore off her shorts. Then he was there, at her eager, damp folds, probing at her with that broad head, stroking her, nudging up at her clit until she was nothing but sensation already.
And she didn’t care that she was playacting anymore. Not when he leaned down and kissed her mouth, his breath hot against her lips, and asked her, “Always ready for me, aren’t you, agapi?”
She nodded, throwing her arms around him, losing herself in his kiss.
In his body.
In his possession.
In the delusion that he needed her this badly because he felt something, some tiny thread of affection, for her too.