Page 124 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
I had no idea pregnant women could be so damn sexy. I never looked at them that way before. It’s probably the fact that she’s pregnant with my child that’s bringing out the beast in me, but I swear my knocked-up woman is the most erotic thing I’ve seen in my life. If it were up to me and my perma boner, we’d spend every minute of the day naked in bed.
Unfortunately, it’s not up to me, which Mariana proves by pronouncing, “Go start the shower. We need to get ready!” and giving me a little shove in the chest.
“Bossy,” I grumble.
She smiles sweetly at me, batting her lashes like a debutante. “Which you love, so stop your fake complaining.”
I nuzzle her neck, running my palm up her rib cage until I find the soft fullness of a breast. “I do love it,” I murmur, swiping my thumb over her nipple. “I love it all.”
“Stop trying to distract me. It’s not going to work.”
“It’s already working,” I say, chuckling darkly as she shivers and arches into my hand. I lower my head and suck her hard nipple into my mouth.
“Dinner,” she reminds me, but her voice is breathy and she’s twining her legs between mine. I use a hint of teeth on her nipple, chuckling again when her fingernails dig into my chest.
“We’re already late.” I lift my head and capture her mouth in a long, sweet kiss.
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Mariana breaks away reluctantly. “Kai’s making his special schnitzel! He’s so excited about it, I don’t want to be rude!”
“Schnitzel for Thanksgiving dinner.” I shake my head. “It’s un-American.”
Mariana rolls her eyes. “There’s going to be turkey, too. And apple pie, because I told him you’d throw yourself on the floor and have a tantrum if you didn’t have a ‘proper’ Thanksgiving meal.”
“Really?” I brighten at this news, but then grow suspicious. “What about stuffing? Cranberry sauce? Green-bean casserole? Those poufy white dinner rolls? I bet he doesn’t do the rolls. He seems like one of those weird, multigrain, no-yeast, gluten-free, non-GMO bread stick kind of guys.”
Closing her eyes, Mariana sighs. “And I’m having a child with this man,” she mutters.
“Yes, you are, you lucky girl!” I say, grinning like mad. Then I kiss her all over her face until she’s helplessly laughing.
She pushes me away, still laughing, and rises from the bed. She shakes her hair out, tossing it over her shoulders so it cascades in a dark wave down her back. I look on, feeling like I might burst with the happiness pounding inside me.
“I know you’re staring at my ass, cowboy,” she says as she walks, hips swaying, into the bathroom. “I can feel it tingling.”
“Oh, I’ll give you a tingle.” I throw off the covers and leap out of bed, running after her.
* * *
By the time Darcy opens her front door, we’re an hour late to Thanksgiving dinner, but I’m feeling so self-satisfied with how loudly I made my woman scream in the shower, not even an asteroid plummeting toward earth could put a dent in my cheer.
“We thought you mighta got lost!” Darcy says crossly, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. When she glimpses my shit-eating grin, however, she starts to smile.
“Oh. I see how it is.” She shakes her head, pulling Mariana into a hug, and gives her a motherly pat her on the back. “It’s a wonder you can still walk at all, girlfriend.”
The color is high in Mariana’s cheeks when they break apart. She sends me a sour glance, but I can tell she’s trying not to smile. “When I can’t, he carries me.”
“Lawd,” Darcy says, fanning herself. She eyes my crotch, and I have to laugh.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Darcy.” I give her a hug, then hold out the bottle of wine I picked out for the occasion. “I hope this goes okay with schnitzel. And may I say, you look especially beautiful today.”
She’s in a flowing gown with a zigzag pattern of yellow, red, and hot-pink stripes that I’m certain will give me a seizure if I stare at it too long. So I look at her turban, instead, a white pouf of silk wrapped around her head featuring a big, glittering fake ruby pinned into the center of a spray of peacock feathers.
“Aw, that’s so sweet! C’mon in, everybody’s waiting on you.”
She waves us inside and closes the door behind us. It’s the first time we’ve been to Darcy and Kai’s place, a bright, airy loft in a funky neighborhood in SoHo, and their taste is reflected in every eclectic, colorful piece of furniture and artwork. I admire an interesting bronze sculpture on a pedestal in the entryway, which Darcy informs me was crafted by Kai himself.
“It represents man’s struggle to survive in a chaotic, meaningless universe.”
