Page 70 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
My voice breaks over her name.
Her pussy clenches hard around my cock.
My orgasm tears out of me like a ripcord tearing open a parachute.
I grunt like an animal, my fingers dug into her ass, every muscle in my body flexed and straining, a little voice in the back of my head commenting casually, Well, this should be an interesting development—
“I’m coming, Angel! Fuck!”
She’s coming, too, throbbing hot around my pulsing dick, both of us hoarsely crying out and shuddering.
It’s too late to pull out. I try anyway, but just end up staggering. Hot water cascades between us, spraying our faces and bodies and the walls. Mariana is arched back in my arms, her mouth open and her eyes closed, her skin slick with sweat and water. My biceps and thighs are burning, and I’m still coming, my pelvis jerking compulsively, my cock buried deep and spilling.
Suddenly, Mariana realizes what’s happening. Her eyes fly open. Into my face she shouts, “Tell me you had a vasectomy!”
Hand to God, I don’t know why, but I erupt in laughter. “Do I seem like the kind of man who’d let a scalpel anywhere near his balls?”
Her horrified face tells me that isn’t the right answer.
I give her my most winning smile. “This seems like a good time to discuss how many kids you think we should have.”
During the thundering silence that follows, I hope there aren’t any sharp objects within easy reach.
* * *
“Are we gonna talk about this?”
“No.”
“Angel—”
“Ryan, don’t push me. Do. Not.”
Mariana paces back the way she just came. We’re in the living room. I’m on the couch, and she’s wearing holes in the rug. Suffice it to say, I’m feeling a lot less anxiety about what may or may not have taken root in the shower, so to speak.
I mean, I’m not an idiot. It’s not an ideal situation. If it even is a situation. But it’s also not the end of the world.
I love kids. Being a dad is something I’ve always wanted.
If Mariana lets me live long enough to become one, which is up in the air at this point.
Finally, she stops pacing and crucifies me with a look. “I need to call Reynard.”
Unease clenches my gut. “What you need to do is eat something. I’ll make us—”
“No,” she says sharply, cutting me off. “You don’t get to decide what I do or don’t do.”
I stand and draw in a breath. I keep my voice low and controlled. “I know you’re upset—”
“You know nothing, Ryan Tiberius McLean,” she says bitingly, her eyes as hard as diamonds. “You know exactly nothing about me, not even my last name.”
She waits for me to challenge it, but of course I can’t. She’s right.
I don’t know her goddamn last name.
Heat creeps up my neck.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not putting this on you. I accept full responsibility for what happened in the shower. But we need to be very clear that you’re not calling the shots here. You stopped me from stealing a fake diamond and giving it to a man who’s killed many people for far less, and for that I’m grateful. But my gratitude is where my obligation to you ends.”
