“I want you now,” I tell him urgently.
He kneels between my legs and fists his cock for a moment, before pulling me up by my thighs and sliding deep inside me with one firm thrust.
My already pulsing insides welcome him in, closing around him, urging him deeper. I close my eyes, surrendering my body to him, to the pleasure of his cock deep inside me. He starts to move in firm, hard strokes, and his hunger for me is evident in the way he fucks me, his hips jerking as he thrusts into me.
His fingers tighten on my thighs, and when my eyes flutter open, his own are narrowed to dazed slits, his breaths coming from parted lips. I tighten my legs around his waist, eager to see him lose control. “Fuck me hard,” I whisper, pushing my hips to meet his thrusts. I feel my climax coming and I hug my breasts, my body tightens, and heat explodes in my core as I lose myself. He comes at the same time, his body jerking forward as an agonized moan rips from his lips, and he falls forward, dropping my legs, and covering one breast with his lips, even as the heat of his release fills me.
“God!” He breathes later, his arms tight around me. “I hope you never find out that you’d only have to say the word to make me your willing sex slave.” He kisses my hair with a soft laugh.
I kiss his neck. “Now you’ve told me, I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I love you,” he says fervently. “More than anything.”
“You’re everything,” I whisper. “I can’t bear the thought of being without you.”
“You’re never getting rid of me.”
I sigh and relax into his arms. Somewhere inside, a small voice reminds me that I still haven’t told him that I’m pregnant, but I ignore it. I’ll tell him when I’m sure, I decide, luxuriating in the feel of him surrounding me as I fall into a peaceful sleep.
All the way back to New York, I wrestle with my irrational reluctance to tell Landon about the baby. Mentally, I can’t even explain to myself why I’m hesitant. There’s no reason I can’t just come out and say it.
Landon, I’m pregnant.
How hard could it be? What was the worst that could happen? I sincerely doubt that he would conclude that he’s not ready for the level of commitment that having a baby means. That scenario doesn’t even gel with the Landon I know.
What if he decides to take responsibility but silently blames me for making him a father when he’s not ready?
I sigh.
“Are you fretting about something again?” Landon is sitting beside me on the plane. He’d been reading on his tablet, but now he’s looking at me, his beautiful cobalt eyes holding mine. Our child could have eyes like his, I think, the thought filling me with longing.
“No,” I answer his question. “No, I’m just thinking about work.”
Landon continues to look at me, his eyes questioning, and I turn away from his searching gaze, not because I think he can read my mind but because I feel almost as if I’m lying to him, deceiving him.
“No matter what you’re thinking, about us,” he says. “You can tell me and we’ll talk about it.”
I smile and take his hand. Squeezing it gently, and hoping he can feel how much I love him, even in that touch.
I doze off watching him read, and only wake up when we’re back in New York. In the car, Landon continues to work on his tablet until we get to the entrance of the Swanson Court.
I know something is wrong long before we reach the awning. There is an enormous crowd in front of the hotel and it takes a moment for me to realize that they’re reporters. They notice the car approaching and throng around it, their mouths moving from across the glass as they scream their questions, which I can’t hear from inside the car.
Joe manages to get the car to the entrance, but Landon is silent, his mouth drawn into an impatient, irritated line.
“What’s going on?” I ask, even as I realize that we won’t know the answer to my question until we come out of the car, to face the mob.
“I don’t know,” Landon replies.
“Do you want me to go into the parking lot?” Joe asks quietly.
Landon frowns. “No. Whatever it is, it’s better if we don’t look as if we’re running away from it.”
Joe nods and stops the car in front of the doors. Immediately, the crowd swarms around it, and through the tinted glass, I can see the flashes as they take pictures.
“Wait here,” Landon tells me, opening his door and stepping out of the car, with Joe following his lead. There’s a sudden explosion of sound, which is cut short when the doors close. Then they both appear at my door, along with some of the security personnel from the hotel, who make a path between the sea of reporters, all of them flanking me as we move toward the entrance.
The questions are rapid, melting into each other. I hear Landon’s name, over and over, and Ava Sinclair’s.