Page 194 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

“You’re twenty,” I said quietly. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“So?”

“So, you could have any woman you want. Younger. Less complicated.”

“I don’t want any woman.” He stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup my jaw gently. “I want you.”

My breath caught. “This is a bad idea.”

“Probably.” His thumb traced my bottom lip. “But we’re doing it anyway.”

“I’m still married to your cousin.”

“Technically.” His eyes darkened. “But we both know that marriage is a sham. You don’t love him. He doesn’t love you. You’re just two people trapped in an arrangement neither of you wants.”

“That doesn’t make this okay.”

“Maybe not.” He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “But it makes it real.”

The coffee maker beeped, breaking the tension.

Syx pulled back and poured two mugs, handing me one. I wrapped my hands around it, grateful for something to hold onto.

“How many men have you been with?” he asked suddenly, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

I blinked. “What?”

“How many?”

“Why does that matter?”

“It doesn’t.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’m just curious. You’ve been married to Amai for years. Before that?”

I hesitated, then decided fuck it—we’d already crossed every line there was to cross.

“Three,” I lied. “Including Amai.”

His eyebrows rose. “Three? That’s it?”

Hell yeah that was it. You never give a nigga your real body count.

“I was raised Catholic,” I said defensively. “I didn’t sleep around.”

“And Amai?”

“Was my second.” I looked down at my coffee. “My first was my high school boyfriend. We were together for two years before I gave it up. Then Amai. Then…” I trailed off.

“Then who?”

“A guy I met at a bar after Amai and I separated the first time.” I met his eyes. “It was a mistake. He was nothing. Just a body to prove to myself that I could still feel something.”

Syx set his mug down and moved closer, caging me against the counter with his arms on either side of me.

“And me?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Am I just a body?”

“No.” The word came out breathless. “You’re not.”

“Good.” His hand slid up my side, under my sweater, his palm warm against my skin. “Because I’m not interested in beinga mistake, Yaya. I’m interested in being the man who makes you forget every other man who came before me.”