“Shhh.” He smoothed sweaty hair from her cheek, tucking a fallen strand behind her ear. “You don’t need to, honey.”
The tendons in his neck strained, and the heat of his body flared to a sweltering, all-encompassing blaze, but he didn’t move a muscle.
In their stillness, the pulse of his cock, barely perceptible while he was actively fucking her, became an insistent, ever-strengthening throb inside her. It grew and grew in power until each jolt infinitesimally shifted him within her, that subtle raised-corkscrew ridge rubbing against her inner walls in a breath-stealing, incessant caress.
“Oh.” Her mouth dropped open, and she clutched his shoulders for dear life. “Oh.”
He dropped his head, and his lips clung sweetly to hers. Nuzzled and sipped and drank down her breathless noises of pleasure as that steady throb coaxed her exhausted body into renewed desire.
“Do you want to come again?” he rasped raggedly against her mouth.
“I…oh, gods.” She was squirming against him now, ridingthe pulse inside her, even though it couldn’t lead anywhere. “I want to, but I don’t think I can.”
He made a noncommittal humming noise. Then his entire body tensed and flexed, and the throb of his cock intensified even more, until each jolt felt like getting fucked from the inside out. He wasn’t kissing her now, just panting mouth to mouth as she clawed at his shoulders, fisted his horns, and bit her lip in a vain attempt to muffle her moans.
Then, without warning, he clapped his palm over her mouth again. In a violent, convulsive movement, he suddenly arched back, his face stretched taut in a grimace of ecstatic pleasure as he finally let go of his control and orgasmed within her.
As he came, the pulsing rhythm of his dick turned faster and even more insistent, and—
His come. Fuck, she could feel it spilling within her with each throb. Heat lapping at her from the inside, filling her, spreading between them in a slick wash of fire over her quivering vulva and stiff clit as she rocked desperately on his dick, and the sensation abruptly shoved her over the precipice into another climax.
She actually screamed against his palm, overcome by shocked pleasure. His other hand clutched at her ass and ground her against him, and the direct, physical friction against her clit had her sobbing as her body spasmed endlessly around his still-throbbing, still-spurting cock planted deep inside her.
Her cheeks were wet with tears by the time she was done coming. His unsteady thumbs wiped away the wetness as he kissed her and whispered to her about how much pleasure she’d given him, how pretty she was, how long he’d fantasized about having her in his arms this way. She huddled against him, trembling and stunned and come-drunk, and soaked up all the openaffection in his gravelly voice. She was too tired to kiss him back. Too tired to move off his dick. Too tired to even open her eyes.
And that was the last thing she remembered before morning.
—
When Gwen blinkedawake again, the fancy antique clock on the fireplace mantel indicated that it was past eight in the morning, Hugh was nowhere to be seen, and she really, really needed to pee. Something she definitely should have done last night before lapsing into orgasm-induced unconsciousness.
Hopefully that witch’s healing spell also prevented UTIs, because otherwise, she was probably screwed.
She threw on her nightgown, grabbed more of her new clothing, snuck down the thankfully empty hallway—apparently everyone was gathered in the kitchen, judging from the loud argument happening there—and took care of business, including a brief but hot shower. When she returned to the library, a stack of tissue paper–wrapped items had appeared on the sofa.
Yours to open, Gwen, read the neat, slanted print on the notecard atop the pile.
Hugh must have gotten the presents last night, on the way back from his SERC interrogation. The green tissue paper crinkled as she carefully unfolded it to reveal the first gift, which was…oh, my goodness.
She had to laugh, even as her eyes prickled.
Baby clothes. He’d given her baby clothes, diminutive and perfect and…well, startlinglybusiness casualin appearance. Miniature polished wing tips. The world’s most adorable dove-gray cable-knit cashmere sweater. Little charcoal knit pants with cuffs and what appeared to be ironed-in, impressively crisp creases in front.
How had they labeled these in the bougie baby store? The Tiny Lawyer Collection?
There were organic cotton onesies too. Curved-front bibs imported from Sweden. Sleep sacks made of silk and merino wool. And when she unwrapped the final present—covered in yellow tissue paper and obviously purchased at a different store—her heart pinched in mingled gratitude and grief. Gratitude to him. Griefforhim, because she doubted he’d ever received anything like it from his own parents.
The stuffed giraffe was maybe six inches high and patterned with gentle pastel colors. Its neck flopped over because there was nothing under the fabric that would provide stiffness or structure. Its closed eyes were sweetly stitched curves, its minuscule ears fuzzy cups.
The giraffe didn’t teach anything. Didn’t play music or rattle. Unlike the other gifts, it wasn’t even particularly fancy. But it was the softest thing she’d ever felt against her stroking fingertips. Pure comfort in stuffed animal form. An offering of tenderness, simply to bring her unborn child joy.
Her baby wasn’t biologically his. These presents were a message, though, delivered with his customary diplomacy: That fact didn’t bother him one bit.
And as she cradled that small, soft giraffe in her palm, she knew.
I want Hugh Blacke as my child’s father, and I want him as my partner.
Not because he wielded considerable political power and hobnobbed with other beings of international importance. Not because he could afford baby-size wing tips so highly polished she could’ve used them for a darn mirror. Not because he could rock smoky eyeliner and had an ass that begged for a nibble. Noteven because he’d given her the three best orgasms of her life last night, although they certainly didn’t hurt his cause.
