Page 81 of Trapped
I stood, pulling her up with me. Her eyes were hazy, her body still trembling from her orgasm. I turned her around and bent her over the arm of the couch, her ass raised, presenting her perfectly for me.
I entered her in one thrust. Delilah’s fingers dug into the cushions. I set a demanding rhythm, punching my hips forward. The sounds of my cock slamming into her wet pussy filled the room, highlighted by Delilah’s moans. She was so tight, clenching me in all the right ways.
Mine. All fucking mine.
Delilah’s body tensed, her climax building again. I could feel it in the way she tightened around me. She pushed back with her hips, meeting my thrusts. She groaned.
“Come for me again,” I commanded, my voice rough. “Let me feel you.”
Delilah’s convulsed around me, crying out. I thrust into her harder, my own release barreling through me. My balls tightened, and hot jets shot into her pussy. I kept fucking her in short jerks, riding out each wave.
We collapsed onto the couch, panting. I pulled her into my arms, holding her close. I grinned, still wading in euphoria. My hand brushed her lower belly.
“One day, this is going to grow our baby.”
Delilah’s brow furrowed, but I kissed it away.
I needed to get her ready for the next round.
She had a really good chance of being pregnant. I still had three more days before the fertility window closed, and then it’d be another few weeks of waiting.
Delilah had passed out around eleven p.m. I couldn’t sleep, so I scrolled my phone for hours. Then I called her father. I sat at the rickety kitchen table as it rang once before being picked up.
“I’m surprised to hear from you,” said Mikhail.
Asshole. “I bet you are.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Delilah is the only reason you’re still breathing.”
“Is that so?” he mocked. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“You’re a snake. You sent your soldiers to Italy and risked your daughter’s life just for the chance to kill me. And for what? Because I stole her away from Dimitri?”
“Santino?”
I turned toward her.
Delilah stood at the doorway, wearing my button-up shirt. The firelight softened her figure, and she wore her hair in a messy bun, tendrils framing her face. She stepped closer, hesitating, before sitting next to me.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
The line crackled with his heavy breathing. I ended the call and put the phone down, hitching a smile.
“Yeah, babe. It’s fine.”
Delilah glanced at the phone. “Who was that?”
“Nobody important.”
She grabbed my wrist, squeezing hard. “I heard you say Mikhail.”
“Go back to bed.”
She fumed. “You talk about wanting more with me, but you don’t tell me anything real. You feed me scraps, not the whole truth.”
I toyed with a strand of her hair. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, principessa.”