Maisey Yates - Rising Stars

“You trust me, don’t you?” she’d asked with big eyes. After so many years of waiting, sex had been a revelation. He’d been rapturous with joy. When she’d gotten pregnant, it had seemed like a miracle.

Until his father died, leaving a shocking amount of debt and creditors all suddenly clamoring to be paid. Alessandro had dropped out of Stanford, planning to get a job to support his mother, and to propose immediately to Heather, so she’d know he intended to take care of her and the baby. He’d rehearsed his speech the night he planned to propose. They’d be poor at first, he would say, but he would work full-time by day and invest every penny he could. Someday, he would promise, he’d give her the life of a princess.

He bought a cheap ring he could ill afford and made her a picnic, preparing bologna sandwiches and fruit salad to eat in the park. But things didn’t go according to plan. As he gave her the speech, Heather was silent, setting down her sandwich barely tasted. Afterward, he took her out dancing, his favorite thing to do. He was trying to show her how romantic their lives could be, even without money.

But in the middle of the first song, Heather had stopped on the dance floor. She’d looked up at him, her eyes full of tears.

“I like you, Alessandro,” she’d whispered. “I really do.

You’re lots of fun and an amazing, generous lover.” She exhaled. “But the baby’s not yours. I lied.”

“Not …” He staggered back. It felt like a physical blow. “Not mine?”

She flushed. “You kept saying you wanted us to wait for true love and all that. But I’m sorry, I couldn’t go for two long months without sex!” At his expression, her cheeks colored and she looked away. “The first night we slept together, I already knew I was pregnant.”

The loud dance music roared in his ears. His throat closed. “But why?”

“I thought you would make a good husband. A good father.” She bit her lip. “The other guy’s married. He’ll never marry me or help raise the baby. But he owns a tech firm in Cupertino. If I tell him, I know he’ll give me money.” She’d looked at Alessandro beneath the flashing lights and pulsing music. “I don’t want my baby to be poor,” she’d whispered. “I’m sorry.”

And just like that, she’d left him on the dance floor.

It was the last time Alessandro had ever gone dancing or made a fool of himself over anyone. The last time he’d fully trusted a woman.

Until Lilley.

He could have chosen not to marry her. She’d gone out of her way to make it easy for him to abandon her. She’d apparently had zero expectations of his moral character. It had astonished and angered him. Of course he wished to marry the mother of his unborn baby.

Although he hadn’t insisted on that paternity test.

A cold trickle went down his spine. He didn’t have any actual proof the baby was his. His hand felt clammy as he forked his fingers through his hair. Lilley wouldn’t lie to him, he told himself. He didn’t need a paternity test, and he wouldn’t insult her by asking for one. Lilley had been a virgin before he’d seduced her, and if she said he was the father, he was. End of story.

“Alessandro? Are you still in here?”

He turned in his swivel chair to see Lilley leaning against the door frame. Her hip was jutted out, her plump breasts overflowing the violet bikini top. His mouth felt dry as he surveyed her full, bare thighs and the hourglass curves of her body. His gaze traced down her long, curvy legs and back up to her swelling, pregnant breasts. He was hard in a millisecond.

“Still working, after all this time?” she murmured, smiling as if she had no idea what the sway of her hips did to him as she walked towards him. “Haven’t you heard the adage—all work and no play?”

His little wife had become remarkably adept at the art of seduction in the nine days they’d been married. Still smiling, she put her hand on his shoulder, rubbing his neck. “You said you’d join me on the beach an hour ago.”

He looked back at her. “I said no such thing.”

“You could be building sandcastles with me.”

“Running around, kicking the waves? Not interested.”

She shook her head, tutting her tongue. “How can you own a villa in Sardinia, and never want to play on the beach?”

“I’ll play here,” he said huskily, pulling her into his lap. “With you.”

Her eyes widened, and Alessandro felt her instant surrender, her body’s full attention. It was always like this between them. How many times had they made love since they’d wed? And yet he was still not satiated. He could not get enough of her.

Cupping her face, he pulled her mouth against his. Her lips felt so soft, so warm, and the stroke of her tongue felt like liquid fire. Her legs straddled his on the office chair, with her soft backside barely covered by the tiny bikini. The warmth between her legs pressed against the erection now straining beneath his trousers.

Kissing down her neck, he pressed his face between her large breasts, barely contained in the tiny triangles of fabric. She moaned as she moved against him, unconsciously grinding her body against him. He looked at her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her expression rapt. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his endless desire for this incredible woman.

Twining a hand in her hair, he pulled down her head and gave her a hard, deep kiss as his other hand pulled the strings on her hips. Yanking off the bottom of her bikini, he tossed it to the floor and unzipped his fly, letting himself spring free. Lilley’s eyes flew open as she realized what he intended, but it was too late.

Lifting her up, he brought her body down hard over him, impaling her in a single thrust. He groaned as he filled her so hard and deep that her body stiffened, even as she choked out a gasp of shock and pleasure.

He was deep inside her. Stretching her to the hilt. And it was good, so good. And wet. Oh God. Waves of sweet ecstasy washed over him and he closed his eyes. Lifting her a second time, he thrust again and a second, louder groan burst from his lips. But he didn’t get the chance to do it again. She picked up the pace, her breasts swaying against his face as she controlled the rhythm. He leaned forward, breathing in the scent of sunshine and salt. Pushing aside a triangle of her bikini top, he suckled a swollen, taut nipple as his other hand gripped her thigh. She let out a little cry as she arched her body, tossing back her head as she rode him hard in his office chair, going faster, faster, deeper, deeper.

The pleasure was too intense. He hadn’t taken her since last night, which seemed like forever ago. His stamina wouldn’t last. A low moan came from the back of her throat and he felt her soft breasts bounce against his mouth, felt her deep wet core sucking him further and further into ecstasy. He tried to restrain himself—to hold back the wave that threatened to burst. But he couldn’t—hold back—for much longer—

Like a miracle, he heard a soft cry from her lips, which became louder as she clutched his shoulders with her hands, her fingernails gripping into his flesh. She gave a final sharp scream and he felt her convulse and tighten all around him. Just in time. In a rush, he surrendered to the pleasure and exploded into her. Lights danced behind his eyelids as he gave a ragged gasp, groaning as he pulsed and poured himself into her.

He held her for long moments in his office chair. When she finally rose unsteadily to her feet, he stood and zipped up his fly, still feeling disoriented. She was just wearing her bikini top and only half of that, really, since she had one breast exposed. He saw her shiver with cold and pulled off his long-sleeved, button-down shirt, wrapping it tenderly around her nearly naked body.