11. Isabelle

Chapter 11

Isabelle

My head is spinning, and not only because I was hanging upside down for the brief trip from his office to this limo. I don't know how to tell Mack that I can't, that we can't, that it's not that I don't want to, but?—

And before I can formulate the perfect response, he scoops me off the soft leather seat and sets me firmly on his lap, my back to his front, my ass right on top of his erection.

He spreads my knees wide, hooking them on either side of his thick thighs, and then, with a satisfied purr in my ear, he settles his hands on my legs.

"This is better, isn't it?"

I squirm.

His fingers inch up, pushing under the hem of my skirt.

"Tell me you don't want me to pull your dress up, little one." His whole chest heaves as he teases his fingertips higher.

I clamp my hands down on my lap, over his questing touch. "I don't," I manage to get out. "Please don't pull my dress up."

As it is, even under the flowy white fabric, I'm afraid he'll see the slight curve of my thickened waist and the start of my pregnant belly.

He presses his face into my hair, which is good. I don't want him looking down.

But I also don't want him to let me go.

I hate how good it feels to be in his lap, to have him touching me again…but I can't deny that I love it. That I crave it.

"Can I touch you under your dress, then? Our secret. Nobody needs to know. When we get where we are going, you can go back to hating me, little one. But I need to touch you now."

I need it, too. I whimper and nod, and his fingers push all the way up under my dress to my underwear. His fingers are thick and blunt against the elastic around the leg hole, and then the damp cotton is yanked aside and his fingers are there , against me, rubbing through an embarrassing amount of wet slick.

"Fuck," he rasps. "Have you been rubbing this pussy for me while I was gone?"

I nod, panting.

"Good girl," he whispers. "How many fingers did it take to feel like me?"

All of them. And it still wasn't enough. "Nothing feels like you," I admit, squirming against his touch. "Need you inside me."

He swears again. "Told myself I'd only touch you."

He lifts me with ease and quickly unzips his fly, then settles me down again, this time right against his bare cock. It's bigger than I remember, hot and veiny and hard. He doesn't do anything with it, just goes back to playing with my pussy, and his cock is right there, close by, waiting.

Does he think I'll beg him to put it in me? That I'll lose my mind like last time?

Is he even thinking about the consequence of what could happen if he takes me bare?

The consequence I'm carrying in my belly right now?

And heaven help me, but that only makes me wetter.

"What did you just think about?" Mack's grip on my upper thigh tightens and his fingers push deeper into my pussy. "God damn it, Isabelle, I love how responsive you are. How electric your little body is. Tell me what makes you this slick?"

"You aren't wearing a condom," I whisper. "Are you going to take me bare?"

His cock twitches against the inside of my leg. "Fuck."

I whine.

He exhales in my ear, then tilts my hips and fists his cock, bringing his seed-slickened crown to my entrance. "You don't think I should put on a condom?"

My breath hitches. "Do you have one?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He curses again, and the guttural noise gets under my skin. He knows how wrong it is to take this risk with his assistant.

This is why he stayed away all this time.

But he didn't know it was too late. The mistake was already made, and he could have been inside me the whole time.

"Mr. Emerson," I whisper. I strain to push myself onto his cock, but the angle—and my inexperience—prevent me from getting very far.

"Not here. Not like this." But he leaves me wedged on his tip as he resumes playing with my clit.

So yes, here. Yes, like this.

My brain goes fuzzy as pleasure rolls through my torso and out along my limbs. I've missed this. He gave me one brief taste of how incredible human connection could be, and then he ripped it away because it was too complicated.

But there's nothing complicated about how right it feels to be stretched out on his lap, stuffed full of his cock, my clit being strummed in the most perfect of ways.

This is all I will ever want.

But I can only have this once more, most likely, before he finds out what I've kept from him—and then there's no going back.

My belly is going to get bigger. I'm going to give birth. I'm going to be a mother.

Never again will I be the innocent girl who walked into Mack Emerson's towering office building and fell in love with a ferocious giant who couldn't love me back.

"We're almost there, little one," Mack says, his voice low and rough. "If you want to be filled with my seed for this meeting, come on my cock."

Seed.

That one word sends me straight to the edge. My back arches and I reach back, winding my arms around Mack's neck.

"That's it, my messy baby. I've missed you so, so much. Ride my cock and come on my hand."

My release crashes through me and he flexes beneath and behind me, reacting physically to my trembling, my new tightness.

He growls and grunts, still pressing his fingers against my clit as his cock pulses, jetting his release into my body for the second time.

"Ah, Isabelle." He heaves a sigh. "I shouldn't have done that. Couldn't help it, though."

I close my eyes, still shaking from the aftershocks of my orgasm. Not ready to be rejected again.

He doesn't go straight to that inevitable conclusion, though. He just holds me against him, his erection softening but still lodged in my entrance.

When he finally slips out, I curl up, pulling my legs together to hold his gift inside me. He turns me on his lap and wraps his arms around me, tucking my head against his chest.

I can hear his heartbeat thudding heavily against my cheek. It's so loud, I don't notice the limo coming to a stop.

"We're here," he rumbles.

I startle, but he keeps me pinned against him, wrapped up in a tight ball.

He exhales roughly. "Isabelle…"

Here it comes. The rejection. The let down. The explanation that once again, it was a mistake to almost fuck me.

"I wasn't sure how to do this," he continues.

"Stop," I whisper.

I wrench myself free of his grasp and push off of his lap.

He watches me scurry to the other seat.

I try to ignore how wet I am between my legs. That's not just me. That's both of us, mingled together.

And now we have a meeting. Oh my God.

"It's fine," I manage to say. "Whatever it is you're going to say…but maybe it can wait until after we get through…" I gesture at the window without looking outside. "This."

"This?" His thick eyebrows lift.

I frown. "Whatever it is we're doing here. Whatever you suddenly needed me at your side for, after three months of ignoring me. Because let me tell you, Mr. Emerson?—"

"Mack," he interjects.

I ignore that, my heart squeezing. "It won't be so easy to ignore me for the next three months."

And definitely not for the three after that, but that's getting us dangerously close to having to talk about those consequences.

After the meeting.

I flick a glance at his wet cock, long and thick and veiny. No wonder that thing can't fit inside me properly. It's massive.

My thighs tremble all over again as my body remembers how good he feels, though.

"Better zip up," I say lightly. "Meeting time."

The second his hands are busy with his fly, I move to the door, pushing it open.

But as soon as I stumble out of the limo, I come to a confused halt, because instead of another glittering office tower soaring into the sky, we're parked in front of a three-story brick building in the middle of the original downtown, a historic neighborhood with a lot of foot traffic.

The front windows on the ground floor are decorated with bunting and temporary grease marker letters happily announce that the store is opening soon.

Heart in my throat, I lift my head. An elegant sign is hanging above the entrance. Bright Books, it says, which is so, so strange, because that's my last name.