Page 20 of Pregnancy Clause in Their Paper Marriage

He kept rubbing, then sliding his hands up to her ankles, back down again. Tormenting himself with this simple touch, never mind her.

Wasshe feeling it? He thought she was. Her breathing was a little uneven, her eyes still closed, a flush staining her elegant cheekbones. Every so often and she’d slide a little farther down on the sofa, her body becoming a little more open.

He decided to risk a little more, and the next time when he slid his hand from her foot to her ankle, he went a little higher, to her lower calf, her skin warm and supple beneath his questing hand. He waited again, for permission. She went still, and then her breath came out in a little shudder. Her feet relaxed in his lap, toes pushing against him in a way thatreallydidn’t help with his self-control. He adjusted his position once more, and then started sliding his hand from her calf to her ankle, and then back up again. Wrapping his fingers around her calf as the baggy cuff of her sweatpants slid up towards her knee, and then down again. And again. And again.

His groin throbbed and ached. Her skin was creamily golden, and his fingers slid against her like silk. A soft groan escaped her, and then a little laugh.

‘I just realised I haven’t even shaved,’ she told him. ‘I booked a wax for tomorrow morning.’

He laughed softly. ‘Trust me, I don’t care about that.’

She shook her head, her eyes still closed. ‘You’ve never seen me like this.’

‘I know,’ he replied softly, and slid his hand up to her knee.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LANA’SBREATHHITCHEDaudibly as she felt Christos’s hand wrap around her knee. Her whole body felt like melted butter, deliciously soft and relaxed even as an ache of longing was radiating out from her core, all the way to the tips of her toes and her fingers, gaining in strength with every passing second. She wanted him to touch her. Sheneededhim to touch her. More.

His hand stayed on her knee. Every time he’d moved it, he’d paused, silently asking for her permission, and every time she’d given it, willingly, helplessly, with a little sigh or a shudder. This time was no different. He’d moved from her foot to ankle, ankle to calf and now calf to knee, but it wasn’t enough. Silently she willed him to slide it higher. She didn’t have the courage to say the words, but, oh, how she wanted him to do it.

Touch me. Touch me.

After several agonisingly wonderful moments, he did. Just two inches up from her knee, his hand splayed against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, which quivered under his touch. Again, he waited. Lana’s blood was pulsing now, her whole body, too, with need.

Touch me.

She scooted herself a little closer to him, her bent leg like an offering, his hand still on her lower thigh. Slowly, so slowly she knew she could make him stop at any time, he slid his hand underneath her sweatpants, along the warm expanse of her thigh, his fingers spread wide, seeking. Higher and higher, each millimetre an endless, exquisite torture, until he stopped so the tips of his fingers were almost, but not quite, brushing her hipbone.

The leg he was touching was still bent, her foot in his lap, and with her breath hitching, she let her knee fall open a little, hoping he sensed the silent invitation, feeling reckless and wanton simply for that one little act.

His hand was still high on her thigh, fingers wide. Lana felt her heart thud.

Slide it upwards, she thought.A little more. Please. Please.

He didn’t move it. Instinctively she arched her hips just a little, lifting them up in invitation, unable to keep herself from it. She heard a shudder escape him, and she opened her eyes. He was staring straight at her, in a way that made heat and longing flood through her body. Colour slashed his cheekbones, and his breathing was uneven.

‘Do you want me to touch you?’ he asked in a low voice, and she nodded. ‘Tell me,’ he said, his tone turning urgent. ‘Tell me that you do.’

‘I do,’ she whispered.

‘Where?’

Her heart was racing now, her mind spinning, her whole body both aching and fizzing with a longing she knew she’d never felt before.

‘There...’she whispered, and slowly, his gaze still fastened on hers, he moved his hand from her thigh to the warm, pulsing centre of her, his hand slipping under her panties, his palm pressing against her gently, covering her completely, his gaze not straying from hers.

It felt like the most intimate thing Lana had ever experienced, to have his hand there. Her breath was coming in short pants, and she couldn’t look away from him. He continued to press his hand against her, gently, each time sending a fiery bolt of pleasure shooting through her. She wanted more, so much more, and yet she wanted him to keep doing this for ever.

Press. Press.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

‘Look at me,’ Christos said in a low thrum of a voice, and she made herself open her eyes. His own eyes were glittering, his pupils dilated, his face flushed. Slowly, he slid one fingertip to flex, poised at her entrance.

Lana gulped, her body starting to tense.

‘Okay?’ he asked, and she wondered how he knew. How had he understood how slowly she would need to go, how in control she would need to feel?