Page 38 of Pregnancy Clause in Their Paper Marriage

Christos skimmed his hands down the sides of her belly and then tugged her underwear down, his fingers leaving trails of fire wherever they brushed her skin. Something between a gasp and a shudder escaped Lana as she kicked her underwear aside and Christos pressed his mouth to the centre of her, anchoring her with his hands on her hips, lavishing her with tender love and attention in a way that felt wonderfully, agonisingly intimate. She’d never felt so exposed...or so known. It was as frightening as it was wondrous, and she knew she wouldn’t exchange it for the safe, sterile world she’d once known. Not in a million years.

A moan escaped her as her hips arched towards him and he continued his loving ministrations, knowing every slick crevice and fold of the most intimate part of her body. She felt a climax building inside her, like a tidal wave poised to crash over her, pull her into its sensuous, swirling undertow, and something in her instinctively resisted it, because she wanted to share this moment with Christos, and yet as he continued, his mouth moving over her with tender insistence, she knew she couldn’t.

The pleasure was too intense, too wonderful, and Christos too determined. She drove her fingers through his hair, her hips pushing against his mouth as a jagged cry escaped her and her body went liquid.

She sagged against the wall, held up only by Christos’s hands, her own still fisted in his hair. She was reeling with the aftershocks of her climax when he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to their bed. Lana lay sprawled on it, still dazed, her lips swollen, her body flooded with both pleasure and desire.

Christos stood at the foot of the bed, his face flushed, his eyes glittering and his breath coming fast. He stripped off quickly, tossing his clothes aside with an urgent carelessness, before he joined her on the bed, stretching on top of her, braced on his forearms.

She tried to look him in the eye, but he buried his face in her shoulder as he entered her in one smooth, fluid stroke. Lana wrapped her arms around him, her legs around his waist as she accepted him fully, pulling him more deeply inside her, offering him everything she had to give.

And he received it, clutching her to him as they moved in union, stroke after stroke, the most intimate language ever spoken, needing no words.

When his climax came, hers immediately following, Lana knew she had never felt so entirely united with another person, as one flesh, one mind, one heart. She held him to her, her body still wrapped around his, their bodies shuddering in the aftermath. She wanted to say something, but she was afraid to break the spell that had wrapped around them like a bubble, as fragile as glass.

And the words that hovered on her lips felt too precious and sacred to say, to offer, when she wasn’t at all sure what Christos’s response would be.

And yet she felt them, burning inside her, needing to be said, and knowing the truth of them with a certainty that both shocked and settled her, because she wasn’t afraid. Not any more. No matter what happened.

I love you.

She mouthed the words silently as she held Christos in her arms and felt them reverberate through every fibre of her being.

I love you, Christos. I love you.

Lana closed her eyes and smiled as she held the man who held her heart without even knowing he did.

Christos sat slumped in a chair on the little balcony terrace outside the living room. Below him the street was quiet, the city having finally fallen asleep...unlike him.

Lana had fallen into a doze after their lovemaking, without either of them saying a word, and while she’d slept, curled up on her side, he’d slipped away, pouring himself a generous measure of whisky and bringing it out here, to the dark night, hoping the peace and quiet, the air soft and sultry, would help settle his mind.

He’d been out here an hour and, so far, it wasn’t working. He didn’t know how he felt, or, at least, he didn’t want to think too much about how he felt—and yet at the same time it was consuming him.

Kristina telling him that Lana adored him. The knowledge that these last few months had been the sweetest he’d ever known, and yet he still wanted more. The fear—the terror—that if he told Lana the truth about himself and his failures, she would leave him in a heartbeat. The even greater fear that he would disappoint her or their baby, let them down the way he had so many others.

It was too much to feel. He closed his eyes as he tossed back a burning swallow of whisky.

‘Can’t sleep?’

Lana’s soft voice had Christos tensing in his seat. How had he not heard her come to the doorway? He glanced behind him and saw her standing there like a lovely apparition, swathed in a dressing gown of cream silk, her strawberry-blonde hair tumbled in silken waves about her shoulders.

‘No,’ he said briefly, and she slipped through the doorway and perched on the chair opposite him. They’d enjoyed many meals out on this terrace, casual conversations, easy laughter.

This wasn’t any of those. Already, before she’d said a word, he was bracing himself, knowing what was coming next.

‘Talk to me, Christos,’ Lana said softly.

He knew, of course, what she meant, and he wasn’t going to be so pathetic as to prevaricate or pretend he didn’t. He’d always been determined, right from the beginning, to be honest, to be fair, to be kind. He just hadn’t realised how hard it would become.

Christos gazed into the amber depths of his glass. ‘What do you want me to tell you?’ he asked heavily.

‘What you’re thinking right now would be a good start.’

A sigh escaped him, and he raked a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t even know, Lana, and that’s the truth of it.’

‘Why was it so hard to go home?’ she asked. ‘And why do you go home so rarely?’

‘Because it’s so hard.’