I want to punch my father straight across the jaw, but more than that, I want to get Skye the hell out of here so we can talk.

I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams. I saw the test—she's definitely pregnant—but this was never supposed to happen.

Sure, I need an heir. I need a baby to be born in order to fulfill the requirements of the trust. And yes, one month ago, when I was fucking Skye and she turned around and begged me with those perfect, pretty lips of hers to come inside of her, I did.

I did it because I wanted to, and because what was the chance of getting her pregnant, especially since she assured me it wasn’t the right time in her cycle?

Why had I been so certain?

Because I'm the world's biggest idiot, that's why. 

But it happened.

I don't say anything else to my father. I take Skye gently by the arm and steer her toward the door, down the hallway, and into the elevator. We don't speak until we're out of the building and safely around the corner, almost to the next block.

Then I can't stop myself.

I catch her around the waist and press her up against the brick wall, kissing her hard in full daylight. Hard—too hard. I pull back a little, and Skye laughs. “What, do you think I'm suddenly made of glass?”

I don't know what to think. “Skye, this wasn't—”

“This wasn't part of the plan,” she says, and a seriousness comes to her expression. “It wasn't part of the plan at all.” Then her chin quivers. “Matthew, I—”

“Don't be sorry,” I say sharply, but I've said it too sharply, because Skye's eyes go wide. I step back from her, running my hands through my hair. “Oh, my God. I just—” I do the only thing I can think to do. I take her face in my hands and look down into those gorgeous green eyes. “Skye, don’t ever be sorry about this. I couldn't bear it if you—if you regretted it—regretted this—for an instant.”

“I don't regret it,” she says in a soft, quiet voice, but there's a strange quality that I can't quite decipher. “I'm surprised, is all. And... worried.”

“Worried about what?” I feel my very bones harden under my skin. If anything is worrying Skye, I'll fucking take care of it. It will never worry her again.

“You,” she says. There’s almost a sadness worrying the corners of her eyes, and my heart catches at the tenderness in her voice.

“Me?” I laugh out loud. “Skye, I'm the one who should be worried about you. You're pregnant with my baby—” The words stop me short, stop me in my tracks. I stare into her eyes, and it's like the world has tilted on its axis. “You're pregnant with my baby.”

“I'm pregnant with your baby,” she echoes, and the words on her tongue are too much for me. Too much by far. My cock stands at painful attention.

I have to get her home.

Now.

* * *

Skye stretches out on the bed beneath me, her body luscious and her soft, pale skin creamy to my touch. I bend my head down and take one of her nipples into my mouth, swirling my tongue around its hard center. She throws her head back into the pillow, a little moan escaping her lips.

“Oh, fuck, Matthew, fuck—” 

It took her the better part of three weeks to be able to say my name, and I can't get over the sound of it cascading off her lips.

I drive my cock harder into her molten wet core and dig my fingers into her thighs. Her legs are wrapped around my waist, inviting me in, inviting me deeper with every thrust, and she pulses around me, the hottest she's ever been.

“I want to come,” she moans.

“No.” I say the word with the full force of command behind it. “Not yet.”

“Please,” she begs, arching her back, her grip tight on the rumpled comforter. “Please, let me come.”

“I love it when you beg.”

“Please...” The sound of the word sends a bolt of pleasure straight to my cock.

“You're going to make me come,” I growl through gritted teeth. “But don't worry, sweetheart...”

I reach down between us and find her needy clit with my thumb, increasing the pressure, increasing it bit by bit until Skye explodes around me, all of her muscles clamping with the power of her orgasm, tightening so hard on my cock that it takes my breath away. At the same time, it shoves me over the cliff of my own orgasm, and I come hard inside of her, the heat of my ribbons of seed flooding her until finally I'm entirely spent. My muscles are loose and relaxed, and I collapse down onto the bed next to her. 

Skye is breathing hard, and I take her in, the sight of her a damn good thing for sore eyes. Her breasts already look fuller. Maybe it's just an illusion, but that's how it appears to me. 

She meets my eyes with a little grin, but then she frowns. 

“What is it?” I reach out and tuck a lock of her damp, dark hair behind her ear. 

“Nothing.” She brightens again, but I don't quite believe her. “Nothing could possibly be wrong.”

I take a deep breath. There are things we should talk about, but I can't bring myself to do it now. I want to see more of a rosy color in her cheeks. I want her to moan my name again.

So instead of needling her for an answer—something is wrong, and I intend to find out what it is, just not now—I guide her onto her back.

I whisper a command in her ear, and she spreads her legs wide for me.

Then I slip my fingers down to her folds and work a certain amount of magic, stroking and rubbing and fucking her with my fingers until she's trembling beneath my hands, her thighs shaking from the effort of staying spread. She comes hard, my name on her lips, my name echoing off the walls of the room, over and over again, as I give her enough pleasure to last a lifetime.

But pleasure, I think as I fall asleep an hour later, Skye already dead to the world beside me, never lasts. 

It never does.