HAPTER NINE
Brigitte moaned as Dillon’s hands moved over her body, teasing and caressing her seemingly everywhere at once. She kissed him hungrily, letting her hands trail over his broad back, down along his spine; as apprehensive as she was and as vulnerable as she felt, there was nothing that she had wanted more, deep down, than to be in Dillon’s arms again, to feel him pressed against her.
Dillon rocked his hips and Brigitte could feel the bulge of his erection rubbing against her, the heat of him sinking through her clothes. She reached down along his back, seeking the hem of his shirt, even as Dillon nibbled playfully at her lips.
Brigitte pushed her hips down to meet his, craving more contact between their bodies—hungry for it in a way she couldn’t remember being since the first time they had sex together. She fumbled with the hem of Dillon’s shirt, but after a moment she was able to tug it up along his back, her fingers brushing along his hot, surprisingly soft skin. She hauled it over his head and threw it aside, barely breaking away from his lips as they both writhed and moved together.
Dillon tore at her blouse, pulling it up along her ribs, lifting Brigitte up off the couch enough to get it past her shoulders and over her head. Dillon cupped her breasts through the thin fabric of her bra, giving them a careful—careful—squeeze. Brigitte shivered, the tenderness of her breasts making it both pleasant and overwhelming.
Dillon tugged the fabric away and nuzzled against her breasts, his breath hot against her skin, and Brigitte moaned out, her hands tightening on his shoulders. She could feel herself becoming more and more turned on by the moment, her blood rushing through her veins, her body heating up as Dillon kissed along the column of her throat.
He nipped and nibbled, becoming gentler as he approached the mounds of her breasts. Brigitte’s breath caught in her throat as Dillon claimed first one and then the other nipple with his lips and tongue, sucking and licking carefully. Jolts of pleasure crackled through her body, seemingly straight to her already-wet pussy, making her even hotter.
Brigitte squirmed and writhed, pushing down to rub herself against the bulge at the front of Dillon’s jeans, her hands wandering over his back, tangling in his thick, soft hair as Dillon worshipped her breasts, lavishing each one in turn with so much affection and attention from his mouth that Brigitte thought she couldn’t stand it.
She panted and gasped for breath, her body tingling all over, her muscles flexing in spasms of need. “You’re—you’re going to tease me, aren’t you?” she asked with an impatient groan. Dillon chuckled against her skin, nuzzling the valley between her breasts and looking up at her with his big, dark eyes.
“You love it,” he said, nipping playfully at her cleavage. “I know you do. I can smell you getting more and more turned on, love; you can’t hide it from me.” Brigitte let out a little squeal of frustration, twisting around in his arms, perversely wanting to get away from him if Dillon wasn’t going to give her the pleasure she craved.
“You’re so mean,” Brigitte protested, her hands moving down along Dillon’s body to tug ineffectually at the waistband of his jeans. “All I want is to feel you inside of me and you’re making me wait and wait and wait for it. It’s not fair.” Dillon chuckled lowly and brought his mouth back up to hers, kissing her hungrily as he pressed his body against hers.
“I just want you to enjoy it for as long as possible,” he murmured against her lips. Brigitte felt him lifting her up, felt his fingertips brush against the skin of her back as he unhooked the clasp of her bra. She shifted under him and Dillon tugged the fabric away from her body.
Her clothes fell away bit by bit, and somehow Brigitte managed to work the fly of Dillon’s jeans open. She reached her hand into Dillon’s pants and wrapped her fingers around the hard, hot length of his cock and stroked him slowly. Dillon groaned, the sound twisted through with a growling purr, and thrust his hips into her hand. He buried his face against her neck and Brigitte moaned out as she felt his fingers brush against her slick folds. Dillon’s fingertips slipped slid along her labia until he found her clit, and in a moment they were both teasing each other, rubbing and stroking as they moved together in a tangle of limbs on the couch.
Brigitte kissed everywhere that she could reach, her free hand moving over Dillon’s body as she became more and more turned on. “Okay,” she said, panting for breath as hot and cold flashes of sensation washed through her. “Okay I admit I like it when you tease me.” Dillon chuckled lowly, purring against her throat.
“I know you love it,” he said, his voice growling ever so slightly. “Do you want more, love?”
“Of course I do!” Brigitte pushed her hips down, twisting them for the best contact with his fingers as Dillon rubbed and stroked her clit. “I want to feel you inside me.” Dillon pulled back enough to look into her eyes and smiled.
“Even after all this you still want me?” Brigitte nodded. “Say it.” Brigitte bit her bottom lip, twisting into his touch, arching up off the couch as she came closer and closer to orgasm without reaching the apex of her pleasure.
She wanted to resist the implicit command; she knew exactly what Dillon wanted her to say—but she wanted to punish him for teasing her. She slowed down the stroking of her hand, teasing the tip of his cock with her thumb, swirling around the sensitive patch. “Say it, love,” Dillon said again, his voice a growl in her ear.
After a few more moments of torture, Brigitte couldn’t hold the words back any longer. “I’m yours,” she said, the words slipping out of her lips almost against her will. “I’m yours, all yours.”
Dillon’s fingers retreated, and Brigitte cried out in frustration at the lack of contact with her pleasure center. A moment later, however, she felt him shift against her, pushing her hand away as he worked the last of his clothes down over his hips and off of his body.
She felt the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against her folds, rubbing between her inner labia, and Brigitte wrapped her legs around Dillon’s waist, her arms around his shoulders. She pulled herself up and kissed him hungrily, swallowing down the purring moan that left his throat.
Dillon thrust into her slowly, filling her up inch by inch, taking his time, and Brigitte shivered at how good he felt inside of her; how right it felt as his cock slid deeper and deeper, rubbing against her inner walls every moment.
She fell into his rhythm and they moved together, touching each other everywhere; Brigitte twisted her hips against Dillon’s, pushing down to meet his thrusts, taking him deeper and deeper. “Fuck, Dil,” she cried out, breaking away from his lips. “You feel so good. So good.”
Dillon began to pick up his pace gradually, and Brigitte found herself matching him, her hips moving seemingly with a mind of their own. Every time her breasts brushed against his chest, a jolt of sensation that was somewhere between pleasure and an ache shot through her, almost overwhelming her; but she couldn’t make herself stop or even ask Dillon to slow down.
She wanted it so much—she was so hungry for Dillon’s body against hers, for the orgasm she could feel building up inside of her—that even thinking about slowing down or stopping was impossible.
Dillon’s lips moved down, dragging along her jaw line, sliding along the column of her throat, barely brushing her collar bones before he buried his face against her breasts once more, kissing every inch of the two full mounds.
He wrapped his lips around her right nipple and carefully sucked and licked, and Brigitte cried out, her fingernails digging into the skin of his back as she arched up off of the couch towards his mouth. It felt so different from every other time he had done it—and yet the same. The sensation as so intense that Brigitte wasn’t sure she could even stand it—but she wanted more. Dillon shifted from one breast to the other and then back again as they moved together, slowing down when they both got close to climax and then speeding up.
She lost all track of time, wrapped in Dillon’s arms, responding to the sensations coursing through her. Brigitte wanted the agony of pleasure to never end and wanted it to come to a quick stop, all at the same time.
She moaned out, twisting and writhing and arching, shivering as the pleasure built up inside of her moment by moment. Brigitte could feel Dillon’s cock twitching inside of her, she could feel the tension in his body as he held back his own climax, bringing her to the edge and then backing off until she wanted to scream with a mixture of need and frustration. “Say it again,” Dillon said, his voice harsh and hoarse with control and desire.
“I’m yours,” Brigitte cried out; she didn’t even hesitate, couldn’t make herself prolong the teasing any more than she already had. She was certain that if she didn’t come soon, she might actually die.
Dillon reached down between their bodies and Brigitte shuddered as she felt his fingers sliding along her labia. He found her clit by touch, and began to stroke and rub her in counterpoint to his thrusts. Brigitte moaned out over and over again, words tumbling out of her lips without any meaning behind them—praise, pleas, things she would never remember saying after the words left her mouth—as every moment brought her closer and closer to orgasm.
In what seemed like mere heartbeats, she could feel her entire body tensing, feel her muscles flexing in a sharp, sudden spasm, and then wave after wave of pleasure washed through her body, driving out all thought of everything except for how good she felt.
She was only dimly aware of the fact that Dillon continued to thrust into her hard and fast, his fingers working her pleasure center steadily as her orgasm intensified. Brigitte all but blacked out as sensations coursed through her, kissing every patch of skin that her lips landed against, moaning out and crying out in pleasure. She barely felt Dillon’s cock twitching inside of her, barely realized that he was on the verge of his own orgasm.
Just as her spasms of pleasure were beginning to abate, she felt the sticky-slick gush of his orgasm, heard the coughing, growling roar of pleasure that ripped through his throat as Dillon came, buried deep inside of her. Brigitte came back to herself slowly, not even certain she could say with any accuracy how long she had been away. She could feel the soreness in her breasts still, but the zinging, buzzing hum of pleasure dancing through her nerves made it impossible for her to care about anything as trivial as tenderness in a part of her body that wasn’t injured.
She opened her eyes and realized that she was still on the couch, that Dillon had her cradled in his arms. “That was so intense I think you made me have to take a nap,” she said, yawning. Dillon chuckled.
“Well, you’re pregnant, so you’re more apt to get tired.” Brigitte paused for a moment; and then the news he had given her filtered through her mind and memories once more and she remembered everything that had happened since she had woken up that morning.
Dillon looked at her, askance. “Don’t tell me I fucked you so thoroughly you forgot that?” Brigitte blushed and buried her face against his chest, unwilling to quite admit it, embarrassed that it was true.
“I’m tired, leave me alone,” she said, her voice muffled against his skin. “Besides, I’ve decided that all of this is your fault anyway.” Dillon’s chest shook from the force of his laugh.
“My fault, is it?” Brigitte nodded. “Explain that one to me.”
“You’re the one who knocked me up,” she said, shifting against his body. She peeked up from her hiding position and saw the amusement in Dillon’s eyes. Brigitte pouted, exaggerating the expression as much as she could.
“And you weren’t involved at all?” Dillon raised a dark eyebrow. Brigitte chuckled, unable to help herself.
“I was on the pill! You could’ve used a condom.”
“One,” Dillon said, holding up one finger inches away from her face, “we both know that it feels much, much better without a condom. Two, you’re my mate and unless you have an STD you haven’t told me about, I don’t see a point. Three…” Brigitte didn’t let him finish. She slithered up along his body and claimed his lips with her own, kissing him to forestall hearing whatever his third point was.
Dillon’s hands moved over her body slowly; not the way they had when he was bringing her to a fever pitch, but in a soothing, lingering, loving caress. Brigitte broke away from his lips after a long moment, shifting down to lay her head against his chest once more. “I know you keep saying that nothing has to change between us,” she said slowly. “But I think that’s bullshit.” Dillon took a breath and Brigitte risked a look up into his face.
“I think you’re right,” Dillon said, cupping the curve of her skull with one hand. “Things are different between us, and I can’t make that not be a fact. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something, or not do something.” Brigitte shrugged.
“Right now I have to eat, and I have to get you to get me off again,” she said, grinning at him. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—admit, just yet, how much the idea of her impending motherhood weighed on her.
It all made so much sense when Dillon told her that the new scent he’d caught on her was pregnancy pheromones; it explained the sudden illness, the fatigue, the tenderness in her breasts, everything she had been feeling for the past few days.
“I can definitely manage that,” Dillon said with a wry smile. He pressed her body close to his, holding her tighter for a moment. “But for just a couple of minutes more can we stay like this? You look so sweet, love.”
Brigitte subsided against Dillon’s body, breathing in the musk and clove scent of his skin, she wasn’t urgently hungry yet. Oh god, she thought, the realization cutting through her brain like a cold jab, I’m going to have to take maternity leave, and I’m going to have to tell everyone in the office that I’m pregnant. She had been so wrapped up in the immediate concerns of how her condition would affect Dillon’s prospects in the Pride, and in reacting to the news itself, that the larger complications hadn’t even occurred to her until just then.
It wasn’t even just the fact of the uproar it would cause at work; there were so many things in her life that would have to change, thanks to the tiny human who was already starting to develop inside of her body. She wouldn’t be able to go out late at night, she wouldn’t be able to drink coffee for the next nine months, she would have to be careful about what she ate, and for the next eighteen or more years of her life, she would have someone who depended on her, needed her. And even then, when it’s an adult, it’ll still need me. I’m going to be responsible for this boy or girl for the rest of my life. Brigitte shivered. She hadn’t even been ready for a commitment with Dillon, not really. Now she was not only committing to Dillon, but also to another human being, who she would have to nurture and protect.
Brigitte wished that she could fall back into the doze that her orgasm had swept her up in; she didn’t want to be awake and thinking about everything that was happening in her life—happening so quickly she couldn’t even quite adjust to one thing before another one appeared. She wished that she could sleep through the entire rest of her pregnancy and never have to truly deal with it until the baby was born. But Brigitte knew that she was being ridiculous; and more to the point, that she was being selfish. She had to face the facts of the situation.
She had to deal with the very real prospect of being a mother and—in essence if not in name—a wife, when she had only been interested in a fling with a hot and wild guy. Dillon was certainly a hot and wild guy; but the fling she had signed up for was becoming so much more, so quickly. Brigitte nuzzled against Dillon’s chest and breathed in his scent, wishing that it could wash away every last misgiving that crowded in her brain.