The urgent need to use the bathroom wakes me from a deep sleep. I gingerly untangle myself from the bedding, trying not to disturb Marco. While he’s not a light sleeper, he seems to be particularly attuned to me and usually senses when I’m not in bed with him.

I’m not super familiar with the layout of the suite—we’re on a private jet, flying back home after our honeymoon in Thailand—so I scoop my phone from the nightstand and click on the flashlight. Now that I’m able to see, I hurry to the en-suite bathroom and shut the door with a quiet snick. I spare a second to set my phone on the sink before taking care of my bladder business.

One of the most annoying things about pregnancy—besides the sore boobs and morning sickness, both of which have pretty much gone away—is the frequent need to pee. One of the most remarkable things about pregnancy is my insatiable need for sex. Luckily, I’m married to a man who is happy to give me exactly what I need, day or night. 

As I wash my hands, I study the background photo on my phone. It’s a selfie of me and Marco on the beach, snapped by him a couple of days ago.

His arm is wrapped around my shoulders, and my hand is securing my floppy hat to my head. Our eyes are squinty from the sun, and our mouths are stretched in big smiles.

We look blissfully happy, which is exactly what we are. I can only hope we stay that way once we get back to Alsania.

After drying my hands on a fluffy gray towel, I grab my phone. As I reach the door, I catch sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror bolted to the wall. I stop and evaluate the side profile of my body.

I’m five-and-a-half months pregnant, and my baby bump can no longer be mistaken as too much dessert or an unwise break from exercise. Over the course of my two-week honeymoon, my belly really popped. Unless I wear something voluminous or bulky, it’s visible to everyone who looks.

I know one person who looks a lot—my horny husband. If staring were an Olympic sport, he’d win the gold medal.

He likes to look, and he likes to touch. I’m a lucky girl. Very, very lucky.

I turn off the bathroom light and make my way back to bed without stubbing my toe or banging into anything. As I slide into the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets, I click off the flashlight and return my phone to the nightstand.

Once I’m settled on my back, I pull up the covers and shut my eyes. I hope I can fall asleep sooner rather than later. Insomnia has plagued me the past two nights.

Unfortunately, instead of drifting off, my brain starts buzzing like a hive of bees has taken up residence. Now that the honeymoon is over, I’m worried about returning to real life.

The problem is, I have no idea what real life will be like as Prince Marco’s wife. I know it’s going to be a lot different than when I was Cassie Lulach—single girl, schoolteacher, bug lover.

I feel a mean twinge in my lower back and roll onto my side with a loud sigh. Maybe I should buy one of those weird-looking maternity pillows. I’ve heard they make it easier for pregnant women to sleep.

I’m too far along to be able to pretend that I wasn’t knocked up when I got married and that the baby is premature. Anyone with a basic knowledge of pregnancy and the ability to count would be able to figure out that I said my vows when I was almost five months pregnant.

Marco doesn’t seem to care one bit that my pregnancy will create a scandal and probably generate a lot of criticism and hateful comments. When I mention it, he just shrugs. He thinks it’ll blow over when something more salacious happens or when one of the Kardashians looks a little bloated.

Before I accepted his marriage proposal, it crossed my mind that maybe Marco proposed because I was pregnant. When I asked him if that was why, he said: I asked you to marry me because I want to share my life with you.

I said yes for the same reason, not because I’m pregnant. I wouldn’t have married him unless I loved him ... unless I couldn’t imagine living without him.

Yes, marriage is important—to me, at least—but I believe love is far more important. While I think being a single mother isn’t ideal, being stuck in a marriage you don’t want is even worse. That’s why I wouldn’t have married the father of my baby, even if I’d been able to pick him out of a lineup.

If I’m being honest though, I’ll admit that I’m relieved I don’t have to do all this alone. I like the idea of having a partner—someone to share the responsibility and the joy.

My back is still hurting, so I roll to my other side and scoot closer to Marco. He throws off so much heat he’s like my own personal heating pad. Hopefully, it will soothe my aches and pains.

I feel him shift behind me. He drapes his arm over my hip and spreads his big hand over the lower curve of my belly, just above my bare pussy. I can feel the heat of his palm through the thin cotton of my nightgown. 

His voice comes out of the darkness, rough with sleep. “Everything okay?”

Instead of telling him about my back pain—he tends to overreact when it relates to my health—I say, “I can’t get comfortable.”

A sympathetic sound rumbles in his throat. “My poor bellezzina.”

Aligning his front against my back, he rubs concentric circles on my belly—small at first, then larger. As the minutes pass, his delicious heat soaks into my muscles, coaxing them to loosen. I sigh again, but this time it’s one of contentment. 

“Better?” he murmurs, his breath stirring my hair. 

“Um-hmm.”

“I love you.” He pats my belly gently before lifting his arm. “Go to sleep now.”

“Love you too,” I reply drowsily.

He shifts to turn onto his back, and I feel the unmistakable shape of his erection graze my butt. Just like that, I’m wide awake. The fine hairs on my body lift, as if I’ve been blasted with a spark of static electricity.

I stretch toward the lamp on the nightstand and switch it on. As the light flares to life, I roll to face my husband and meet his concerned gaze.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Flipping the covers off me, I clumsily maneuver onto my knees. “Nothing’s wrong.”

His dark brows draw together. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not sleepy,” I say.

“Do you want me to get you some warm milk?”

“No, thank you. I don’t want any warm milk.” I lift my nightgown over my head and toss it on my pillow before tugging the bedding down his body to reveal his impressive hard-on. “Though I am craving something white and creamy.”

I watch his face, waiting for him to get my meaning. When he does, his eyes widen, and his mouth forms an O. Laughter bubbles in my chest as his dumbfounded expression gives way to a sexy smile.

“You’re such a dirty girl,” he whispers. 

Nodding slowly, I say, “Only with you.”

And that’s completely true. When I’m with Marco, my need for him and my desire to please him outweigh my inhibitions and my insecurities. Sex has never been so good or felt so right.

I sweep my gaze over his strong body. Two weeks on the beach deepened his naturally gold-hued skin to burnished bronze. Under the glow of the lamp, it looks like metallic silk.

My eyes find the dark hair that swirls around his belly button and trails to a cluster of dark curls. I linger on the hard cock that thrusts upward—long and thick and crowned with a plump, dark head. I’ve seen bigger, but only in porn.

He fists it and pumps a couple of times, pulling a shiny drop of pre-cum to the tip. He swipes his thumb through the creamy liquid and holds it out to me.

“Is this what you’re craving?” he asks, his voice brushing over my skin like the softest fur.

I answer him by closing my lips around his thumb and using my tongue to gather his pre-cum. The salty, musky taste of him fills my mouth, overwhelming my senses with intense erotic flavor.

I suck his thumb clean before releasing it, and when I see that his eyes are locked on my mouth, I touch my tongue to the bow on my upper lip. Then, I lick a slow circle along the edge of my lips, like I can’t get enough of him, which is entirely true.

A groan rumbles in his chest. “So hot. I want you to suck my cock, just like that.”

I immediately bend and take him into my mouth. By now, I know how he likes it, more sucking than licking, hard pulls to start off and then soft and easy when he’s about to come. And he likes to be deep, so deep my eyes water and I can barely breathe. 

I focus on the head of his cock first, sucking so hard my cheeks cave in and then sliding my lips down the thick shaft. He grunts with each forceful draw and lifts his hips with each slide.

When little trickles of pre-cum mingle with my saliva, I know he’s close. Softening my lips, I ease up on the suction and relax the muscles of my throat so I can take him deeper.

“You like sucking me off?” He surges into my throat. “Does it make you wet?”

I hum around his cock, hoping that he’ll realize that means yes. I’m so turned on my inner thighs are slippery.

“I want to feel you ... feel how wet you are,” he rasps. “Bring your ass over here.”

I do as he asks, scooting on my knees until my butt is pointed toward the headboard. As I continue to suck his cock, he smooths his palm over one of my cheeks and dips his fingers between my slick folds.

“Fuck, Cassie.” Inches from my face, the thick muscles of his thighs turn rock-hard. “I can’t let all this go to waste.” He lightly slaps my butt cheek. “Get on your hands and knees. I want to finish inside you.”

I slide my mouth off his cock and drop to all fours, like the cat position in yoga. I crawl forward a few inches to make room for him behind me.

I hear him move and the sound of the nightstand drawer opening. Something lands on the bed near my foot, I have no idea what. Before I can look, one of his palms presses on my upper back, gently pushing my face toward the mattress and forcing my ass higher.

“Okay?” he grits out.

One thing I’ve noticed about Marco—he never assumes anything when we’re having sex. He never assumes my consent or my pleasure.

He constantly asks if I’m okay, if I like what he’s doing, if I want more. His questions not only make me feel safe and respected, they’re surprisingly sexy, especially when he gets explicit.

“Okay,” I tell him.

“More?”

“More.”

With one hand gripping my hip, he guides his cock to my entrance. As he slowly pushes into me, he groans deep in his throat, like I’m the best thing he’s ever felt. The sound triggers something inside me, and my pussy clenches around his hard-on.

A loud grunt tumbles from his mouth. “Your cunt is so fucking greedy. I love it.”

When he pulls out and pumps inside me again, I shove back against him because my cunt isn’t greedy—I am. He takes me slow and hard, going deep with every plunge.

Curving his body over mine, he brings his mouth to my ear. “Play with yourself. Rub your clit the way I do.”

Bracing my forehead on my folded arm, I skim a hand down my body until I reach my pussy. I coat the tips of two fingers with my moisture and bring them to my clit. As I rub gently, it pulses and throbs with my heartbeat.

“Is it hard?” he asks.

I flick my fingernail over the little nub. “Yes. Very.”

“Don’t stop,” he orders, his voice tight, like he’s clenching his teeth.

Marco slides his hands from my hips and uses his thumbs to part my butt cheeks. Through the roar of blood in my ears, I hear him say, “I want to touch you here. Will you let me?”

When I don’t answer right away, he removes his thumbs. “Maybe another time.”

Looking over my shoulder, I admit, “I’ve never let anyone do that.”

His gaze locks on mine. “You’ll love it. I promise.” He rocks into me with shallow thrusts. “Let me make you feel good, bellezzina.”

I’m not sure why I’m so worried. Worst-case scenario: I don’t like it, and we never do it again. Best case scenario: it rocks my world, and we do it morning, noon, and night.

Recognizing a glimmer of anticipation under the shadow of my anxiety, I exhale. If I can trust Marco with my heart, I can trust him with my asshole.

Right? Right.

“Okay.”

He goes still. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I trust you.”

He remains unmoving for several heartbeats, during which my nerves start to sizzle and my muscles pull taut. Finally, he starts to nudge his cock inside me, going deeper with each slide.

I’m startled when I feel his hand tickle over my ribs and settle over the one I have between my legs. His fingers tangle with mine, guiding mine back to my clit and massaging the nub with firm strokes.

When I’m moaning and pushing back against him, his hand disappears. A moment later I feel his fingers slip between my ass cheeks, spreading something cold and wet around my hole. Lube, I assume, although I don’t know where he got it. He must be a magician, able to make things appear and disappear with a snap of—

He slips just the tip of his finger in, and excitement ratchets up inside me, like someone turning a screw too hard. It’s a struggle for me to pull in a deep breath, and I force myself to focus on breathing in and out. I don’t want to pass out. That would be embarrassing and probably scare my hus—

Oh!

He wiggles his finger, stretching the tight ring and making it burn a little. It’s a good kind of pain, the kind that makes you feel all jangly inside.

“Are you okay, bellezzina?”

I try to answer his question, but all that comes out of my mouth is a long moan. There’s no way it could be mistaken as anything but pleasure.

“I knew you’d love this,” he says, his voice brimming with satisfaction. Though I can’t see his face, I have no doubt he looks smug, with a sexy smile pulling at his lips. 

He pushes his finger deeper, past the resisting muscle, and fills my ass. Sweet mother of God.

I can’t imagine anything feeling any better, but then he starts to move both his cock and his finger in and out of me. His pace is unhurried, steady and patient, and it’s not long before I’m shaking so hard I can barely hold myself up.

“Do you feel me?” His voice sounds like every bad idea I’ve ever had, all wrapped up in a rich baritone and tied with a bow. “I’m everywhere. Your mouth. Your cunt. Your ass.”

“Yes,” I gasp. 

“You’re close, aren’t you?” His voice is strained, as if he’s barely holding on. “I know you are. I can feel it.”

I can feel it too, like a fuse that’s been lit, burning bright and hot and fast.

“Come for me.” He plunges inside me. “Do it.” Another deep plunge. “Now, Cassie.”

He acts like I’m the one in control. But I’m not. Every part of me is his.

“Come all over my cock,” he growls.

That’s the last thing I hear. A high-pitched whine fills my ears, the sound of my inner ear cells dying, I think.

And then I stop thinking at all because I’m coming, harder than I ever have, so hard I’m screaming and sobbing into the bedsheets. It’s like a bomb detonated inside me, shattering the whole of me into tiny fragments with sharp, jagged edges.

The next thing I know, my head is resting on a fluffy pillow, and Marco is wiping a damp washcloth between my legs. He tosses it on the floor and pulls me close, until I’m half lying on him, my head tucked into his shoulder and my leg draped over his thigh.

“Think you can sleep now?” he asks.

My sleepy umph makes him laugh. I feel the vibrations of his mirth and tug lightly on his chest hair.

Flattening his hand over my fingers, he says, “I love you. Never forget that. No matter what happens.”

As I tumble into dreamland, my heart overflowing with hope for our future, I wonder why that sounds so ominous—no matter what happens...