Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition by Heidi Rice Read Free Book Online Page B

wall. ‘Put your legs round my waist.’
    She did as he demanded, gasping at the thick intrusion as he eased inside her. She moaned, any discomfort masked by the brutal swell of pleasure.
    He grunted, then began to move—a gentle rocking of his hips that took him deeper still. She panted, distressed, as she felt herself losing control again—too fast, too hard.
    Again her inexperienced body rebelled and her muscles clenched. The discomfort increased alongside the pleasure. He stilled, lodged inside her. ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘I’m sorry—I can’t help it,’ she said.
    ‘It’s okay,’ he crooned. ‘It feels incredible. But you’re so tight. I don’t want to hurt you.’ He adjusted her weight, his hand easing between them. ‘Let’s try this,’ he said, and his fingers probed. The lightning touch made her cry out as her muscles released in an unstoppable rush.
    He grasped her hips, began to thrust again, rocking against the exposed nub and going so deep she felt overwhelmed by the stunning sensations. She heard herself sob as pure pleasure exploded along her nerve-endingsand she hurtled into oblivion. Her cries matched his muffled shout as he followed her.
    ‘Damn.’ He groaned as he collapsed against her, sounding as stunned as she felt.
    He let her down carefully. She wobbled as her feet touched the floor, and he gripped her arms to steady her.
    ‘Wow.’ She gave a breathy sigh, all her inhibitions lost in the intoxicating cocktail of passion and excitement frothing inside her. ‘So that’s what all the fuss is about.’
    He lifted his head. His lips quirked in the half-light. ‘You didn’t know?’ he asked.
    She beamed at him as she pulled her dress up, watched him adjust his own clothing. She supposed she ought to feel awkward—daft, even—but the euphoria flowing through her brain made it impossible. He’d given her something she’d thought she would never have, and she was overcome by the need to tell him how much it meant to her.
    ‘Just so you know, you’re the first bloke to pass the Meg Ryan Test,’ she said, flinging her arms round his neck. ‘I ought to give you a medal.’
    ‘I’ll take it,’ he said, his hands settling on her bottom, dragging her close. ‘But what’s the Meg Ryan Test?’
    She drew back, giggled at his blank look. ‘You know? When Harry Met Sally ? Meg Ryan? Billy Crystal? Classic chick-flick? She fakes an orgasm in a deli. The Meg Ryan Test is when a woman doesn’t have to…’ She paused, the direct look he was giving her making heat surge into her cheeks. ‘Because you know the male ego can be very fragile, and before I always used to…to pretend to…’ She babbled to a halt. Okay, now she felt ridiculously gauche. Why had she started this conversation anyway?
    ‘I understand.’ He smiled, the crinkles round his eyesmaking her heart fly into her throat. ‘I’m afraid my chickflick knowledge is sadly lacking.’ He held her face in warm palms, skimmed his thumbs over her cheekbones. ‘But I’m honoured you didn’t need to fake your orgasms with me.’ The kiss he placed on her lips was a beguiling whisper of tenderness and affection.
    She pressed her forehead to his. ‘You better watch out, you know,’ she murmured, aware she was grinning like an idiot again. ‘I’m in danger of falling madly in love with you.’
    The minute she said the words she knew she’d made a mistake. He tensed, the teasing, good-humoured light dying in his eyes. He pulled her arms down from around his neck, stroked the inside of her elbow. ‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom?’
    She blinked, trying not to let the sudden change in tone and topic dampen her mood. How weird. For a moment there he’d looked guilty.
    ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘It’s down the hallway.’ She pointed the way, forcing down uneasiness. ‘I’ll hunt up that coffee I promised you.’
    He gave her a cursory nod. ‘Great.’
    She stared after him as he walked away—his tall