Pregnant With My Father-In-Law’s Baby

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Amara’s POV

My heart hammered against my ribs as I quietly gathered my wrinkled clothes from the floor. The sheets were cold, the silver-eyed Alpha was gone, and every survival instinct I had left was screaming at me to run before I got caught in whatever trap this luxurious estate represented. I was a rejected Luna with eighty dollars to my name; I didn't belong in a palace like this.

Tucking my small leather suitcase under my arm, I tiptoed out of the master bedroom, my bare feet making no sound against the polished marble hallway. I just needed to find the front door, slip out into the Italian morning, and vanish.

I made it halfway down the grand staircase before the scent hit me.

It wasn't just the dark chocolate and expensive leather from last night. Mixed into the air was the rich, intoxicating aroma of sizzling garlic, fresh rosemary, and melting butter. My culinary senses flared instantly, but before I could process it, a shadow moved at the bottom of the stairs.

I froze.

He was standing right there, completely blocking my escape route. And he was entirely shirtless.

Goddess, he looked incredibly sexy in the morning light. The golden sun streamed through the arched windows, catching the defined, chiseled ridges of his six-pack and tracing the intricate dark ink of the tattoos spilling across his broad chest. His dark hair was messy, the prominent silver-white streaks at his temples catching the light. In one hand, he held a porcelain plate piled high with perfectly fluffy eggs and artisanal toast. In the other, he held a single, deep red rose.

My mouth went completely dry. A sudden, wicked wave of heat rushed straight to my lower belly, leaving me instantly, shamelessly wet beneath the edge of my skirt. My inner wolf, Naya, stirred in the back of my mind, letting out a low, needy purr that matched the throb between my thighs.

He tilted his head, his piercing silver-gray eyes locking onto my small suitcase, then shifting up to my wide eyes. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his handsome face.

"Sneaking out so soon, piccola?" his deep baritone rumbled, dripping with amusement. "And here I thought I gave you a reason to stay for breakfast."

"I... I was just..." I stammered, my voice completely betraying me as my eyes tracked the movement of his chest muscles when he breathed.

"Save the excuses," he chuckled darkly, stepping closer until his heat completely enveloped me. He extended the hand holding the flower, brushing the soft petals gently against my flushed cheek. "I don't bite unless you ask me to. Put the bag down. Eat with me."

The command in his voice was undeniable, but it didn't feel like the suffocating weight of Michael's alpha voice. It felt like an invitation.

We sat at the sleek marble island in his state-of-the-art kitchen. As we ate, the domestic chemistry between us was electric. The flavors of the food were simple but masterfully done, and when I reached for the salt, our fingers brushed over the counter. A violent jolt of physical memory from the night before shot up my arm, making my breath hitch. He noticed, his silver eyes darkening with raw appetite as he watched me swallow.

"You're tense," he murmured, setting his fork down. "Let's wash off the hangover. Take a shower with me."

My heart pounded as he led me into the adjoining master bathroom, a massive space of steam and gray stone. The moment the glass door shut behind us and the warm water began to spray, all logic vanished. The electric pull between us was a physical force we couldn't deny.

He pulled me flat against his wet, tattooed chest under the pouring water, his large hands anchoring my waist as he lifted me effortlessly. The friction of his bare skin against mine drove me completely insane. I wrapped my legs tightly around his hips, my nails digging into his shoulders as he drove into me with a heavy, commanding rhythm that echoed off the stone walls. The steam filled my lungs, the heat turning everything into a breathless, euphoric blur.

I was right on the edge, the tension building into a wild, shattering peak, my head thrown back as the orgasm began to rip through my body.

BZZZZ. BZZZZ. BZZZZ.

The sudden, violent vibration echoed sharply against the marble counters outside the shower.

BZZZZ. BZZZZ. BZZZZ.

Through the frosted glass, my phone—which I had left in my discarded pile of clothes—was lighting up the dark room, vibrating relentlessly. The screen flashed over and over, breaking the illusion of my sanctuary with a name I could never forget.

Michael.

The buzzing didn't stop. It vibrated against the stone counter, a persistent, toxic reminder of the world I had just run away from.

Raymond’s movements slowed against me. The absolute control he had over his body was terrifying; one second he was driving me to the brink of insanity, and the next, he went entirely still inside me. His broad shoulders braced against the marble wall of the shower, his grip on my thighs tightening just enough to pin me in place beneath the rushing water.

He tilted his head toward the frosted glass, his silver eyes narrowing as the phone buzzed for a third time.

"Won't you pick that up?" he asked, his deep baritone dropping an octave, completely stripped of its earlier warmth.

I choked out a breathless, desperate laugh, my hands still clinging to his wet, tattooed shoulders. I didn't want to think about America. I didn't want to think about the crypt.

"Just ignore it," I whispered, my voice trembling as I tried to press my hips back against his, begging for the friction to return. "I'm sure it's just my husband."

The word husband left my lips before I could filter it.

Instantly, the heat in the shower evaporated. Raymond’s p***s stroke stopped completely. He didn't pull out, but he froze, hard and unyielding inside me, his entire body turning to solid marble. The dark chocolate scent radiating off his skin suddenly sharpened, bleeding into a dominant, suffocating pressure that filled the entire steam-filled room.

He didn't look angry. He looked entirely re-calibrated.

Slowly, his silver-gray eyes snapped back to mine, cutting through the haze of my pleasure with a lethal, piercing intensity that made my inner wolf throw flat her ears in submission.

"Husband?" Raymond echoed softly, his voice dangerously calm over the sound of the rushing water. He leaned in closer, his jaw clenching as he stared directly into my soul. "Tell me, piccola... do you have a mate?"