The Curvy Waitress and the Billionaire French Count (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) Read Online Free PDF

his mouth there, teasing me, bumping our lips together again and again until I started to breathe hard, and then to pant with need.
    He moved around behind me and started to kiss my neck. The tremble that went through me, the involuntary little hunch of my shoulders when he made contact, quickly turned into a warm glow.
    He leaned close to my ear. “Close your eyes,” he told me.
    I closed them. He pushed me gently forward and I walked ahead of him, guided by his hands on my shoulders. He turned me, and then I felt his hands on the hem of my t-shirt.
    I swallowed as the fabric lifted, caught on my breasts, then slipped free and came off. My underwear was simple and white, not seduction lingerie at all. But when I felt the heat of his gaze rake up and down my body, it didn’t seem to matter. I could feel how much he was enjoying the sight of me. I couldn’t understand why that would be, but I couldn’t deny it.
    I felt his fingers on the clasp of my bra. The straps cinched tighter for a second, then eased and I gasped as it came off. I could feel my breasts bob free, the skin throbbing with the sudden shock of nakedness. My hands clenched by my sides. I had to resist the impulse to open my eyes, snatch my clothes up and cover myself.
    His thumbs slid between my hips and the waistband of my panties and pushed them slowly down my ass. “E—Erard—“ I said hesitantly. “Wait. I—“
    But his head was suddenly alongside mine, his mouth pressing up against my ear. I could feel his suit brushing my naked back. “Shh,” he told me. And I went quiet.
    I felt the panties skim down my thighs and gulped as I imagined him staring right at my naked sex. He let the panties go when they reached my knees and they fell to my feet. He tugged them gently and I stepped out of them, then out of my shoes.
    And I was naked. Utterly naked, in a way I’d never been before. Not under the covers, or with the lights off, or even in the heat of sex, but standing stock still in broad daylight with a man’s gaze licking up and down my body. It was that last part, I think, that made it okay. As I stood there in the darkness of my closed lids, the heat of him looking at me pushed back the fear.
    Erard pressed his body close behind me, molding himself to me. His hands cupped my shoulders, his warmth soaking in to me. “Now,” he told me. “Open your eyes.”
    I opened them.
    I’d seen the suite when I walked in and, from how far he’d walked me, I had an inkling of where we were. But it still came as a shock to see it.
    We were standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom. Right in front of me was the thing I hated most: my reflection. I immediately tried to twist away, but his hands on my shoulders prevented me.
    “Look at yourself,” he told me. “Tell me what you see.”
    “Don’t,” I said, my voice close to breaking. I tried to turn away again, but he held me fast.
    “Then let me tell you what I see,” he said, his voice firm. “I see the curves of a goddess. Ripe and full, just as a woman should be.”
    I heard the words, but I didn’t believe them. They bounced off my brain. “Stop,” I said. Since I couldn’t twist away, I looked down at the floor.
    He cupped my chin with one hand and gently but firmly lifted my head so that I had to look at myself. “I love your neck,” he told me, planting a kiss on each side. “I love the way it flows and the way it meets your body right here,”— he kissed the spot and I jumped—“in that sensitive little place.” The French, especially with that voice, made the words flow like poetry.
    He slid his hands down to my waist and then kissed my bare shoulder. “I love your shoulders.” He kissed the very top of my spine. “I love your back.” He rested his chin on my shoulder and gazed at me in the mirror. “I love your breasts, Holly. They’re perfect. Full and soft and natural. I love the way they move when you walk. I love the way they hang when you lean