Her Swedish Billionaire's Baby(36)
“She won’t like this. She’ll fight me every step.”
Dr. Lee grinned, the first real emotion that had flickered across his face so far. “She seems hard-headed. I wouldn’t enjoy crossing her.” His grin faded and was replaced with a calculating look. Bjorn sat up, hairs on the back raised. He could see that the doctor was determined, of a sudden, and he was not the cause.
“Man to Man, Mr. Fredriksen, I’m not a fan of imposing rules on mates. Not as a matter of routine, of course. But I would advise that you consider it, strongly.” He sat back down suddenly, forearms on thighs, and leaned into Bjorn’s space.
“She will die, and the baby too, if she’s allowed to continue on this way. It’s your responsibility to avoid that.” Bjorn nodded his full agreement, knew Dr. Lee recognized and accepted the response, because his shoulders sagged, and he relaxed minutely.
“The Clinic will provide nursing staff to the address you indicated when you filled out your paperwork. They’ll be by to set up everything needed for IV therapy.” The doctor seemed thoughtful, examined Bjorn’s protective crouch over Samara’s prone body. “I don’t foresee you having many issues.”
Bjorn rose, gave Lee a brief smile; he was a kind man, for all his personal advice and attention to details. The doctor walked him out, spared a wistful smile for Samara. “She’s a beautiful woman, Mr. Fredriksen. You’ll have very good looking babies.” He paused, laying a hand on Bjorn’s shoulder. “Once the baby is getting food again, it’ll perk up more. It is suffering from just as much fatigue as its mother, only it will become worse quicker, for it. It doesn’t have a lot of ways to combat this. Apart from decimating its mother.”
As Bjorn buckled Samara into her seat, resting her head delicately against the window, he wondered if there wasn’t some capricious God out there that needed Samara dead for his own endgame.
Bjorn carried Samara upstairs, to her bedroom, and Samara remained undisturbed, only moving to shudder once, and whisper Bjorn’s name. Bjorn had Samara enthroned in her bed, body tangled solely in Bjorn’s green over shirt. Samara was a bit warm upon the return, and Bjorn wrestled her out of her underwear, smiling cheekily as he imagined Samara’s response, were she awake.
‘M’not a cheap whore, Bjorn.’
He kissed Samara four times on her head and left, striding purposefully to his car and called to ask when Alison thought she would be home.
Chapter 9
Samara clenched blazing fingers around the backs of her upper thighs, stab wounds in soft flesh. Her legs were curved up and pressed as close to her chest as possible, and Bjorn had broader palms curved over Samara’s hands, helping her with the support. Bjorn’s fingers were gently tangled in the IV hooked up to Samara’s neck, needle attached to the main blood vessel there, and she grimaced. The cloying smell of blood was washed away by the smell of Bjorn, but it still lurked, constantly.
Bjorn sliced his hot tongue through slick and grazed incisors ever so gently over Samara’s spasming hole. Samara curved one hand over her belly, scent of restless baby mingling with the smell of daddy’s arousal, and Samara’s anticipation, diamond-hard shine and chocolate.
Bjorn rose from between her legs, swollen lips and self-satisfied smirk.
“What do you want, baby?”
Samara huffed angrily, struggling a little to breathe from arousal and the press of her knees to the swell of her stomach. Bjorn lifted the offending weight up, cradling her kneecaps with the kind of smile Samara didn’t want to examine too closely.
“Shut the hell up, Bjorn. You know what I want.” Gritted it out, barely, searching for scraps of dignity to clothe herself in. How Bjorn made her into this whimpering, mewling mess evaded her. She blushed, turning her head to the side so that she couldn’t see Bjorn looking at her anymore. Bjorn growled, non-threatening, but pained, and angled Samara’s face back into his line of sight.
“Don’t hide from me. I wanna see this. This is mine.”
Samara trembled, unable to hide her reaction from Bjorn. Bjorn curved his fingers around Samara’s chin, and tilted her head up for a kiss. He tangled his tongue with Samara’s and sucked, taste of Samara’s slick invading his taste buds. He could feel Samara’s teeth making teasing knicks as they did so.
“You like being mine, Samara?” he said this teasingly, pressed so close that they were breathing the same air. Bjorn tumbled forward, so that only his knees were left between Samara’s wide open legs, and her chest and head were level with Bjorn’s. Samara blinked up owlishly, face still flushed and mouth breathing in stuttered bursts.