Page 51 of Lucas

My nipples tighten, craving his mouth.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

Lucas slides his hands between us until his knuckle presses against my clitoris. He rocks his hand against me. His hands are big and strong, but he knows the exact amount of pressure. I guess he knows me inside and out, too.

I begin to rock my hips, back and forth, while his thumb toys my clit. Working in tandem, we pick up speed. I start to pant. A low noise like a growl rumbles out of him, and I know he’s close to release. I ease off, slowing down, wanting—needing—to prolong this moment.

Lucas wondered if getting engaged would somehow kill the passion between us, but it’s only intensified, the diamond on my finger giving me the kind of confidence to try new things. So much of our relationship began in secret, always having to act like we weren’t together, when in reality we could hardly stand to be apart.

It’s almost as if we’re making up for lost time now.

We leave for the office together, attend events as a unit, come home as a couple. Our engagement was prominently displayed on the social pages of worldwide media—Marnie and Liz even threw a party.

A part of me wonders whether he’ll show our baby off the same way.

I thread my fingers through Lucas’s and pin his wrists to the mattress, while my hips continue to rock back and forth. He lifts his head and takes a nipple between his teeth. A soft bite, a sweet suck, the aggressive flick of his tongue. I arch my back to give him more of me, practically begging him to devour my breasts.

He matches my movements, hip thrust for hip thrust. We know each other’s rhythm, the pressure points that will bring us each to the brink. Lucas knows the exact way to press his pelvis to my clit, and he does so now.

My control begins to unravel.

I have no willpower when it comes to this man.

Lucas lifts his hips with a powerful grunt. Our lips crash together, and I get swept up in the orgasm. Rushing waves of pleasure shake through me, and I cry out into mouth over and over as the thrusts get deeper.

I bite down on the curve of his shoulder and he jerks once. And then again. I can almost feel his climax build. He grabs my hips and guides me faster, harder, until I almost can’t breathe. His fingernails dig into my skin, and his eyes almost roll back into his head.

He finishes with a low, soft cry against me.

I flatten my chest against his. Our skin is slick with sweat, and beneath it, our heart beats pulse in tandem, as if they can somehow become one.

It’s then that it hits home—soon a third heartbeat will join in. A lazy smile curls my lip up.

* * *

Lucas emerges from the shower in a navy terry cloth robe, and settles into the bar stool at the kitchen nook. I pour him a cup of coffee, holding the pot while he swallows the first few gulps, and then refill his mug.

He wraps his palms around the cup and smiles.

My breath hitches. No matter how well I know this man, my response to him always surprises me. People say that heady rush of love fades at some point, but I can’t imagine how. Lucas can make my knees weak with a stare. That’s not something I ever want to end.

“Italian roast?” he says, lifting an eyebrow.

“Your favorite.”

He takes another sip. “But it’s too strong for you.”

I wait for him to notice that I’m not drinking coffee, but an article on the front page of the New York Times catches his eye. He skims the story, and while he’s distracted, I slide a small paper bag on the counter.

He looks up and frowns. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you.”

His eyebrow lifts, intrigued. That’s another thing I know about Lucas—he’s generous and thoughtful, and he loves to give gifts. He also likes to receive them.

“It isn’t even my birthday.” He tugs the bag closer and lifts the edge. I thought about giving him the positive pregnancy test, but that just seemed so cliché.

I put my hands on my hips. “Just open it. I promise, it doesn’t bite.”