Page 133 of Everything But Mine

I nod, cupping his jaw in response. “I want to come around your cock with you on your knees, and me on all fours. I want to watch every expression of yours in the mirror.”

With a thrust, he gives me a shaky nod. “I don’t know if that’ll work for me. It’s loaded.” His cock drives in again as he whispers. “But I want to⁠—”

I peck his lips. “We make each other feel good. No expectation, right?”

After a deeper stroke, he nods, then pulls away. Once he’s helped me sit up, he tugs my shirt over my head, and we kiss now that we’re both naked.

Holding my hands, he eases me toward the center of the bed, facing the mirror. Before I can lower my forearms to the mattress, Eric shoves a pillow beneath them so I can rest my face against it, too. He grabs the smallest pillow and brings it closer—to the side of us.

While caressing my breasts, he checks the pillow and the angle of my legs. I catch the movement of his body in the reflection. He’s as hard as he was, a trickle of precum dripping down his shaft. He’s completely into this. I am, too. My mind is far more focused on the hollow ache between my thighs, on the ink on Eric’s skin that marks him as mine.

Then Eric rises onto his knees, settles behind me, hips aligned with me, meeting my eyes in the mirror.

For one sharp second, it’s exactly what I remember.

Him behind a woman. On his knees. Desire clouding his eyes.

This isn’t the Eric from then, though.

There’s more than desire in his face. His eyes are wide, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that has nothing to do with lust alone. There’s a shine in them that feels almost like devotion. His hand settles against my right cheek, the touch so tentative it carries its own kind of anticipation.

Nothing about this is mindless or frantic. Every move Eric makes is deliberate, threaded with the need to rewrite something we both know can never be rewritten.

“You good, baby?”

I nod against the pillow, never looking away from his burning gaze reflected in front of me. “You?”

“I really want to do this.” Without breaking eye contact, he trails his index finger up and down my spine. “I really want to show you something.”

“Fuck me,” I mouth.

He leans over himself until he drops a kiss on my right ass cheek, tongue darting out before raising back on his knees. Then, digging his hand into my left hip, he lines himself up and slides in slowly until his thigh flushes against my skin.

My lips form an ‘O’ with the depth of his penetration.

“Is it too much?” He grits out behind me, eyes trained on my face.

“You go really deep this way.”

“One second.” He pushes his knees between my legs and thrusts from a lower angle. I moan with his next stroke, the skin on my back prickling into goose bumps.

“Fuck. Fuck.” His grip on my hips tightens as he hooks his other under my belly, dragging my back against him to meet him thrust for thrust.

“Look at me.”

His eyes shoot open, and when I bite my lips in pleasure, a crimson blush travels up his chest, and loses his pace. His hipbone slaps against my asscheeks, skin rippling between us when he bottoms out. I whimper, pleasure dancing with soreness, when his head hits so deep.

“Hold on,” he mutters, and without slipping out grabs the small pillow by his knee and places it right below where our bodies meet. “Slide back with me.”

I move back when he thrusts forward, and the pressure makes my eyes roll, only able to keep them halfway open. It’s all bliss now—no trace of anything else.

“Better?”

His next stroke drags right against my G-spot, and I can only nod.

“What did you do?” I whimper.

“The pillow makes sure I don’t go as deep.” As he speaks, his hand snakes lower down my swollen belly, until he finds my clit. “Your cervix is sensitive in the third trimester. I don’t—Fuck.” The curse becomes something between a moan and a hiss.