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“I’m pregnant,” she says, breathless. “Everything is sensitive. Congratulations on medical school.”

I smile against her mouth. “Still mouthy.”

“Still bossy.”

I slide my hand higher, and the next thing she says breaks apart halfway through.

I kiss down her neck, taking my time because she’s right: everything in her responds faster tonight. Her body is warmer than I expect, softer under my hands, and when I palm her breast through her dress, she tips her head back and grips the counter behind her. I watch her face as I touch her, because Maggie tries to hide everything until her body refuses to cooperate. Her eyes fall shut when I find her nipple through the fabric, and the little sound that leaves her is nothing like the controlled woman who sat across from me at dinner.

I want more of that.

I pull the top of her dress down enough to bare her breasts, and for one second I just look at her. Not because I’m hesitating. Because she’s flushed and breathing hard on her own kitchen counter, hair loose around her face, mouth swollen from mine, and the sight of her like this does something to my chest before it reaches my cock.

“Dalton,” she says, and this time my name has an edge. Impatient.

So I stop looking and put my mouth on her.

Her breast fills my hand, heavy and warm, her nipple tightening against my tongue as I suck her into my mouth. She gasps, and her fingers close in my hair. I roll the other nipple between my fingers, not gently enough to be polite, and she jerks against me.

She grabs my hair. “Oh my God.”

I lift my head just enough to look at her. “Sensitive?”

She glares down at me, flushed and breathless. “No, Dalton. I always react like a Victorian woman seeing an ankle.”

I almost smile. “Breast tenderness is common this early.”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you medically explaining my nipples to me while your mouth is on one?”

“Yes.”

“That is so disturbing.”

“It’s also accurate.”

“I swear to God, if you say progesterone right now⁠—”

“Estrogen too.”

She stares at me. I put my mouth back on her before she can answer, and whatever insult she was about to give me turns into a broken little sound instead.

And this time when I draw her nipple into my mouth, I use my teeth just enough to make her hips move. She swears under her breath, and I feel the pressure of her thighs tighten around me. I could take her here like this, pushed up on the counter with her dress around her waist and her hands braced behind her, but she’s already trembling, already too close to something, and I want to feel her come against my mouth first.

I go to my knees.

Maggie’s breath catches. For once, she has no clever response ready.

I push her dress higher, open her thighs with my hands, and kiss the inside of one knee, then higher, taking my time because I can feel the fight leaving her in small increments. Her body knows what she wants even when her mouth wants to argue. By the time I reach her panties, she’s gripping the counter so hard her knuckles have gone pale.

I spread my hand over her thigh and feel how much she’s already trembling.

“You’re very responsive tonight,” I say.

She looks down at me, breathing hard. “That better not be your doctor voice.”

“It’s an observation.”

“Dalton.”