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“Pregnancy increases blood flow.”

She blinks at me. “Did you just say blood flow while kneeling between my legs?”

“Yes.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“You’re also warmer.”

“Stop diagnosing my pussy.”

“I’m not diagnosing it.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m appreciating it clinically.”

She makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh if she had more air. “That is the least sexy sentence anyone has ever said to me.”

I lower my mouth to her inner thigh. “You’re still wet.”

Her head falls back against the cabinet. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“And still arguing.”

“Also unfortunately yes.”

“Good.”

“Don’t say good like that.”

I look up at her. “Like what?”

“Like you’re proud of my nervous system.”

“I was about to make a point,” I say simply.

“With your mouth?”

“Yes.”

She pauses. Then her fingers tighten in my hair. “Fine. Continue the presentation.”

She laughs then, a breathless, helpless little laugh, and I choose that moment to put my mouth on her.

The laugh dies immediately. Her whole body tightens, and her head falls back with a sound she tries to swallow and fails. She’s wet, already swollen, and so sensitive that the first slow circle of my tongue has her hips lifting toward me. I hold her in place with one hand spread across her lower stomach and the other gripping her thigh, because if she moves like that again, I will stop being patient.

She tastes like heat and salt and want, and the knowledge that she has been sitting through dinner like this, pretending she’s fine, nearly breaks what remains of my control.

I lick her slowly at first, learning what makes her breath hitch and what makes her thighs shake. When I suck her clit into my mouth, she says my name again, but this time it’s not a warning or an argument. It’s a plea she would probably deny if I asked her later.

So I don’t ask. I give her more.

Her fingers drag through my hair, tightening when I slide two fingers into her. She’s so wet they go in easily, and the sound she makes when I curl them inside her goes straight through me. My cock is hard enough to hurt, trapped against my zipper, but I ignore it. I want her first. I want her undone enough that she stops thinking about Alester, Nate, the contract, every impossible thing waiting outside this room.

I want the only thing in her head to be my mouth.

“Dalton,” she gasps.