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The moment he sits up, I start to panic again. I try to close my legs, but his hands on my thighs stop me. “Ty…”
“You.” He trails his fingers between my legs, under my panties, stroking me until I can’t recall why I was trying to close them. “Are. Perfect.”
“I had a baby.”
“And I love you.”
God, this boy... “Love you, too,” I whisper.
Then, before I gather my wits, he pulls out another trick: he sits back on his heels and drags his shirt over his head, hijacking my thought processes once more.
His pendant, the Tree of Life that I gave him when I was fifteen and that he has never taken off since then, swings over his chest. A wall of rippling muscles, tight abs, and all that ink over the scars, dragons and eagles and skulls, and that word… the word carved in his chest by his own father.
Bastard.
I hate it. And I love it. It’s part of him, and it shaped his life, made him feel like a lesser man when he’s the best man I know.
That and the other, long scar on his abdomen changed him—but they also made him into the man I have in front of me now and I wouldn’t change a single thing about him. He’s got a will of steel and a heart of gold, and okay… that iron bar between his legs is also fascinating.
Yeah, I’m staring at his cock again. I lick my lips, and it bobs as if greeting me.
“Keep looking at my dick like that,” he drawls as he pulls off my panties, “and it will be back inside you before you know it, plan or no plan.”
I moan in response, because I want it. I want him to put it back inside me and fuck me again, hard. Mark me, brand me. Own me.
There’s no question of using a condom. I thought about it earlier, but no. I need him bare inside me, and if despite the pill we make another baby, I’m okay with it. I love our babies.
I love him.
That feeling, so simple and so deep, overwhelms me as he reaches for me again. He leans over to kiss me, and I grip his face, his sharp jaw in my hands, and pour everything I feel into that kiss until we’re both panting.
“Holy shit, girl.” He reaches up to stroke my face, his dark eyes soft. “Stop distracting me. I’m on a mission here.”
“You don’t need—”
He buries his face between my legs, and my mind goes blank as he licks at me and sucks on my clit. I fall back on the bed, spreading my legs wider, forgetting my fears as he works me expertly with his tongue and lips and… fingers? Yes. His fingers sink into me, stroking, pumping in and out, sending bolts of heat into my core. He moans against the most sensitive parts of me and I cry out, burying my fingers in his soft hair, pushing him lower.
He obliges, using his tongue together with his fingers, licking, jabbing, rubbing, until the pressure breaks and my hips lift off the bed as I come again—embarrassingly fast for the second time tonight, and I’m too far gone to care.
Wow. How did I go for months without this?
Then again, the pleasure he gives me catches me by surprise every time. The smug look he sends my way as he lifts his head is cute.
Payback time. I want to go down on him, too, use everything I’ve learned over these past two years with him to make him lose control.
If only I can move my limbs again… My body is so heavy. My legs tremble as he lowers them to the bed and sits up, his hair tousled, falling in his eyes. He shoves it back and his gaze darkens.
I know that look. The look that says he’s about to jump my bones and give it to me like he always does, like I like it—hard and fast until the bed shakes and the headboard leaves a dent in the wall.
But I’m finally moving, fighting the heaviness of my body. I sit up, too, and slide my arms around him. “Let me.”
“No, girl, I’m the one who’s gonna—”
“I also want to give you pleasure,” I inform him and push on his solid chest.
“You are. Every day.”
“Right now. Tonight. Just lie back and let me touch you.”
