“I noticed,” I tease, my voice already thick with need. “Pretty sure I caught you muttering in your sleep about bending me over the kitchen table.”
His eyes flash. “That was one of the places.”
Before I can laugh, he lifts me effortless, like I weigh nothing, carrying me to the bed and laying me down with a reverence that has my chest tightening. He stands back for a moment, eyes drinking me in like I’m holy.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough as his fingers slip under the hem of my shirt. “My girl. The mother of my son. And now…” He leans over me, lips brushing my ear, “mine to ruin all over again.”
My thighs clench.
He undresses me slowly, like unwrapping something precious, his eyes never leaving mine. And when I reach for hisbelt, he lets me, watching with a growl as I free him and wrap my hand around him.
“Jesus, sugar,” he groans. “You keep that up, and this is going to be over real quick.”
“Then stop talking and do something about it.”
His mouth crashes into mine again, all heat and hunger, and in one fluid motion, he’s inside me, deep, thick, stretching me in a way that makes my back arch off the bed.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, nails digging into his back.
He stills, forehead pressed to mine. “You okay?”
“Better than okay,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Now don’t you dare stop.”
He doesn’t.
Will moves like he’s got something to prove, like he’s reclaiming every second we were apart. Every roll of his hips pulls a moan from my throat, every thrust reminding me exactly who I belong to. And when we fall apart together, his name is the only thing I remember how to say.
We’re still tangled in the sheets, my legs draped over his as we catch our breath. The air is thick with sweat and satisfaction, but Will isn’t done. Not even close.
His hand trails up my thigh, slow and deliberate, until his palm settles on my hip. He shifts over me again, eyes dark and burning, but his touch is softer now.
“You still with me?” he asks, brushing a damp strand of hair from my cheek.
I nod, lips curved into a lazy smile. “Always.”
He leans in, kissing me, lips coaxing instead of claiming. And when he pulls away, his mouth traces a path down my jaw, over my throat, down the center of my chest.
I suck in a breath when his lips brush the swell of my breast.
“I missed this,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. “Missed the way you taste. The way you sound when I take my time.”
His tongue flicks across my nipple, and my back arches in response. He groans low in his throat like the sound I make fuels him.
“Will…”
“I love the way you say my name when I do this,” he whispers, sucking gently, then harder, his teeth grazing just enough to make my breath hitch.
He shifts, giving equal attention to the other side, kissing and licking slow circles while his hand palms the curve of my waist. His free hand slips between my thighs, teasing light and slow, keeping me on the edge as my milk comes in.
“You’re shaking,” he says, dragging his teet against my nipple.
“Because you’re driving me insane.”
“Good.”
Then, without warning, he slips inside me again—slow, deep, and so achingly intimate it steals the air from my lungs all while he sucks on my nipple. This time, it’s not fast or wild. It’s slow torture. He moves with purpose, like every thrust is a love letter, every kiss a vow. His mouth never leaves my skin until I’m trembling all over again.
And when we fall apart the second time, I know for certain we’ve just made our second baby together.
