"It's...firm," I finish lamely. I don't know what else to say.
"It has to be, to protect Peanut. Wild, right?" She keeps her hand on mine, running it in a small circle. Mischievous glint in her eyes, she asks, "You don't have a breeding kink, do you, Hugo?"
Shock sends my head back an inch. "I don't know what that means exactly, but I can use context clues. The answer is no."
She chuckles. "I'm not one hundred percent certain, either. I was just wondering if a pregnant belly is, like, athingfor you."
My hand stills under hers. "Uh, no." Then I realize how I've said it, and now I'm doubling back to fix what I said. "It's not athingfor me, but it's notnota thing, either." Fuck. I've bungled this whole conversation. So I sigh, grab a metaphorical shovel, and dig myself even deeper. "It's more the person the belly is attached to. I mean?—"
Mallory's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. "You can quit while you're behind."
I slip my hand out from under hers. That's enough belly fondling for today.
Mallory tips her face up to the sun with eyes closed, propping herself up with a hand flat behind her. Her other hand absentmindedly strokes her belly.
The sun dapples her skin, presses into her shiny, dark hair. That suede skirt rides up, showing more of her toned thighs. She mentioned my gym earlier, maybe I should learn some exercises safe for her and Peanut. We can work out together. Already I can picture her on my treadmill, ponytail swinging, face flushed.
"You know, Hugo," she says, eyes still closed, "nobody has ever done something this nice for me unless they wanted to get in my pants." Her eyes open, gaze slicing to me.
I'm not sure what to say. After the breeding kink debacle, my mouth is better off closed. But I can't deny or hide the shade of crimson flashing over my neck. I remember every second of what she felt like in my arms in my kitchen in the middle of the night, and every night I've thought of her. What it would be like to hold her again. Hear those tiny little moans of hers. Make them louder.
Mallory shakes out her hair, gives me the fuckin' cutest look I've ever seen. "Are you trying to get into my pants, Hugo?"
My breath comes quicker. There's an easy answer to this question, but it's not simple. Within that answer are many other thoughts, emotions, considerations. And I should probably say no, though that would be a lie.
Mallory grins lightly. Teasing. She's playful. Flirting. I think I know what she wants my answer to be.
My fingers find her ankle, fall over her skin. Lightly I stroke with my fingers, run circles with my thumb. She swallows, and I know she's trying to appear unaffected.
"I'm not trying to get in yourpants." My light touch travels north, up her calf. Behind her knee.
Her breath hitches.
"This skirt, though? That's a different story." My touch climbs. "I don't need in. Only"—I glance at her, my fingers hovering at the hem of the fabric—"under."
Mallory's tongue slips out, presses against the center of her top lip. A pink flush sweeps over her cheeks. "Yes," she whispers.
Over soft skin my fingers travel, blazing a trail up the inside of her thigh. The heat coming off her warms my hand, makes me hungry for her.
"Lie back," I tell her. I want her comfortable, enjoying my touch. She lowers herself, and I lay out beside her. Her lips are pouty and perfect, and I capture them in a searing kiss. Like last time, it's unbelievable how good it feels. How right.
I find the silk edge of her underwear, my touch slipping beneath. She arches into me, rubbing her hand over my neck. My fingers split her, locating my target, and she gasps when I slide inside. Against her neck, I whisper, "I brought you out here to show you my favorite place, because I knew you would find it special, too. And this?" I curl my finger. Add my thumb and turn circles. "This is because I've spent too much time thinking about yourlittle moans, and how good they would sound if they were louder, and for me."
On cue, she groans. More emphatic than in my kitchen. I kiss her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders. She hangs on and whimpers, nails dragging through my hair.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur. "Always, but especially like this."
She grows slicker, hotter, and then she clenches around me, eyes closing and head tipping back. "Hugo," she moans my name, and it sounds better than when my name was announced during the medal ceremony at the Olympics.
My lips press to the hollow of her throat, not letting up, making sure she's squeezed every drop from her orgasm. When I pull away and find her eyes, her cheeks are bright red.
"I wasn't expecting that," she says. "I...I don't know what to say."
I'm adjusting her skirt, gathering myself and my thoughts. Then I press a kiss to her forehead, because I have found that I like doing that. I don't think I've ever done that before.
"I like you, Mallory, and I'm tired of pretending I don't, or that I shouldn't." Honesty is best, right? I have no interest in playing games with this woman.
"I feel the same, Hugo." Her chest still heaves as her heart rate slows, her eyes glassy with post-pleasure glow. "I have since the first time we spoke. But—"she falters, glancing with concern at her stomach. "Does this not bother you?"
