"There it is," he says softly. "The sound that’s been driving me insane."
His hand slips under the hem of my shirt, palm hot against the bare skin of my waist. He slides higher, fingers spreading over my ribs, careful but greedy.
“Your skin’s warmer these days,” he murmurs. "Different."
"I'm pregnant," I say, as if he doesn’t know.
"I noticed.” His hand glides higher still, cupping my breast over my bra. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep my hands to myself inthat exam room?"
"Pretty sure that's illegal," I squeak out.
"That's the only reason you still had clothes on."
He flicks his thumb over my nipple and I arch, a gasp breaking free.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're so responsive. I barely touch you and your whole body listens."
"Donovan—"
He captures my mouth again, swallowing whatever protest I was about to fake as his other hand drags my hips to the edge of the stool, bringing my core flush against the hard line pressing behind his fly.
I feel him instantly, the thick press of him, and my entire body answers its unspoken question.
Before I can process, his hands are on my waist, lifting me off the stool.
By the time he sets me on the island, stepping between my knees, my hands are locking around his neck.
The marble is cool against my thighs. And Donovan? He’s hot everywhere my hands can touch.
"This okay?" he asks, breath rough, eyes searching mine even as his fingers toy with the waistband of my jeans.
"Yes." My voice is shaky but sure.
"Good." He nods once. "Now spread your legs for me, sweetheart."
The way he says it—command wrapped in endearment—sends a sharp bolt of heat straight through me, and I obey, knees sliding wider, denim pulling tight.
He watches the movement like a man watching markets spike. Focused. A little feral.
"That's it," he murmurs. "God, you're irresistible when you listen."
I roll my eyes on instinct. "You have a serious praise kink."
"And you have a serious attitude problem. Fortunately, I know exactly how to handle it."
His hand cups me over my jeans, pressure right where I want it, and I gasp,hips jerking.
"Already wet for me, aren’t you?" His voice drops to a rough whisper. "You get like this every time I talk to you like I own your orgasms?"
"Donovan," I hiss, scandalized and turned on in ways that should break every obscenity law that ever existed.
"What?" His thumb pressing circles over my denim, just enough to make coherent thought difficult. "Too honest? Or do you like the idea of me knowing exactly what you sound when you come on my cock?"
A helpless moan slips out, and his gray eyes darken further.
He makes quick work of my jeans, popping the button, dragging the zipper down, and I lift my hips instinctively, letting him peel them off, along with my underwear, leaving me bare from the waist down on his pristine marble.
He inhales slowly, gaze locking between my thighs. "Christ, Emma."
