“If fighting’s where we have to take this, I’m not above it.” My shoulders lifted in a casual shrug.
“Fightin’ with our clothes on or off?”
His words had my cheeks flaming. Had me shifting on the cushion as my core heated and my pussy pulsed.
What the fuck was he doing?
“Beckham—”
He brought the bottle to his lips but didn’t throw it back. “I’m only joking, Park. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” He drank.
“I’m not wearing any.”
Water flew, a cough sputtering from his lips as he choked. “Jesus, Parker.”
I cocked my head, fighting my smile. “What?”
“Warn a guy next time. Could’ve fucking killed me.”
I shoved off the couch, holding my shoulders back a little more to pop my breasts out. I wasn’t sure why I did it—my growing chest didn’t need more attention than it was already calling. Then I walked past him, heading down the hall.
“I still get cold at night,” I called over my shoulder, quiet enough not to wake Avery.
A sigh sounded from the living room before a muttered, “Of course, you do.”
Teasing Beckham was fun.
Felt a little like old times.
A little dangerous, too.
I opted for a silky tank top and my underwear. The bottoms were no different than how I typically slept, and Beckham was well aware of that with our history of sleepovers. The top, however, was a luxury I rarely indulged in. Matching pajama sets were expensive, so I chose old T-shirts and no pants most nights. But tonight was about riding the edge.
My nipples were perky and hard, my breasts larger than ever before with the pregnancy. And as the door opened and Beckham appeared, he noticed.
“Fucking hell, Parker.” He scrubbed a hand down his mouth and shifted his gaze to the floor.
I pulled the covers back and crawled in on the far side of the bed. “What?”
“You want to attend another funeral this week? Because that’s the path we’re heading down.”
With my back to the pillows, I pulled the comforter right below my ribs. “It’s just like old times.”
His eyes darkened. “Old timeswas me ripping those panties off you and fucking you all damn night.”
I nearly let out a squeal at the sudden boldness of his statement.
His focus darted to my cheeks that were surely the shade of a cherry before moving to my mouth.
“Stop biting your lip,” he demanded.
My teeth quickly popped off it. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it.
He was quiet as he scanned the bed. The floor. The entire room, like there was somewhere for him to hide.
“If this is going to work without us touching, there need to be rules,” he said.
“Who said anything about us not touching?” I asked innocently.
