We stay like that for a moment, both catching our breath, her fingers threading through my hair.
Eventually, she slides down and pats my chest, heading toward the bedroom. "I'm going to take a nap now. That was exhausting."
"Which part? The shopping or the sex?"
"Yes."
I watch her go, this woman who's building my future, who lets me buy her pants, who pulls me into spontaneous kitchen sex and then announces naptime like it's nothing.
Something in my chest expands, warm and certain and almost frightening in its intensity.
This is it, I think. This is what I want, every day, for the rest of my life.
Shopping trips. Kitchen sex. Laughter and normalcy and the simple pleasure of being together.
I'm on the cusp of something perfect.
And for once, I'm not going to fuck it up.
CHAPTER 28
SLOANE
Tucker's mouthis on my neck, his hands gripping my hips as he thrusts into me from behind. We're in the kitchen, my palms flat on the cool marble island, my belly hanging heavy in front of me.
"God, Sloane," he groans. "You feel so fucking good."
I should stop doing this. Should remind him we have things to do today—I have reading for my epidemiology class, he has a team meeting later. We shouldn't be doing this again.
But then he hits that spot inside me, and I stop thinking altogether.
"Tucker—" His name comes out as a gasp. “More. Please."
“Yeah,” he promises against my shoulder. "Never stopping."
I come hard, my whole body shaking with it. He follows seconds later, his fingers digging into my hips as he spills inside me.
We stay like that for a moment, both breathing hard. Then he eases out carefully and helps me straighten up.
"You okay?" he asks, turning me to face him. His hair is disheveled, his face flushed. He looks thoroughly satisfied.
"Yeah." I lean against the island, my legs still shaky. "We really need to stop doing this."
"Do we?" He grins, completely unrepentant. "Because it’s pretty great...”
"We've had sex in every room of this apartment."
"Not every room." He counts on his fingers. "We haven't done the laundry room yet. Or the guest bathroom. Or?—"
"Tucker." But I'm smiling despite myself.
He pulls me close, mindful of my belly between us. "What's wrong with enjoying each other? The sex is incredible."
“It is,” I admit. "But that doesn't mean?—"
"Doesn't mean what?" His blue eyes search my face. We’ve been putting this conversation off for way too long. “Are we together, Sloane?” He seems so vulnerable despite being the size of a lumberjack. “Because you live here, you’re pregnant with my kids, and we fuck six times a day…we’re sort of together.”
Yes. That's exactly what I mean. But I can't seem to make myself say it.
