“More tots?” I press, leaning closer.
Another shake of her head. “Luke?—”
“Tell me, Hazel.” My lips brush her ear and she shivers. “Tell me what you want.”
She gives a soft growl of frustration as her body moves toward me like magnets to steel. “Goddammit, Luke.”
“No swearing in the nursery, remember?” I scoop some damp hair off the back of her neck, teasing the nape with a finger. She’s sweaty and flushed, and I don’t think it’s just from the heat. “Tell me what you want, Hazel. Anything, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”
Her pupils flare again. “Don’t call me baby.”
“Tell me,” I breathe, wetting my lips. “Just say what you want and I’ll make sure you get it.”
Her soft little growl catches me off guard. So does her hand whipping up to capture back of my head. She’s pulling me toward her, dragging my mouth down to hers. Her kiss tastes like salt and desire with a sprinkling of spice.
The softness of her lips, the sweep of her tongue in my mouth, feel both familiar and foreign. She’s fiery and sweet, aggressive and yielding, pulsing with so much sensation I’m dizzy.
Her hands find their way into my hair, tugging and clawing as she climbs up to straddle my lap. She’s grinding against me, making soft little moans in the back of her throat. I feel her wet heat seeping into the front of my jeans. My body wants nothing more than to sink deep inside her, but one functioning brain cell forces me to break the kiss.
“Hazel,” I pant, fingertips teasing the hem of her tank top. “I don’t want you to regret this like you did before.”
She blinks as the tip of her tongue wets her lips. “I don’t regret the other time, either.”
“You don’t?”
“Do you?”
“No.” That’s an easy one. I let my palm skim up her side, the heel of my hand bumping over bare ribs. She’s so fucking soft it’s insane. “I don’t regret a damn thing.”
“Luke,” she pants, in between kisses. “Need you so badly.”
I promised to give her whatever she wants. But something twists in my chest, reminding me Hazel just does this when she’s having a bad day. Taking advantage feels wrong, even though everything else feels so right. Her fingertips raking my shoulders, her hot, liquid core grinding into me over my jeans.
My last firing brain cell insists that I ask. “Do you need me because I’m here and I’m handy or you need me because I’m…” Because I’m what? “Because I’m me.”
Blinking, she clutches my shoulders. She leans back to look in my eyes. “Do you want to know the last time I had sex?”
“Uh—”
“I mean before you fucked me in the foyer.”
I bite back the urge to remind her of the no-swearing rule. This feels too heavy for humor. “When?”
“More than two years,” she says softly. “And it’s not like I didn’t have options for no-strings flings.”
“I can imagine.” I’ve seen how every man’s eyes follow her down the street. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” she says, kissing her way down the column of my throat. “I want you, specifically. It’s crazy and reckless, but goddamn it, Luke—nobody’s ever made me this hot.”
“Guh,” I manage as she crawls down my body, untangling her legs as her lips graze my abs. She’s unhooking my fly and there goes that last functioning brain cell.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, breaking the rules as I roll her lithe body back into the carpet.
“God, yes.” Her legs fall apart as she draws me between them. “Fucking sounds perfect.”
And with those breathless words, every last rule flies out the window.
Chapter 9
