“Bingo.” Grinning, he kisses me gently. “I can download my last test results if you want, but I’m guessing that’ll kill the mood.”
“Like this conversation hasn’t done it already?”
His eyes flash with challenge as his mouth finds my nipple, getting me groaning again.
“Okay, okay—” Christ, that feels good. “I’m clean and I trust you.”
“Yeah?” The hope in his eyes slings a dart through my heart. That’s just his desire to forego the condom, right?
“Yes.” I paw at his chest, eager to move him back between my thighs. To feel him slide hard and thick inside me. Clawing my way to his fly, I growl my frustration when he stops me.
“No way.” Gripping my wrist, he moves my hand. “You’re pregnant.”
“I’m aware.”
“I’m not making love to you on the floor.”
My heart skips a beat at his earnest expression. “I thought we were fucking.”
“Call it whatever you want. I’m not grinding the mother of my children into the carpet.” There’s that sinful grin again. “Not this time, anyway.”
This time?
I can’t think about that right now. I ought to be clear this can’t happen more than just once. We’re just scratching an itch. Indulging a momentary urge. He knows that, right?
But his tongue sweeps my nipple again, and I forget all my plans to clarify things. I forget everything except how good this feels. How I need more of him right now.
“Right here,” I beg. “Need you inside.”
“Nope.” He’s gone back to teasing, tiny tip-of-tongue strokes at my nipples. It’s somehow too much and achingly inadequate. “The mother of my children deserves better care than a fast fuck on the floor.”
Huffing a breath, I prop up on my elbows. “You know that thing you said about killing the mood? Calling me ‘the mother of my children’ pretty much just—gah!” I squeal as he gathers me into his arms, scooping me up like I weigh nothing. “What are you doing?”
“Carrying you to the goddamn bedroom so we can do this the right way.”
I cling to his neck, hating how much I love this whole caveman thing. “There’s a right and a wrong way to have a meaningless fling?”
His footsteps falter, but he doesn’t lose his grip on me. Just regains his footing and stomps toward my bedroom like he owns the place. “It’s not meaningless, Hazel.”
But it has to be. He knows that, right? “I don’t want to complicate—oh!” I gasp as he tosses me back on the bed. Not toss—he’s gentler than that. But I’m airborne for at least half a second, which is just enough time to get pissed off again. “Goddamn it, Luke. Stop flinging me around like a sack of potatoes.”
“You like it,” he growls as he prowls up my body. His teeth drag my throat, and I shiver. “Want to know why?”
“Why I like being manhandled by you?”
“Yep.” His cocky grin spreads through my limbs like warm honey. “You’re all bark and no bite, Hazel.”
Growling, I nip at his biceps, which just makes him laugh. “You work so hard at being a badass boss bitch, and you are,” he continues. “You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met, and I love that about you.” He’s kissing his way down my body as he speaks, which gives some of his words a muffled, dreamlike quality. “But inside, you’re softer than you want to admit.”
“Great.” I squeeze out the word through gritted teeth. “How about you get inside me right now and see for yourself?”
“Oh, I will.” He wedges his hips between my thighs, notching himself at my slippery cleft. He hovers there teasing, making me breathless with need. “Deep inside,” he breathes against my neck as he breaches my entrance. “You want somebody else in charge sometimes. You want someone strong enough to take the reins when you need to let go. Someone you trust to be in control when you want to lie back and give in to pleasure.”
“Luke.” I know I should argue, but my traitorous thighs wrap around him. “Yes!”
“Good girl, Haze. Let yourself go. I’ve got you.”
“Fuck.” I squeeze my eyes shut, too blissed out to say he doesn’t know me at all. This feels too damn good to fight him.
