He wraps his palms around my hips.
“I like the nightgown.”
“Yeah?” I stare up at him from under my eyelashes and ease myself into him, breasts pushing against his rock-hard muscle. “You know, seeing you all protective and then soft for our baby all in one day is a real turn-on.”
“Yeah?” He throws me a wicked grin. “What are you planning on doing about it?”
He doesn’t move. Just looks at me like he’s waiting to see how far I’ll go.
My fingers slide beneath the hem of his pants, brushing the solid wall of muscle.
“Any suggestions?” I murmur.
“Depends…” He captures my wrist in his hand. “How quiet can you be?”
He cups my jaw, and his lips whisper over mine. “Think you can keep that pretty mouth shut while I fuck you with my tongue?”
There’s heat in my cheeks and fire in my chest, but I manage to invite him to play or call his bluff with the quirk of an eyebrow.
That’s all he needs.
He drops to his knees with an intent that makes my pulse skyrocket. Like worship. Like punishment. Like I asked for this and he’s going to give it to me, slow and dirty and thorough.
The pendant light gleams off the hardwood behind him as he leans in, and his hands slide up the backs of my thighs and under my nightie. I brace one hand on the counter, the other gripping his shoulder to stay upright—barely.
He kisses the inside of my knee, my skin already trembling. His breath is hot, his mouth achingly slow to move across the sensitive skin between my legs.
His hands stay glued to my thighs, but he lifts his eyes, and he takes my nightgown in his teeth, tugging it once before saying, “Lift this.”
I do as I’m told, my fingers curling into the soft hem and dragging the cotton up over my bump, and his nostrils flare at the sight.
I don’t wear panties to bed.
I haven’t shaven, but he didn’t care last time. He took me swollen and dripping and made me feel hot for it.
He flattens his tongue and drags it from the bottom of my seam right to the top, where he takes his time, slowly circling my clit. No rush, but the perfect pressure has my knees buckling.
I clamp a hand over my mouth, back arching.
He groans low, tasting me. “You fucking smell and taste so good.”
He dives back in with long, languid strokes of the tongue; he licks and then sucks my clit between his teeth.
“Ah…” I moan.
Every look, every touch, every protective promise… This is how he keeps it.
With his mouth.
I want to cry out. I want to beg. But I can’t make a sound. Not with my mom and grandma upstairs.
And that makes it hotter.
His hands roam—palming my ass, steadying my hips—and every flick of his tongue pushes me closer to a sharp, splintering edge.
“Anton…” I whisper, already shaking.
My hand hits the counter hard, stifling the moan I can’t hold in.
