“You love it,” she insists, scrolling through options. “I saw you getting all invested in that cake challenge last time.”
“That asshole deserved to go home. His fondant work was shit.”
She laughs, the sound hitting me right in the chest. “See? You're practically a pastry expert now.”
The show starts up, but I'm barely paying attention. I'm too busy watching her. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear, how her lips purse when she sips her coffee, the slight furrow between her brows when she concentrates.
“You're staring,” she says without looking at me.
“Can't help it.” I don't bother denying it. “You're fucking gorgeous.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks. After everything we've done together, I can still make her blush with a simple compliment. It's fucking addictive.
“Smooth talker.” She sets her coffee down and shifts closer, tucking herself against my side whereshe fits perfectly.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her tighter against me. Her hair smells like my shampoo, but somehow better. Everything is better on her.
“I see you eyeing that tree, Kingston. It stays up until after New Year's Day. Those are the rules,” she says with that stubborn tilt to her chin I've come to fucking love. “Besides, it looks good in your apartment.”
“Our apartment,” I correct her without thinking.
Her eyes widen slightly, those full lips parting in surprise. “Our apartment?”
I don't back down. “You've spent every night here for the past week. Your shit is in my closet. You even brought over that ridiculous fucking throw pillow.” I nod toward the sparkly monstrosity she insisted would brighten up the space.
“And that makes it our apartment?” There's something careful in her voice, like she's testing the waters.
“Yeah,” I say, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It does.”
Her smile is slow and sweet, warming me better than the coffee. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good. Because I'm not planning on letting you go anywhere else.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the flush spreading across her cheeks. “You're so fucking possessive.”
“You love it.” I take a sip of my coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug.
“I do love it,” she admits, taking another sip while eyeing me over the rim of her mug.
She lowers the mug slightly, those full lips curving into what looks like a casual smile, but I know better. “I stopped taking birth control the other day.”
My body goes completely still. I set my mug down on the coffee table, slow and deliberate, making sure I don't spill a fucking drop while my heart hammers against my ribs. Without a word, I turn and grab her hips, lifting her effortlessly to straddle my lap.
Her thighs bracket mine as she settles her weight on me, her eyes never leaving mine.
“You planning to tell me that before or after I put a baby in you?” My voice comes out rougher than I intended, raw with want.
She smirks, running her hands up my chest. “Just figured I'd let you know.”
I surge forward, capturing her mouth in a kiss that's equal parts possession and worship. My hands grip her ass, pulling her tight against me where I'm already hardening. She tastes like sugar and coffee and everything I never knew I needed until her.
When I finally break the kiss, we're both breathing hard. “You'll be knocked up before the ball drops tonight, baby. That's a fucking promise.”
Her pupils dilate, her breath catching. “Prove it.”
I don't need to be told twice. My hands find the hem of her sweater, yanking it over her head in one fluid motion. She's not wearing a bra underneath, her tits spilling into my hands as I cup them.
“Fuck, you're perfect,” I mutter, my thumbs brushing over her nipples.
