And, like every morning for the past week, Titus groans, one hand gripping my hip as he rocks against me. Teasing me with a taste of what I want.
But instead of tugging down both our pants and shoving his way into my very willing body, Titus’s hand at my hip shifts, sliding into the waistband of my pajamas. He slicks his fingers along my eager flesh and I spread my legs, sucking in a breath as he finds the hard bead of my clit and teases against it.
It feels fucking amazing. Just like when he plops me onto his desk and makes a meal of me instead of consuming the actual meal I’ve brought him.
The man doesn’t hesitate to get me off. Frequently and eagerly. I’ve even managed to get my hands—and mouth—on him a few times. But not once has he tried to fuck me.
And I’m starting to develop a complex about it.
When his long fingers sink into me, I whimper. Because it just isn’t enough. I want him filling me. Buried inside my body as deep as he can go. Pounding me through the available surface of his choosing. Couch. Bed. Counter.
I.
Don’t.
Care.
I just want all of him.
When he pulls his fingers free and brings them back to my clit, they’re so wet, each pass of his touch makes an obscenely sexy sound. It makes me think of what it will sound like when I finally figure out how to get Titus over whatever hump’s stopping him from taking all I’m willing to give.
And that’s more than enough to have me coming, thighs clenching at his hand as I convulse against him. My ears are still ringing when Titus presses a kiss to the spot just beneath my ear and rolls away, sliding off the bed before slipping into the bathroom. I flop onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling only partially satisfied by the orgasm still rippling through my limbs.
I don’t know how it’s happening, but pregnancy has got me acting like a dog in heat. To be fair, it could just be Titus that has me feeling desperately needy. The man is so freaking fine. Handsome, kind, caring, attentive. He always puts me first. Worries about my well-being and safety to an extent I might think was unhealthy if I didn’t know his past.
And I think that might be exactly why he’s not dicking me down. Fear. I thought maybe he was waiting to make sure everything was okay with me and Peanut. That once I had my doctor’s appointment, it would be green lights all the way.
Nope.
Not where penetration is concerned anyway. And I don’t know how to get him past it.
With a sigh, I roll off the bed, padding to my rooms where I take a quick shower and dress in my favorite pair of stretchy pants and matching top, tucking the drapey knit into the front of the drawstring waistband. After sweeping my hair into a messy bun, I make my way downstairs and find Titus already in the kitchen, making me tea and toast.
“I’m the one who’s supposed to be making you breakfast.” I give him a smile so he knows I’m teasing. “If your mom shows up and catches you cooking for me, she’s not going to be happy.”
“You’d be shocked at what makes my mother happy.” Titus shoots me a smirk. “She’s a complicated woman.”
I slide into one of the seats at the counter, watching him work, my gaze zeroing in on the hands that have quickly learned exactly how to touch me. How to make me feel better than I’ve ever felt.
It’s just another reason I’m so desperate for more from him. I can only imagine how good it will be.
But his last comment manages to pull my horny mind out of the gutter, dragging it to a spot way less appealing.
“What do you think she’s going to think when she finds out…” I trail off because I’m not sure what I’m most worried about Deidre discovering—my pregnancy or whatever it is that’s happening between me and her son. I can’t imagine either would thrill her, but both together?
Her reaction is probably not going to be great to say the least.
Titus slides the tea and toast in front of me. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks.”
Oh, but it does.
Rounding the counter, Titus uses one finger under my chin to tip my head back. He leans in, lips brushing mine in a soft kiss that melts my insides. He’s so freaking gentle and tender and careful. Probably more reasons he hasn’t railed me through the mattress.
“Eat your breakfast.” He picks up the cup of coffee he made himself. “I’m going to send some emails and then I’ll come check on you.”
He’s going to check on me because I’m past the point most people’s morning sickness subsides, and still barfing on a regular basis. Still struggling to keep down more than just tea and toast. Still getting dizzy sometimes. And since Titus watches me like a hawk, he doesn’t miss a single episode.
I’ve tried out all the suggestions the doctor gave me. As hopeful as I was, none of them really helped. That’s left me trying to make the most of every nausea-free moment I get. Luckily, it seems like I’m having more of them each day, and it’s making it easier to think about what’s coming.
