His eyes, dark and hooded, were focused wholly on me.
He and I took one look at each other, and it was as if we couldn’t stop the gravitational pull.
He took two long steps toward me at the same time I took three much smaller ones toward him, and then we were in each other’s arms.
He lifted me up, walked back inside, and slammed the door closed behind himself.
Then he was kissing me like he’d forgotten he needed me in his arms to breathe.
I kissed him back just as fiercely, my fingers doing a deep dive into his hair to hold his head in place so he couldn’t pull away.
He groaned into my mouth as his fingers got to work on my tights.
They were the only thing that fit anymore thanks to my growing midsection.
I didn’t look pregnant yet, but I did look thick around the middle.
However, as I dropped my legs to allow him to yank my leggings off, being pregnant was the last thing on my mind.
There was only him and me.
His mouth on mine.
His scent in my lungs.
My hands in his hair.
His hard cock pressed against my weeping center.
And then he was where I always wanted him to be, deep inside of me, practically touching my soul.
“You feel so good,” his deep, guttural voice crooned against my lips. “Why can’t I breathe without you?”
A question I’d been asking myself since I’d met him.
I didn’t, however, answer him.
Because answering him would do neither one of us any good.
We both knew this would lead to the same place that everything else led.
Heartache was our constant companion.
Love was never our problem.
It was everyone else’s interference.
He pulled out and pushed back inside, filling me deeply with each thrust.
Our breaths intermingled as he stayed close, unable to stand even that small amount of distance when we were in each other’s orbit.
“Faster,” I begged when he kept his slow pace.
He knew what he was doing.
He knew how to play my body like a fiddle.
He knew where to push. When to pull. Knew when to slow down. What touch would drive me insane.
