“Good?”
“You don’t know ...”what you’re doing to me.
“It would be better if you were lying down.”
My stuttering laughter sounds almost like an agreement.
“No, really.” Amusement lightens his answer, too, and all I can think is it’s a good thing he can’t see my face. “Let me ...” He moves to the side, his arm coming around me. “Just for balance,” he reassures me, his arm pressing just above my bump. “Jesus, that feels—”
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, capturing his arm with mine and holding him there.
The air around us stills, and I tighten my eyes like a toddler’s version ofIt wasn’t me.
No, no. I didn’t ask you to hold me while you keep rubbing that spot, because for some dang reason, it’s getting me off.How is that even possible? I just know that it is as my body begins to vibrate like a struck tuning fork.
Meanwhile, Matt says nothing. I can’t even hear him breathe.
Meanwhile, my breath is definitely audible as I suck in a long breath.
“Like that?” he asks, his palm returning.
I nod as he presses tighter, then rotates. I bite back my direction ofHarder, more, my fingers piercingly tight where I grip his forearm.
“I ...” I can’t make myself stop.
“It’s just tension, Ryan.”
“Hormones,” I whisper.Whore moans,it sounds in my head. God, I want to make some. “I can’t believe ...”
“You’ve never been pregnant before.”
“I’ve never felt like this. Never needed.”
Another pause, those words sinking in.
“Then . . . let me.”
The pleasure kudzu explodes, twining through me and pulling tight as thoughtless words spill from my mouth. “I sincerely hope this didn’t happen to your sister.”
He laughs, and I’m glad he does. Because that sounded so weird.
“Teacup, let me help relieve this pent-up pressure.”
I drop my head with a sigh.If he only knew how much pressure.It’s one thing for him to touch me in a nonsexual way but quite another to admit that my brain and body have twisted that touch into something else. Something that makes my insides pulse and ache as though I’m moments away from climax.
“Let me make you feel good.” Such temptation in those quiet words. Understanding, even. “It’s just a massage.”
But we both know that it’s not.
“And what happens tomorrow?” My whisper sounds almost panic filled.
“Nothing. Unless you want me to do it again.”
“Be serious, Matt.”
“Whatever you want,” he says so softly. “We can talk it out. Or pretend it never happened. Lady’s choice.”
My insides, oh, how they pulse with remembrance. “It complicates things.”
