Page 381 of Wicked Brutal

Her hands fist in my shirt and tug. “Off.”

“Bossy.”

“You like it.”

“I really fucking do.”

I sit back on my knees and pull the shirt over my head. Her eyes go over me like she’s allowed to stare now. No rush. No hiding it. I let her look. Then I hook a finger in the hem of her shirt and wait.

She nods.

I draw it up and off and toss it toward the crib. It catches on a rail and hangs there, stupid and perfect. Ally glances at it, then at me, and we both lose it for a second.

“Classy,” she says.

“Interior design.”

I come back down and kiss her again, deeper, my chest to hers, and the sound she makes is happy. That’s the thing that gets me. Not desperate. Happy. Like this is ours and we get to play with it.

My mouth moves to her collarbone, then lower. I cup her breast, thumb brushing, and watch her face. “Still good?”

“Very good. Don’t you dare get shy now.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

I kiss the soft swell of her, then take my time there—mouth, tongue, a little scrape of teeth—until she’s squirming on the nursery carpet and one of her hands is in my hair again.

“God,” she breathes. “You’re so pleased with yourself.”

“I have a beautiful girlfriend on the floor of a room that used to be empty.” I kiss the other side. “I’m allowed.”

“Claiming the carpet now?”

“Claiming you.” I lift my head just enough to see her. “Everywhere. Kitchen. Bedroom. Right here. Wherever the hell I want, because you’re mine and you live here and nobody gets to take you out of this house tonight.”

Her eyes go hot. “There he is.”

“He never left.” I kiss her mouth, smiling. “He just finally has time to be annoying about it.”

She pulls me back down. We kiss until we’re both breathing harder, until her legs hook around my hips and she rolls against me like a dare.

I groan into her mouth. “Tease.”

“You started it.”

“I’m going to finish it.”

“Then stop talking and put your mouth back on me.”

I do. Laughing. Kissing. Taking my time without dragging it. Two kids who get to keep the afternoon.

The cute part lasts about ten more seconds.

Then Ally yanks at my belt like it personally offended her, and I’m laughing into her mouth while I try to get her leggings down without kicking the crib. We make it worse. My elbow hits a box. A stack of onesies slumps over.

“Come here,” she says, already reaching for me.

“I am here.”