Page 147

“I see that look,” she murmurs, eyes still focused on the drawer. “You’re trouble.”

“And you like it.” I nuzzle her neck, lips brushing the spot that makes her breath catch. “You’re smiling again.”

“So are you.”

I turn her around, back hitting the counter. Her gaze flickers to the monitor on the island, checking for movement on the baby cam.

Clear.

And just like that, her fingers are in my shirt, tugging me closer.

“I’ve got ten minutes,” she breathes.

I grin. “That’s all I need.”

Her laugh is a wicked little thing that lights me up from the inside out.

We don’t make it to the bedroom.

I lift her onto the edge of the kitchen island, one hand braced at the small of her back, the other tangled in the waistband of her leggings. She gasps when the cool granite kisses her thighs, her lips parting on instinct—and I’m already gone.

Her leggings and panties come off in one tug, like the fabric offended me. They fall to the floor in a messy heap, and my hands are already trailing up her thighs before I even register the thump of denim meeting tile.

Her breath hitches as I unzip my jeans, my fingers fumbling in that way they only do when I’m desperate and greedy and one second away from losing my goddamn mind.

Mya bites her lip, eyes glued to my hands. “Hurry,” she whispers, and there’s nothing delicate about the way she says it. It’s a command, not a plea.

“Yes, ma’am,” I murmur, half-laughing, half-dying, and shove my jeans down just enough to free myself—bare my ass to the room and the world and anyone who might walk in, not that I give a single shit.

She palms it the second it’s in reach, nails digging in just a little. “You’re a menace,” she says, voice breathless, cocky, and flushed all at once.

“And you’re wet.” I drag a finger through her slick folds, and her hips jerk.

“Shut up and fuck me.”

My head drops against her chest, a rough sound tearing from my throat. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Then die doing something you love.”

Jesus.

My hands wrap around her thighs as I yank her forward, angling her just right. The moment I push inside, the rest of the world falls away. Her fingers clutch my shoulders, mouth parting on a sound that wrecks me—and suddenly it’s not just about getting off, it’s about claiming every piece of this woman that already belongs to me.

Every sigh. Every shiver. Every breathless little moan she doesn’t realize she makes when I hit just right.

She holds onto me like she can’t remember where I end and she begins, and I kiss her like I’m trying to memorize the exact shape of her mouth.

The baby monitor blinks in the corner of my eye.

Still quiet.

I deepen the thrust.

Mya throws her head back, laughing through a moan. “We’re terrible parents.”

“We’re amazing parents,” I grunt, sliding my hand between us to circle her clit. “And we’re even better at this.”

She gasps, biting down on her knuckle to keep from screaming.