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“I’m hormonal.”
“You mean, you’re using our unborn child as an excuse for your horniness?”
I scoff at that framing, but I’m smiling. I’musuallysmiling around Kit. Sometimes, I have to remind myself to stop. “Fine. It’s notjustpregnancy hormones. That’s how I wound up pregnant, remember?”
“Yeah, I sure do.” This time, the innuendo is absolutely there.
The heat in his gaze is burning through all the oxygen in this room. No matter how fast I breathe, my lungs can’t seem to pull enough air in.
“It’s not January yet,” I murmur.
But I’m already compiling excuses in my head. I handed in my resignation. We’ve worked together for months, successfully, after having sex. And we’re not at work. We’re a state away, and it’s the weekend.
I can feel the tension radiating off his body, but Kit doesn’t move. He’s waiting. Letting me be the one to make the decision.
I’m home, in the house I grew up in, and Kit is still the place I’m drawn to. He’s become my safe harbor.
I lift my feet off the floor and slide them under me, then shift my knees so they’re on either side of his hips. When mine lower, a startled gasp leaves my mouth.
“Pleasetell me your parents are deep sleepers,” Kit says somberly.
I grin as I grind against his erection. “Not exactly. My dad leaves the kitchen light on because he sometimes wants water in the middle of the night. And my mom has been known to get up and read sometimes.”
He groans, low and tortured, as I lean forward. My bump presses against the ridges of his bunched abs.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper, tilting my head so I can trace the taut line of his jaw with my tongue. “He’s a scientist. He knows you can’t knock me up twice.”
“You’re going to fucking kill me,” Kit mutters. “Orgetme killed.”
And then his hand is in my hair, tugging my mouth down until it’scovered by his.
With one kiss, Kit seizes control. His tongue coaxes my lips apart, invading my mouth with purpose and skill. His hands angle my head to the precise position he wants.
One second, he’s stroking my tongue. The next, he’s pulling my lower lip between his teeth and biting gently. My overstimulated body can barely keep up, most of my brain busy processing that this is really happening.
It feels right, letting him lead. Kit said I didn’t trust him during our latest fight, but he was wrong. I hope he knows how wrong he was, that my pliancy in his arms is making it obvious. It’s never been like this with anyone else. This blissful and consuming and safe.
Kit’s seen me cry and yell and panic. I’ve seen him stressed and embarrassed and uncertain.
And there’s something so reassuring about knowing someone has witnessed moments you wish they hadn’t and is acting like you’re more essential than oxygen anyway. There’s a beautiful comfort in experiencing an easy moment with the same person who stayed during a hard one.
My knees spread wider, my pelvis connecting more solidly with his. I’m sosensitive; it doesn’t matter that his cock is under layers of fabric. This is the most action I’ve gotten in months, and my body is primed and desperate for any form of relief.
His hands slide up my rib cage, cupping my boobs, which arealsoextremely sensitive. I arch into his touch, moaning as his thumbs rub the aching points of my nipples.
“Don’t make me gag you,” Kit says in a tone that I think is meant to discourage me from making noise but really has the opposite effect.
“You’re not into exhibitionism?” I tease.
Of the two of us, I never would have guessed Kit would be the more reserved one.
He shifts so his mouth is right by my ear. “Not in my future in-laws’ house.”
My breath catches, and we’re so close that there’s no chance Kit didn’t hear it.
“Did I freak you out?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say honestly. I’m not exactly thinking straight right now.