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Every time I’ve been around Kit and his dad, their close bond has been obvious. It makes me miss mine more.
He twirls a strand of my hair around one finger, tugging gently, and I’m certain he knows what I’m thinking. But he doesn’t push. Kit made it clear what he thinks I should do about the situation, and now he’s leaving the choice up to me.
I snuggle closer, sliding my palm lower and pressing my lips to the spot where my hand just was.
“I’m not going to get any more work done on the crib tonight, am I?”
My fingertips slowly, teasingly trail back and forth along the strip of hot, firm skin right above his waistband. “Do youwantto work on the crib?” I question innocently.
Kit adjusts us with an agility I doubt I was capable of pre-pregnancy, hovering over me just high enough that his abs brush my bump. His head dips, tongue tracing the outline of my lips.
My heart beats wildly, banging against my rib cage like it’s trying to escape my chest. My hips lift, desperately seeking some friction. A frustrated whimper escapes my mouth when I don’t find any.
“Here?” he teases, mouth ghosting over mine.
“Please,” I breathe, nails digging into the bunched muscles of his back with wanton urgency.
This room is one of the few we haven’t christened yet. It’s not that Iwantto have sex on a rug next to a stack of wood. It’s that I want him so urgently that I don’t care where we are. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times we have sex. My body reacts like it’s a novelty each time.
“How do you want me?” He shifts back a few inches, giving me space to reposition.
I don’t reply right away. I’m focused on his crotch. He’s so hard that I can see the outline of his erection trying to break free from the cotton.
Warmth pools low in my pelvis, anticipating the sensation of that stiff length sliding inside of me.
“Behind,” I finally answer, moving onto my hands and knees.
The only downside of this position is that I can’t watch Kit. There’ssomething deeply erotic though, about feeling him touch me but not being able to see it. The suspense is a powerful aphrodisiac.
“This fucking view.” His deep voice is a gritty rasp as his fingers trail up the inside of my thigh.
I spread my knees wider as shivers sprint down my spine. Warm air hits wetness, making my inner muscles clench around aching emptiness.
Kit groans, and I know he can see it.
Soft fibers abrade my elbows as I lean forward, lifting my ass higher in the air.
He chuckles, but it’s not an amused sound. It’s throaty and husky and cocky. His hand moves higher, stimulating my clit and coating his palm with my arousal. He pulls away, and I hear the unmistakable sound of him stroking himself.
“Kit,” I whimper.
I’m so turned on it feels like he could blow on me and I’d unravel.
“I know, baby.”
I’ve barely registered the blunt pressure of his cock finding my entrance before he’s filling me, the stretch an immediate relief and an insatiable encouragement. I want—need—more. I can’t get enough.
Kit grunts as I spasm. “Fuck.”
Sin. That’s what his voice sounds like. Dark and intoxicating.
His hands skate up my sides, pulling my—well, his—T-shirt up. I moan loudly, arching my back as his hands cup my heavy, sensitive breasts.
“Pretty sure lame people wear underwear to bed, Monty.” He thrusts again, the slick, delicious drag an addictive drug. “And they don’t have sex on the floor when there are five beds available.”
I gasp, racing toward my release.
“Or beg to be eaten out on the piano.” His hands are exploring every inch of my body, calloused palms sliding over sensitive skin. “Or talk police out of pressing charges?—”