Page 153

I chuckle. “We could give Carmela a sister too.”

He turns his head. “Could?”

I look back at him, a smirk tugging at my lips. His mouth is already parted, another grape waiting there—like bait. His eyes never leave mine.

I lean forward slowly, breath brushing his lips, and bite into the grape still resting on his tongue. My teeth drag against his lower lip.

My knees slide over the mat, parting slowly as I settle my weight over his lap. His thighs are warm beneath me, hard and steady. I can feel the shift in his breathing as my robe brushes open around me, loose now, the folds parting to expose the tops of my thighs.

His hands rest at my hips, warm and wide, thumbs caressing the soft dip of my waist. There’s another grape between his lips.

I lean in again, slower this time. I take it from his mouth with mine, my lips barely grazing his, the juice bursting sweet and cool between our tongues.

It drips—sticky and lazy—down the corner of my mouth.

He catches it with his thumb. Slides it across my bottom lip. Then presses it between my teeth.

I suck his fingers softly.

His gaze darkens.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs, voice rough now.

I shift in his lap, my thighs tightening around his hips. I can feel him stiffen beneath me, thick and beginning to rise against the curve of my heat.

“I know,” I whisper. “Isn’t it fun?”

He groans softly. His hands tighten on my hips, then trail down slowly, thumbs brushing the edges of my folds, just enough to make my breath catch.

His lips brush my ear.

“Tell me what kind of ending you want,” he murmurs.

I press my forehead to his. My breath is shaky. My pulse I's in my throat.

“I don’t want an ending,” I whisper. “I want to keep starting over. With you.”

His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. His mouth stays on mine as I settle deeper into his lap, our lips moving in a slow, wet rhythm. The kiss is unhurried but full of tension—like we’re both holding back something bigger.

His hands glide beneath the robe, palms cupping my ass, fingers dragging up the curve of my spine. I shift my hips. There comes the faint rasp of his zipper sliding down.

My breath stutters. His hands never leave me, but I feel the change. The pressure of his pants loosening beneath me. The gentle pull of fabric.

His fingers hook around the edge of my panties, dragging them to the side with ease, and I gasp when the tip of him brushes against me—thick, hot, already slick.

My body tenses, hungry, wet, ready. Then he presses in.

The stretch steals my breath. I brace my hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin as my thighs tremble around him.

He sinks all the way in, inch by inch, until he’s buried inside me. I can feel the heat of him pulsing against my walls.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, my voice cracking as my forehead falls to his. “I love you inside me.”

His hands slide up my back, anchoring me. His eyes lock on mine, dark and wide.

“I love you,” he says, quiet but certain.

I nod, lips parting in a shaky breath. “I love you too.”