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“Yeah?” His hands on my stomach slide to my hips, down my thighs, back up to my waist. “Anything fun?”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

His hands at my waist tighten and he helps me stand, moving behind me and stepping out of the tub first. I’m wrapped in a large, heated towel from a drying rack just outside the tub and Braxton takes over, drying me off and warming me, inciting desire along every inch he touches.

Once we’re dry, he drops the towel to the floor and we’re facing each other, nothing between us except a sliver of air that’s as warm as the water and the towel he’s just used.

He reaches out, cups my cheek with his palms, and dips his head. He pulls my body flush to his, his excitement and desire for me evident against the press of my stomach but there’s no resistance.

I surrender to his touch, to his kiss, and my hands slide up his arms, gripping his biceps to steady myself.

He walks forward, pushing me backward while keeping us connected at the same time. My knees hit the softness of his bed and then I’m bending backward slowly, being moved and falling to the bed while he follows me, settling his weight in between my spread legs.

I’m no longer relaxed, or sleepy. Every nerve ending in my body sparks alive, buzzing with anticipation as I brush my hands up and down his back, down to his hips, up his sides.

We move reverently, slowly, memorizing the feel of each other, delighting in each whispered groan, every gasped breath. Every groan from deep in his throat when I touch him is a present, given so freely.

I cannot hold back, cannot wait any longer to remember what it feels like to have him inside of me.

“Braxton,” I gasp, fingertips digging into his back as he kisses my throat, my collarbone. His hand brushes over my nipple, swollen and tight, more sensitive than normal and it’s a shock of pleasure straight to my sex. “I need you. Want you.”

God, I will come soon, simply from the friction of our bodies against each other, the stretch of my thighs making room for him, the fire burning in my veins.

He shifts, pulling back and watching his hand as it drifts down my body, between my breasts, to my stomach, and then he’s there, at my center, and his gentle touch on my clit makes me gasp, arch into him.

“Yes.”

“I want to watch you,” he says. “You’re so beautiful, and fuck, I remember the way you light up for me. Is it fucked up I think you’re sexier now that you have my kid inside you?”

I’m barely coherent, and shake my head back and forth. Words are useless, I can only make needy little noises he pulls from me with every press of his thumb against me.

“Close,” I gasp, and my hands grab his biceps. “Please. You.”

“You’ll get me once you come.”

This. This is the demanding and so-in-control Braxton I remember. The man who gave me pleasure beyond my wildest dreams, but now I know he’s not just a sexy body, an incredible lover, he’s compassionate and so gentle, so confident.

He’s amazing.

And he’s watching me like I’m the most precious, treasured gift he’s ever seen.

It’s this knowledge that does me in, coupled with the circles he’s drawing on my clit with perfect rhythm and pressure, that sends a fire down my spine, spreads to my hips. “Braxton.” I cry out his name. “Coming. Shit. God, yes.” My chants are nonsensical, as my eyes squeeze closed, lighted sparks igniting behind closed lids as I shove my head into the pillow, yanking him down to me.

I kiss him while he takes me through my orgasm, over the crest, and brings me down until I’m trembling and sated, all because of him.

Chapter 21

Braxton

She’s fucking beautiful. Her hair is a mess, her mascara has run from her time in the bathtub, but it’s the flush of her cheeks, the heaving of her breasts, the way she grapples to steady her breathing that undoes me.

I make this beautiful, intelligent, and oh-so-well-mannered woman fall apart with just the slightest touch. It makes me feel victorious, like I’ve conquered a difficult course and found my prize at the end.

My dick is throbbing, pulsing with the need to sink inside of her and make her come until she’s tightening around my dick, but I hesitate, unable to remove my gaze from Cara, who is most beautiful immediately after climaxes, and a nervousness flickers through her eyes.

It reminds me she hasn’t had many lovers, and yet she’s chosen me. Twice now, she’s made it clear she wants me. Our unborn baby aside, I’m so damn thankful to be with her again. She’s slightly scatterbrained, completely disastrous when it comes to tidying up, but she laughs in a way that’s freeing. She’s reaching for her dreams and fighting for them with a stubbornness I admire.