Page 95

“Wait,” I giggle, though the sound is breathless. “I have to check on the baby first.”
“Wait?” His voice drops another octave, gravelly and full of desire. “I’ve been waiting for weeks.” He nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his stubble grazing my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“And you can wait at least another hour,” I tease, though I’m already melting under his touch.
“I can’t wait anotherfucking second,” he growls, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below my ear.
“You’re impossible,” I laugh, squirming slightly.
“There’s a monitor in every room of this house,” he argues, his tone a mix of logic and lust. “I can see him from here, and so can you. Hunter Middleton, the second, is fast asleep, dreaming about whatever it is angels dream.”
I glance at the monitor on the dresser, the tiny screen showing Deuce’s peaceful form, his chest rising and falling in a perfect rhythm. He’s fine—more than fine, really. He’s perfect.
It’s been six weeks since I gave birth, and while my love for our son is a tidal wave of emotions I never knew I was capable of, there’s another kind of love I’ve been missing. The fiery, consuming connection Hunter and I share has been simmering on the back burner, waiting for this moment. And God, do I want him.
But he knows me too well. As his hand slides beneath my oversized sleep shirt, his fingers trailing gently along my skin, I remember that this is love, too—urgent, raw, and powerful.
“Mmmm, that feels good,” I whisper, my voice betraying how much I’ve missed his touch.
“You’re still in your head,” he says, his tone firm and knowing.
“I’m not,” I lie, though I can’t help but think about the possibility of breast milk ruining the moment. Not exactly sexy.
“Get out of your head and focus on this,” he orders, his words laced with authority that sends a thrill straight to my core.
I huff playfully, but he’s right. Hunter’s been lost in his own thoughts for weeks, pacing the apartment with Deuce in his arms, murmuring words I can never quite hear. I know he’s worried—about us, about the city, about the future. But right now, he’s fully present, and I want to be, too.
“I’m here,” I say softly, trailing my hand down the center of his broad chest, my fingers grazing the hard lines of muscle beneath.
His body is a masterpiece, but it’s not just his strength that captivates me—it’s the vulnerability he reserves only for me. And as my hand ventures lower, finding him hard and ready, I realize how much I’ve been craving this connection.
“I need you,” I admit, my voice thick with longing.
“And I need you,” he replies, his words like a promise.
When his hand finds me, stroking with expert precision, I feel a fire ignite deep within me. His lips capture mine, part passion, part reverence, and I lose myself in the moment.
“I think you’re wetter than you’ve ever been for me,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice tinged with wonder.
“I told you,” I gasp. “I need you more than I ever have.”
For a fleeting second, I worry about the moment he’ll finally be inside me—will it hurt after so much time? But the worry vanishes the instant he enters me. I feel full, deliciously full, and my body remembers him like no time has passed.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he groans, his hips meeting mine with a rhythm that feels like coming home.
“Let me ride,” I say, my voice trembling with desire.
He grins, his smile wicked and full of hunger. “Ride me, baby.”
It takes a moment to lower myself completely, but once I do, it’s like I’ve unlocked something primal. I move with abandon,hard and fast, letting weeks of pent-up longing pour into every motion.
“Shit,” he grunts, gripping my hips tightly. “Slow down, baby. I’m going to come.”
I lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips, my grin teasing. “Slower for the old man?”
His laugh is dark and full of promise. “Careful, Miss Taylor. That kind of talk will get you a sore pussyandass.”
“Promises, promises,” I retort, turning into a reverse cowgirl position. The angle gives me control, and I revel in it, grinding low and slow as I chase my release.