Page 41 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)
“Yeah?” He’s looking at his hand on my stomach, not at me, which makes this a little easier to say.
“I want to date you.”
He glances up so fast that I swear I hear a crack. A stray section of hair flops onto his forehead. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Yeah, I did. But I could be dreaming.” He leans closer, the blue of his eyes all I can see. One ocean I’d happily get lost in. “So, say it again , Monty.”
I comb the wayward section back. “I want to date you, Christopher Kensington.”
“All it took was me taking off my shirt, huh?” He smirks. “I caught you looking.”
“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’m usually smiling around Kit. Sometimes, I have to remind myself to stop. “Fine. It’s not just pregnancy 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.
“ Please tell 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. “Or get me killed.”
And then his hand is in my hair, tugging my mouth down until it’s covered 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 so sensitive ; 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 are also extremely 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.
“I can work with that.”
His hand slips into the front of my pajama pants. I’m wearing boring cotton panties instead of anything sexy, but I don’t even care about my lack of lingerie. I just need him to touch me lower. Now .
My eyes close when he hits the perfect spot, the satisfaction immediate but the desperation even wilder.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, circling his thumb.
I could cry; I’m so close to coming. My legs start to shake, the pressure building to an explosion that ripples through my body in ruthless, devastating, satisfying waves.
I drop my face against Kit’s shoulder, muffling my moans against his warm skin.
Even once the tremors stop, I don’t move. Why would I?
When I lift my head to look at Kit, he’s smiling softly at me. I rest a palm on his chest, appreciating the steady thud of his heartbeat before sliding lower down his abdomen.
Kit grabs my wrist before I can reach my destination. “Not tonight.”
“But you didn’t …”
His smile’s a little pained now. “Well aware. But if you touch my cock, I’m going to end up fucking you, and that’s going to ruin the wonderful impression I made with your parents because I remember how loud you are.”
“I’m not loud,” I say defensively.
“With me, you are,” he replies smugly.
I’m too tired to argue and not entirely convinced he’s wrong, so I lie down on the couch. “I’m too sleepy to walk back to bed.”
“Want me to carry you?”
My eyes are closed, but I hear the smile in Kit’s voice.
This couch is too small for him. It’s way too small for both of us. But neither of us mentions that.
I yawn. “In a little bit.”
“Okay.”
Right before I fall asleep, a random thought occurs to me.
I would have picked Kit to be the father of my kid. On purpose.