Page 125 of Babies for the Big Shot

Not rushed. Not frantic. But hungry. Intentional.

He’s reconnecting with the shape of me, relearning what it means to kiss someone you can’t stop thinking about.

I curl into him, my fingers bunching in the soft cotton of his T-shirt, tugging him closer, needing to feel his weight, his heat, his gravity.

Damn, he still tastes the same. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed him.

Nick groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips, and it sends a shiver straight down my spine. His other hand finds my hip, grounding me, holding me in place as if he knows I might float away if he doesn’t.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I arch into him, dizzy with it. “So do you.”

He kisses me again, deeper this time, claiming space we both forgot belonged to us. His tongue brushes mine, teasing, coaxing a moan from somewhere deep in my chest. My body reactsbefore my brain can stop it, pressing closer, needy and alive in a way it hasn’t been in weeks.

And then his hand drifts, sliding along the curve of my waist, skimming the bare skin beneath my shirt. I gasp softly into his mouth and he stills, just for a second.

“You okay?” he whispers, lips brushing mine.

I nod, breathless. “More than okay.”

Nick’s eyes darken at my answer. Not with surprise. With intent.

He kisses me with raw hunger, all restraint shattered. I kiss him back, just as desperate, needing, taking.

My hands find the hem of his shirt and shove it upward, fingers grazing the hard lines of his stomach and chest, aching to feel more, to take all of him.

He lifts his arms and lets me strip it off him, tossing it to the floor without ever breaking the kiss.

His hands grip my hips tight, anchoring me against him. I can already feel how hard he is through our clothes, thick and straining beneath his jeans.

When I grind down just slightly, his groan rumbles into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Not yet,” I whisper.

His hands slide under my shirt, fingers stroking up my spine until I arch against him. When he tugs the fabric up, I raise my arms and let him peel it off, his eyes dropping to my breasts excitedly.

“No bra?” he asks, voice rough.

“Didn’t plan on leaving my home tonight.”

He leans in, brushing his mouth over the curve of one breast. “Well, you’re here now.”

“Tell me about it,” I breathe, just as he flicks his tongue over my nipple.

I gasp, and his mouth closes over it, sucking gently, then harder. My hands fly to his hair, tugging. He growls, switching to the other side, lavishing it with the same attention until I’m panting.

Then his hand slips between my thighs.

“You’re soaked,” he says, voice dark with approval.

“Maybe I missed you.”

“Maybe?” His fingers tease the seam of my leggings, then hook into the waistband. “Off. Now.”

I wriggle out of them, breath catching when he drags my panties down with them in one slow, ruthless motion. He kneels between my legs, running his palms over my thighs, opening me to him.