Page 40

She doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t even blink. Just lets out a breath that sounds like a dare.

“Keep on and we won’t make it to the bedroom,” she whispers.

I smile, low and slow. “Maybe you should stop testing my limits.”

She grins and drags her nails down my arm. It’s only a graze, but my body reacts like she flipped a switch.

“If you keep doing that, I’m going to break every rule tonight and give you twins.”

She bursts out laughing, burying her face in the side of my neck. “You wouldn’t.”

I catch her wrist, guiding her hand down and pressing it over the hard line straining against my jeans. “Don’t tell me I wouldn’t.”

Her breath hitches, and that wicked smile returns.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter how fast the cab is moving. Home can’t come soon enough.

By the time the taxi turns onto our street, we’re both half buzzed, half feral, and fully aware this night isn’t ending anytime soon.

We stumble through the door, half laughing, half kissing—lips brushing between gasps and bad aim.

Her heel knocks against the wall with a sharp clack, and I shoulder the light switch on by accident, flooding the entryway with a glow neither of us needs.

I hit it again, plunging us back into shadows.

We don’t bother speaking. Every word we’ve not spoken is communicated in the tension strung tight between our bodies.

Her fingers grip the front of my shirt with fists. My hands are all over her—spanning her back, dragging down to her hips, yanking her closer every chance I get. She kisses me like the old-fashioneds are still working their way through her blood.

By the time we make it to the kitchen, I’ve got her pinned against the island. My hands are planted firmly at her waist, but hers are everywhere—scraping through my hair, curling into the back of my neck, and tugging at my belt.

She arches into me with a low noise that punches the air out of my lungs.

“You are trouble,” I growl against her throat, letting my teeth scrape along her skin enough to make her shiver.

“You love trouble,” she whispers, a smile in her voice.

She doesn’t wait. Just pushes herself up onto the edge of the counter. I catch her thighs as they part—instinct, hunger, a reaction I couldn’t stop if I tried.

She braces her feet on the edge of the marble, knees bent, legs open wide enough to taunt me. And then—snap. She closes them again, tight as a trap.

I freeze, a beat too slow. My breath comes out in a rasp. “Stop that.”

She tilts her head, lashes low. “Make me.”

Challenge accepted.

I drop my hand to the hem of her dress and shove it higher, revealing those ridiculous lace knickers she knows I can’t ignore. I find the crotch and hook my fingers under it.

One rip. Gone.

“Hey! Those were cute.”

“They were in the way.”

She laughs, breathless. “You’re going to owe me new ones.”

I don’t answer because I’m already dropping to my knees, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee first. Then one higher. Then another. Her legs fall open for me without hesitation, and I grip her thighs.

I work her slowly at first, savoring every gasp and shudder. Then deeper, more focused—tongue and mouth and hands, relentless in the way I know drives her wild.

“You taste like dessert,” I say against her.

Her hips shift, chasing the friction. “I’ve been eating pineapple, babe. Just for you.”

And then she stops talking and threads her fingers into my hair, holding on. Tight. Like she might float away if she lets go.

She gasps my name once—only once—before it’s all breathless moans and shaking thighs. Her body tightens, pulls taut like a bowstring, and then snaps.

She comes hard—legs trembling, back arched, head tipped back in a silent cry I feel more than hear.

I don’t move. Just hold her through it, kissing the inside of her thigh.

And in that moment—lit by nothing but the light coming through the kitchen window, with her sprawled on our counter looking like ruin and ecstasy—I swear to God, she might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

I stand, breath still ragged, and reach for my belt. My hands are shaking—but not from nerves. From restraint.

Her eyes meet mine, wide and glassy, lips parted. Her dress is still bunched around her hips, her thighs glistening, her chest rising and falling.

I undo my pants in one clean motion and press forward—sliding into her with a thrust that’s pure instinct.

She gasps, her body arching into mine. “What are you doing? I’m ovulating.”

I freeze, forehead pressing against hers, my heart hammering. “You want me to stop?”

She blinks, breath catching, fingers digging into my shoulders. “God, no. But don’t come inside me.”

I nod once, jaw tight, and start to move. Slow. Controlled. Every stroke a war between caution and need. Her heels press into my back, her hands fisting in my shirt, mouth brushing mine with every breath.

“Fuck,” I grit out, hips stuttering. “You feel so good.”

“So do you,” she gasps. “It feels so good, Alex. Don’t stop.”

I don’t. Can’t. Every part of me is wrapped around her—inside her—and the edge is coming fast.

Too fast.

I grip the counter behind her, trying to hang on. Trying not to lose it inside the one woman who could undo me with a single word.

“I’m close,” I manage to say. My voice is hoarse. Strained. Desperate.

She nods, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Pull out. Promise me.”

At the last possible second, I do––barely––just in time to come on her stomach and dress, gasping like I’ve been punched in the chest.

We stay there, tangled and breathless, her fingers still threaded in my hair.

“Babe,” I groan, shaking it off. “I’m not sure my pull-out game is very good.”

She lifts her head enough to look down. “What do you mean?”

I wince. “I don’t know if I pulled out fast enough.”

She stares at me. Then smacks my chest—half laugh, half horror. “Alex.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We had a plan,” she says, trying to sound stern but failing.

“I know, I know.” I kiss her, soft and apologetic. “That plan went to shit the second I was inside you.”

She sighs, shakes her head. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“And you’re lucky I love chaos.”

She huffs out a laugh and looks down at her dress. “Well, if it happens, it happens. But I don’t think it will.”

I grin. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, make no mistake. I’m mad. But I’m also slightly turned on by it.”

“Mmm… that’s my girl.”

She leans into me, her head finding its favorite spot on my shoulder. Her breath is still uneven, warm against my neck. My arms slide around her waist, holding her close, grounding us both in the aftershock.

Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to.

Her knickers are shredded. And if I had my black-light flashlight, I’m pretty sure she and that dress would look like a crime scene. But she’s in my arms, flushed and glowing and mine.

And if this is the last reckless night before our lives shift into something quieter, more intentional—then damn.

If this is how we go out before the next chapter… it was one hell of a finale.