Page 73 of Beyond Question

I pull back and look into her eyes.

She fists her hands into my hair and pulls me back down to her mouth, hungry for more. My lips twist into a smirk and she sighs. I lick the sound from her lips and pull back again.

“I could feel that smug smirk,” she says.

“You love when I smirk.”

Her lips twitch up in the corner. “I love when yousmile.”

“Ah.” I nod, then flash the grin so she can get a hit of my dimple. “It’s yours anytime you want it.”

She sucks in a breath, then twists her body, lining up her hips with mine. “I want it.”

My eyes widen. “That’s not—I—” I stop, gather my thoughts, then clarify, “I meant the dimple.”

But my cock doesn’t really care what I meant, and it’s hardening between us regardless.

“You should see your face.” She trails her fingertip down my nose, then over the seam of my lips, then she cups my cheek as she rocks her hips against me and makes the sweetest sound deep in her throat.

I close my eyes and hold statue-still, careful not to let the head in my pants do the thinking. This doesn’t seem like the time for sex, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to start grinding against her, seeking that perfect pressure.

“Travis,” she whispers.

I swallow hard and open my eyes.

“Please.”

Ah fuck.I don’t want to deny her. I really don’t.

Any other time, with any other woman, I wouldn’t.

I’d already be buried deep.

But… fuck me. What is this feeling? It’s… I hate it.

Is it responsibility?

Am I… am I doing the right thing?

I push up until I can stretch out on top of her and when she gets that wild look in her eyes, then lifts her hips to press against my cock, I almost buckle.

Any man in my position would.

But I’m not any man. I’mherman. And I want to show her I deserve that title.

Sure, she hasn’tgiventhat title to me yet, but I’m ignoring technicalities in this situation because I think she’s finally come around. And even if she’s not ready to admit it yet, I’m hers and she’s mine. We’ve danced around this inevitability since the baby shower, but I’m done dancing.

Bracing my arms on either side of her, I cup her head and lift my hips, robbing her of that friction she keeps searching for.

And robbing myself of what I want more than anything else in the world right now.

“You’re not thinking straight,” I say, my voice tight.

Restraint feels like shit. And I’m pretty sure I hate being a good person.

She runs her tongue over her teeth and gives me an incredulous stare. “Don’t tell me what I’m thinking.”

“Oh, baby”—I lean down and place a kiss on her lips, pulling back before she can deepen it—“I wouldn’t dare. But hear me out—”