“Maybe,” she whispered back, tilting her head to give him better access. “Or maybe we should see what happens.”
His response was a low groan, a sound of a man fighting a losing battle with himself. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his green eyes dark with an emotion she was only just beginning to understand.
“If I hurt you?—”
“You won’t.” She said it with a certainty she didn’t know she possessed. “I trust you, Victor. Both of you.”
His control finally, irrevocably, shattered.
He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, settling her more firmly in his lap. His mouth reclaimed hers in a kiss that was pure possession, and she met him kiss for kiss, her body humming with a desperate need she hadn’t even realized she was feeling. His hands grew impossibly large, one spanning the small of her back while the other cradled her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He kissed her like a drowning man and she was more than happy to be his salvation.
“I’m still here,” she whispered into his mouth, and he shuddered against her.
His fingers traced the hem of her sweater and she responded to the silent suggestion, pulling it up over her head. He went still at the sight of her plain white bra, a flush of heat spreading across the sharp planes of his face. His gaze was reverent, a stark contrast to the wild energy pulsing from him.
He reached out, his huge hand covering her breast, his thumb stroking the sensitive peak through the thin cotton. The touch was both possessive and impossibly gentle, and her nipple tightened instantly, aching for more. When he finally worked the clasp of her bra and freed her, his breath caught.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” The words were a low growl, more Hyde than Victor, but the wonder in them was all him. He dipped his head, his warm mouth closing over her nipple, and pleasure shot through her, sharp and sweet. She arched into him, her fingers digging into his broad shoulders, a soft cry escaping her lips.
He lavished attention on her breasts, his mouth and hands learning her, worshiping her. Her breath was coming in soft pants and Hyde rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure masculine satisfaction. His mouth shifted lower, pressing soft kisses to the swell of her stomach. As if sensing the connection, the baby kicked a lazy greeting against his head. He froze.
A low sound came from him, something between a laugh and a sob. He pressed his cheek against her belly, his eyes closed, his expression raw with an emotion so powerful it stole the air from her lungs.
“Hey,” she whispered, her hands cradling his head, her fingers stroking his silky hair. “She’s just saying hi.”
“Hi,” he murmured in response, before his expression shifted again. “I need…”
“I know. I need you too.”
He groaned, and then somehow she was on the couch completely naked, and he was on his knees in front of her, his big body wedged between her legs.
“Beautiful,” he growled again and then bent his head.
His mouth was hot and demanding and impossibly clever. She cried out as his tongue found her clit, licking and teasing until she was shaking, her fingers tangled in the blankets, her hips moving in a desperate rhythm. He pressed her knees back, opening her completely to him, and when he slid a thick finger inside her, her entire body clenched. He was huge, and the thought of him filling her should have been intimidating, but all she felt was a desperate, greedy want for more.
He didn’t make her wait. A second finger joined the first, his mouth never leaving her, his tongue doing wicked, wonderful things. The pressure built, coiling deep inside her, a sweet, sharp tension that demanded release. He found a spot inside her that made her see stars, and she shattered, her orgasm washing over her in waves of pleasure that left her breathless and trembling.
When her vision cleared, she saw him watching her. His eyes were still burning green, but they were full of satisfaction and a tenderness that made her heart ache. She reached for him just as an enormous yawn escaped. His face immediately softened and he returned to the couch, wrapping a blanket around her before cradling her against his chest.
“But what about you,” she protested weakly.
“You’ve had a strenuous day. You need to rest.” The firm tone was one hundred percent Victor.
She wanted to argue, but her body hummed with satisfaction and her eyelids were already threatening to close. She snuggled closer instead.
“I’ve never let myself want this,” he said quietly, his hand covering her stomach again. “A family. Someone to come home to. It seemed cruel to even imagine when I knew what I was. What I might become.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m terrified I’ll wake up and discover this was just another dream. That you’re not real. That this feeling isn’t real.”
She shifted enough to look up at him. His face was drawn, vulnerable in the firelight. Those blue eyes—no longer glowing but still intense—held a world of longing he’d probably never voiced before.
“I’m real.” She pressed her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. “This is real. What you’re feeling—what we both are—that’s real too.”
He covered her hand with his, holding it against him. “I don’t know how to do this. Be what you need.”
“You already are.” She smiled. “You came running when I called. Checked on me and the baby. Made sure I drank water and rested. Held me when I needed it.” Her thumb stroked across his knuckles. “That’s all I need, Victor. Just you, showing up. Being here.”
