Rubbing circles on the skin of my belly where my shirt has ridden up.
My breathing quickens, and I arch my head back to give his lips access to my neck. I press against his erection, wanting him more than I’ve ever wanted a man.
I let worries about motherhood float from my brain. I forget that most of my shoes don’t fit. I feel swollen and awkward but also desirable like some kind of fertility goddess.
All I see is Fitz, all I feel is his hands on me. His large frame feels reassuring when he envelops me in warmth. His mere presence lifts me to a better place.
“You have a thing for hay?” I look around and wonder how comfortable it could be, despite my cowboy fantasies.
“I have a thing for you.” The flirtation sizzles with an electric charge that shoots through my body. I press against him and wrap my arms around his neck. “And who says this is our only option?” His deep voice sets chills across my skin.
“What do you have in mind?”
“How about a warm shower?” He tilts his head toward a doorway at the other end of the barn. Once outside, he guides meover to an outdoor shower, enclosed on three sides except for a window with a view of the fields. I imagine him galloping home on a stallion, throwing his clothes over the wall of the shower, and letting the spray hit his naked skin.
I slowly nod and lift his shirt. He yanks it off from the back of the collar. My God. Nothing is sexier than this man tearing off his shirt that way, exposing ripples of tanned abs. I take a moment to admire him before dipping my head to taste his skin.
My hormones have me practically panting all the time anyway, but in the presence of this wall of muscle, I can barely control myself. I want more of him. I need all of him.
When I meet his gaze, I find him looking at me with a crooked grin.
“Don’t give me a hard time for being horny.” I fling off my own shirt.
“Duchess, I would never.” He unclasps my bra and works the straps down my arms before flinging it aside.
“Good answer.” I tug the zipper down on his jeans.
We both grin like guilty kittens who’ve gotten into the yarn basket. Fitz spins me around and slowly slides my unsexy, elastic-waisted jeans to the floor. I hear him suck in a breath when he sees the black lacy thong.
“Fuuuuck.”
Turning me back to face him, he locks eyes with mine, the playfulness ebbing away, replaced by desire, hot and feral. Intense. Something new and more real between us, but I can’t focus on defining it.
He looks down and strokes my swollen belly reverently. I never imagined that I could be seven months pregnant and feel the least bit sexy, but that was before Fitz. He kisses my skin so tenderly that I can only imagine how he’ll be with a baby.
Fitz kisses every inch of my belly so softly and finally looks up at me, placing a hand on my hip. “Do you feel okay? Like, does anything hurt?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.” He stands and his lips crash down to mine, hands in my damp hair, naked row of abs grazing my stomach. Our kiss deepens, and I press harder against him, reaching beneath his boxer briefs and taking his cock in my hands.
He lets out a guttural moan and tears his lips away, his eyes roaming the length of my body and pausing when they return to lock on mine.
I work the denim over his hips until he steps out of them and kicks them away.
Fitz kisses me again and turns on the shower. The spray comes out hard, and I watch him through the spray, admiring how physically beautiful this man is but also how much heart he has. I feel closer to him now that he let me in a little bit and told me about his brother.
We both smile, easy with each other in a way that comes from getting to know someone, starting to genuinely like someone. The space fills with steam, and Fitz slowly peels my thong down my legs and holds my weight on one arm while I step out of it, careful not to let me tip over.
Then he shoves his boxer briefs down to the floor and moves us into the shower.
Noticing a wooden seat in the corner, I point. “Can you stand on that for me?” He looks at me quizzically but does what I’m asking. There’s no way I can lower myself to my knees because I’d probably never get up, but I want him in my mouth and pregnancy isn’t going to stop me. He stands on the bench and towers over me, which puts him right where I want him.
I grab his cock in my fist before taking a long, slow lick from the base to the tip. His groan fuels me, and I go back for more, stroking him until his groan turns to an oath on his lips.
I take him fully into my mouth and suck, taking him as deep as I can and wishing for more. He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me up to stand in front of him under the spray. “No,” he commands. “There are some rules I won’t break. I’m not coming without you.”
I smile and give him a moment to step down and regain control. He unwraps a new bar of soap and washes every inch of my skin, taking extra time to soap my breasts and stomach. He pinches my nipples, and I cry out with the delicious ache that’s so much more intense with the pregnancy hormones. Down my waist and hips. Up the insides of my legs. And higher still.
His lips drop to mine, and we’re all hands and hot water and soap and steam. I kiss him hungrily, memories from the night we met flooding back and reminding me why it was so hard to stop long enough to get the condom on.
