“You’re right, it is.” I hold her stare steadily. “And I’m sure.”
With a nod, she absorbs my response before adding, “If anything happens and we end up parting ways, I’m not going to come after you for child support.”
Something in my chest gives way at her softly spoken promise. Without thinking, I step closer, gradually swallowing the distance between us, giving her every chance to pull back if that’s what she wants.
Instead, she holds her ground.
In that moment, the space between us feels charged with something far more dangerous than paperwork or promises. It has nothing to do with contracts at all.
My hand slips beneath the hem of her shirt to rest gently against the slight curve of her stomach. When she leans into me with a shaky exhale, the last of my restraint gives way.
“I know this is happening fast,” I say, my voice rough. “But I’m sure about it. No matter what happens, I’ll take care of you and the baby. This child is mine.”
Her eyes shine in the low light, and her fingers curl against my skin as if she’s holding on to the only solid thing in the room.
I don’t move right away. I let the time between us stretch as my mouth hovers over hers, close enough to feel her breath. When she tilts her face upward, silently giving me permission, I kiss her.
It’s slow.
Achingly so.
It’s not a desperate crash of lips but something more deliberate and controlled. My mouth glides over hers with careful restraint, wanting to make it last.
She sighs into the kiss, and the sound is like a punch to the ribs.
I’m doing everything in my power to keep this caress gentle. But it’s not easy when it feels like my insides are being scorched alive and my control is hanging by a thread. This woman is dangerously close to becoming an obsession. The last thing I want is to scare her away with the intensity that claws at my insides.
Even when she responds and my body urges me to take more, I keep my need tightly leashed, leaving my hand splayed against her lower abdomen. I want her to feel as if she has the power to stop this if it’s not what she wants.
Instead, she opens for me. That’s all it takes for my resolve to snap.
The restraint I’ve been clinging to shatters like glass. My other hand slides into her hair, fingers tightening just enough to anchor her as the kiss turns hungry. Our tongues tangle as I carefully deepen the kiss, as if I’m trying to fool myself into believing I have the power to keep this contained. But I can’t. Not when she’s melting against me. Not when her sweetness floods my senses. Not when it feels like she’s always belonged to me.
The taste I had the other night was never going to be enough.
Instead of taking the edge off, it only stoked my need.
Because now I want more.
More of her.
More of this.
I want every breath, every sound, everything she’s willing to give me. I want her trust along with her surrender. I want her hands on my skin like she’s claiming me right back. And I want it so badly it borders on painful.
A groan breaks loose from me when her arms tangle around my neck and she presses close enough for me to feel the softness of her breasts against my chest. The way her nipples harden into little points drives me fucking wild.
My hands settle on her hips before I lift her onto the marble counter. The chill of the surface contrasts with the heat burning between us, and she inhales at the contact.
When her thighs part, it feels like an invitation my body recognizes before my mind can fully catch up. I step between them, fitting in the space with an ease that feels more like coming home.
For a moment, I pause. Not because I don’t want this, but because I need her to know she has a choice in the matter.
I lean in until my forehead rests against hers and our breaths tangle. My mouth brushes the corner of her lips. It’s a coaxing kiss that makes my pulse throb.
“I want you to tell me if this is too much,” I murmur. “Or if you need me to slow down.”
Her palms glide along my chest, fingertips dragging over bare flesh as her gaze locks on mine. “That’s not what I want.”
