“Mmm. You want me to stop?”
She shakes her head, smiling as she tilts her neck, giving me more access to her flesh. “Touch me again and I’ll legally change my last name.”
My hands roam everywhere, and she gasps as I trail my mouth down her neck, her chest, worshipping her skin. Body.
“Lesson two,” I murmur against her skin. “Your husband isextremelyhands on.”
And horny.
She moans, grinding down harder now, desperate to be impaled on my cock, and I match her, pulse for pulse, pressure for pressure, losing myself in every sound she makes as she dry humps me like we’re two teenagers.
“What’s lesson three?” she groans as, together, we work my mesh shorts down my hips, erection springing free—hot, heavy,ready—and her eyes go wide like she’s seeing it for the first time.
“Lesson three is about honesty.” I mumble, fingers toying with her nipples. They’re beautifully tight, begging to be sucked. “If you want something, you tell me.”
Her sexy, pouty lips part like she’s going to argue, tease—but I don’t let her.
“If you’re worried. If you’re scared. If you’re falling too fast or thinking too much or feeling everything all at once—you tell me.”
She goes still, just for a second.
“Because I can handle it,” I add, softer now, brushing my mouth across hers. “But I can’t read your mind. So don’t make me guess.”
“You’re so . . . so . . .hot.”
I grin against her jaw. “Honesty kink. Who knew?”
She grabs my face and kisses me like I just unlocked a new level.
Chapter 25
Annabelle
“I think he found the pregnancy test.”
I’m back on the phone with Lucy, pacing the primary bedroom, after washing up from our couch fuck fest. My little lap dance—or whatever we’re calling it—that led to one mind-blowing orgasm.
Mmm . . .
I pause at the mirror, inspecting my hair. Still a sex-wrecked mess. I don’t bother fixing it.
“You left a pregnancy test in his trash can?” my best friend deadpans, clearly disgusted with me.
“Yes.” I nod. “Left it in the trash like an idiot. But in my defense, it’s the guest bathroom in the hallway and I never see him go in it!”
She doesn’t attempt to be helpful. “You aresobad at being sneaky.” I hear her exhale. “Did we not discuss waiting so the two of you can take the test together?”
“Yes, yes we did,” I admit, dragging a hand down my face. “I’m sorry I didn’t stick with the plan, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“You are so impatient.”
“I know!” I nibble on my bottom lip as the scene plays over in my head like a movie reel. Me, stomach twisting. Maverick in the shower. Me and the bag from the drugstore, alone together. Five minutes of myfrantic phone call to Lucy followed by one second of impulsive panic. Then I was sitting on the toilet seat, taking the damn thing like I was on a time crunch.
“If it makes you feel better, I meant to go back for it!” I protest. “But then he got out of the shower, and he was sexy and slick and glistening and smelled so fucking good and then there was popcorn and laughing and thesituationon the couch—”
“You’re babbling.”
I clamp my mouth shut.
