His thumb softened at once, circling instead of pressing, and the careful drag of it across her nipple sent sparks straight between her legs. The way he did exactly as she asked turned her on more than the touch itself.
He kissed down her throat, then her collarbone, and carefully helped her out of her bra. Then he replaced his hand with his mouth, so gentle it was almost torture, licking and lapping at one nipple and then the other until she was arching up, begging for more pressure. When she whimpered, he gave her exactly enough.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He hummed against her skin like she’d complimented the cooking. On his way down, he trailed kisses over her bump, and she closed her eyes.
He hooked his thumbs into the waist of her jeans and waited until she lifted her hips. He then worked the denim down and off. Her underwear came with it. He settled between her thighs, easing them open, and looked up for her approval. She nodded.
He looked down and exhaled, like the sight of her wrecked him. “You’re soaked,” he said.
Then his mouth was on her. He licked her with long, flat strokes, his stubble burning sweetly against her inner thighs. When he focused on her clit, he circled it softly until she was grinding up against his mouth, chasing more. Every sound she made, he answered, his fingers flexing hard on her hips.
When she fisted his hair and gasped, “Right there,” the deliberate drag of his tongue sent her higher.
Her heel dug into his back. The orgasm built like a wave she could see coming and couldn’t stop. Finally, it broke over her with long, pulsing waves. She rode his mouth through it with her eyes open, safe in a bed where nothing would be taken from her.
He stopped and kissed her hips until she tilted toward him, asking for more. One finger eased into her, slow enough that she felt every inch of the slide, then a second when she rocked down onto his hand, taking them deeper.
He curled them into the spot that stole her breath and matched his mouth to the same rhythm. The pressure wound tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable, and then the second orgasm hit her all at once, slamming through her. Her pussyclenched hard around his fingers, his name breaking apart in her mouth.
He brought her down slowly, kissing her thigh, her hip, the side of the bump. She pulled him back up the bed and kissed him, tasting herself and blackberries, salt and sweet.
No one had ever checked in with her body and waited for her answer before. He had checked with every movement. She was in control of all of it, handled like something precious instead of something owned.
He was iron-hard against her hip. When she palmed him through his jeans, his whole body shuddered, and his forehead dropped to her shoulder. For one second, she felt his control waver. Then his hand covered hers.
“You don’t owe me anything tonight.” His voice was gravel.
“I want to.”
“I know.” He brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles. “Tonight is about you.”
“You’re sure.” She looked into his eyes and saw quiet sincerity there.
“I’m sure. You deserve to be taken care of and not have to give anything back.” He was still hard against her hip, his breathing deliberate. Then he kissed her temple. “I’ll get you something to drink.”
“Thank you.”
He left the bedroom, and she sat up, needing to use the bathroom. Reese climbed out of bed and walked into his ensuite, used the toilet, washed her hands, caught her own face in the mirror and didn’t quite recognize the softness in it.
When she came back, he was already in bed, and a glass of water waited on the nightstand. She climbed in and took a long drink, set the glass back. He pulled her into him, aftershocks still flickering through her when his skin met hers.
She snuggled against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her. His hand rested on the side of her bump. He turned off the lamp, and the room fell into quiet darkness. She waited for the anxiety that told her to get up and check the locks. But it never came.
Chapter
Fourteen
When Reese first woke up,she didn’t know where she was. But then the night before slowly came back to her. She smiled and stretched, the smell of bacon and the sound of soft music seeping under the door. Out of habit, she checked her body for pain, but there wasn’t any. Instead, she felt rested and satisfied.
She climbed out of bed and pulled on her clothes, which Axel had folded neatly on the chair. After using the bathroom, she found Axel in the kitchen.
When he saw her, he smiled and fixed her a mug of coffee with cream. A jazz record turned on the player, horns soft and low. He pushed the bacon off the heat and then dished it onto a plate.
She watched his hands and remembered where they’d been last night. Heat crept up her cheeks. He glanced over at her, and she quickly looked toward the record wall.
She drifted along the counter, reached past him, and stole a piece of bacon. It was too hot in her fingers. She swore under her breath and ate it anyway, grinning at him.
