Page 95 of Three Months Yesterday

Madison moans, and I feel a rush of wetness against my mouth at the words. Her eyes meet mine, and I slip two fingers inside her, curling them to hit her front wall. I shouldn’t be surprised how fast she finds her release, not with how wet she already was, not with how much we both want this. On the third thrust she comes apart. Her back arches off the bed and her thighs clamp around my shoulders, but that doesn’t stop me from continuing to lick her through it, drawing out every last tremor, wanting to give her everything.

When she comes down enough to speak, her voice is wrecked. “I need your cock inside me. Now.”

I don’t make her wait, adjusting us on the bed until she’s on top of me, straddling my hips. I line myself up at her entrance and she slowly lowers herself, hissing at the feeling as she takes me in.

Tight. She’s so tight. The heat of her wraps around me inch by inch, and I have to breathe through it, fighting for every ounce of control. It’s never felt like this, like we were made for each other. Like everything about life makes sense now that we’re together. Like I won’t be able to live if I don’t get to experience this feeling again. I don’t want to live without it. I would burn the world to keep this, to keep her. I’m hers—completely, irrevocably hers—there’s no going back.

“You’re so tight,” I say through gritted teeth. “You feel so right.”

“Yes,” she hisses. “So fucking right.”

I grip her hips, steadying her. “Take your time. Move when you’re ready.”

She meets my eyes and starts to ride me, her hands braced against my chest. I watch as her body adjusts to the feel of mine inside her, as her orgasm builds as she uses my cock exactly as she needs it, as her nails dig into my chest and her tits bounce. I try to hold back, to let her take the lead and set her own pace, but as she starts to come, her rhythm faltering and her walls clenching around me, my control snaps. My grip on her hips tightens and I start pistoning into her, driving up to meet her.

Her body shudders with her orgasm, but I can’t stop. My need for her doesn’t waiver. I watch her come, her head thrown back as she moans through another release, and my hips keep moving, keep searching for my own.

Her gaze comes back to mine and she meets me thrust for thrust, one orgasm rolling into another and the feeling of her pulsing around me a second time pushes me over the edge. I come on a roar, her name on my lips, spilling into her as everything except the feel of her around me disappears.

I love you. I love you. I love you. The words have been on the tip of my tongue since she kissed me, but this time the words are burning in my throat, begging to be set free. I swallow them down, letting the moment speak for me instead, letting my body say what my brain fears she might not return.

Madison collapses against me, her weight warm and welcoming against my chest, but the feel of her rounded stomach has me rolling us to our side, my softening cock slipping out. She makes a small sound of protest that I feel all the way to my bones.

We catch our breath, the room quiet around us except for the sound of our breathing and the distant noise of wind chimes outside the window.

I trail my finger up and down her spine, needing to feel the touch of her smooth skin against mine, needing to anchor myself in the reality that feels too good to be true. “You okay?” I ask.

She grins against me, her lips brushing my chest as she answers. “I’ve never been better.”

“Neither have I.”

It’s been a while since I’ve felt like a creeper when it comes to all things Madison Hawthorne, but watching her sleep on a Tuesday morning when I know she should be at the inn or running errands or helping someone else brings the feeling back full force.

I know I should wake her, should make sure she’s not missing something important, but I’m not ready to leave the comfort of this bed. The comfort of having this woman by my side.

Madison winces in her sleep, her hand falling to the curve of her stomach. I scoot down the bed carefully, trying my hardest not to wake her, and I place my hand next hers, the cotton of my shirt smooth beneath my palm.

“Come on, Nugget. Let your mom get some rest. We can catch up later,” I whisper, placing a gentle kiss to the spot I feel the baby kick.

“Nice try, but it’ll never work.” Madison’s words are raspy with sleep, but I hear the smile in them before I tilt my head to meet her eyes.

“Hey,” I murmur.

“Hey, yourself.” She covers a yawn with the back of her hand before letting it fall to cup my cheek. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. I lost track of time the moment I heard her playing the piano earlier. “Do you have somewhere you need to be?” I try to keep the desperation out of my voice.

The smile she aims my way tells me I failed, but her words make the embarrassment fade the moment it arrives. “Nope, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I don’t want to be anywhere else,” she says, mirroring my words from earlier.

The coffee pot gurgles to life as I lean against the counter, watching the dark liquid drip into the carafe. The house is quiet, just the soft tick of the clock on the wall and the sound of the gentle breeze outside. I grab a cup from the cabinet, keeping my movements slow. Beckett’s still asleep upstairs and I’m doing my best not to wake him.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I think about the last two weeks.

They’ve been…perfect. Better than I ever could’ve imagined. Beckett came back from New York, and it’s like nothing and everything has changed, in all the best ways. He still texts me throughout the day when he’s working on music or in town. He still runs with me and asks me how I’m doing. We still have our Saturday movie days. Those things haven’t changed and I hope they never do. But the touches and the way he talks to me, those have changed, become more intimate. He talks to my belly every day, telling Nugget about his day, about the songs he’s writing, about how excited he is to meet him.

I press my hand to my chest, feeling the warmth spread. I’m so in love with him it scares me.

It feels ridiculous to even think that way. We’ve only known each other a couple months—even though it feels like I’ve known him my whole life. I spent years with Mark and never felt a fraction of what I feel for Beckett. But there’s something about the way we fit together. It’s in the way we navigate the silence when words aren’t needed. There’s comfort there I didn’t know relationships could have.