Page 60 of Fall Love

Tate slides his hand between my thighs, finding the material thin and wet.

“Soaked,” he hums into my ear. “This is a good sign.”

“A sign of what, Doctor?” I joke, tilting my head to look at him over my shoulder.

His eyes are bright and campfire warm as he glances back at me. “A sign that you need relief.” He holds his gaze on me. “Let me give it to you.”

“Take it from me,” I whisper back.

As his fingers brush aside the saturated silk, I slip my head back to his shoulder and suck in a breath when he easily slides into my body. I clutch harder at his kneecap and dig my fingertips into his thigh as he drags a finger in and out, coating it in sloppy essence.

I’m wetter than I’d expect, more sensitive than I ever remember being. And when his thumb flicks that sensitive spot, I bow up and off him a second.

Tate wraps his other arm around my chest again, gently bringing me back to him. He slips that hand over my breast, teasing over my nipple with the brush of his thumb while working me faster down low.

The push and pull of one finger inside me is eventually joined by another one. His thumb races faster against my clit. I spread my legs wider, wanting him deeper. Wanting him to fill me up.

He presses a kiss to my hair, then pulls his fingers out of me, circling that trigger point with just the right amount of pressure. Round and round, tighter and faster. I rock into his touch, clinging to his legs.

The swing gently moves side to side.

I’m hyperaware of everything around me. The breeze. His breath.

“Tate,” I whimper, a warning as I wind tighter. The tension builds, spinning faster.

“I’m right here, baby,” he coos into my ear, teasing me, twirling me around those fingers until I snap.

“Tate,” I scream, launching forward a little and letting my knees fall to the sides. He shoves his fingers back inside me and presses the heel of his hand against my clit as I ride his hand, making the swing move back and forth instead of side to side.

Tate moves with me, making me aware of the hard length at my back.

But I can only focus on his fingers inside me and that heel applied against me, as I come undone like I haven’t since the last time he touched me.

All these months, alone, without him. Touching myself didn’t compare. Only he could do what’s being done. The unraveling. The unwinding. The release, making me as loose as the air around us.

I drift. And I rock. And I come down, collapsing against his chest, while his fingers still tease me, turning gentle, turning worshipful.

“Tate,” I whisper, and he tenderly draws his fingers free of my body. He pulls his hand to his mouth and sucks them clean, humming as he does.

I glance up at him, watching him, disbelieving I’m in this position again. With him.

“Better than pie filling,” he says, meeting my eyes, and I laugh, as my belly tightens a little.

I clutch at my stomach, looking down at it.

Tate must look in that direction as well, and he lays his palm against my belly. “Everything alright in there?”

I breathe through the tightening and almost hold my breath until it doesn’t happen again.

I don’t know if the baby is alright, but I’m certainly not.

“I think we’re all good,” I whisper.

“Only good?” Tate snorts. “Next one will be better.”

“Next one?” I tilt my head.

“Yep. You need to get used to this. There are more to come.” His eyes dance, playful with the innuendo.