Page 181 of Slapshot Baby

"Not everything. We're right here."

He kisses me. Soft at first, like he's asking permission. My fingers slide into his hair and I pull him closer, giving him the answer with my whole body.

The kiss deepens. Slow and thorough, the kind that builds from the inside out. His mouth opens against mine and I taste salt.

"Here?" he asks against my lips.

I nod.

He lowers me onto the sage-green throw from the rocking chair, spread across the hardwood next to the crib we just finished building. His hands find the hem of his hoodie and pull it over my head.

I lift my arms to help. Underneath, I'm in a thin cotton tank and no bra, and the way his gaze drops to the new fullness of my breasts sends warmth spilling through me.

He peels the tank off slowly. Presses his mouth to my collarbone.

"You're bigger here," he murmurs against my skin.

"Pregnancy will do that."

His lips trail down, pressing open-mouthed kisses between my breasts, down the center of my sternum. When he reaches my belly, he stops. Places both lips against the curve and stays there, breathing.

My fingers thread through his hair. My chest aches so deeply I think I might split open.

He kisses the spot where the adhesive bandage from today's transfusion still clings to my skin, and a shudder runs through my entire body because that small gesture holds more tenderness than anything anyone has ever done to me.

"Take these off," I say, tugging at his shirt.

He pulls it over his head. I trace the tattoos on his arm. He unbuttons his jeans. I push my leggings down. We undress each other, surrounded by pine-scented crib slats and fabric swatches and a rocking chair that's waiting for someone to sit in it.

Kai goes behind me and puts us in a spoon position. He’s careful, adjusting for the belly he now knows about, his arm holding my tummy from behind.

"Keep your eyes open," he says.

He slides into me so slowly that I feel every inch of him, and the sound I make is nothing I could have controlled or contained or hidden.

His hands brush my breasts, my nipples as he slides out and in again.

"Don't hold anything back," he says.

"I'm not."

"You are. I can see it. Let go."

My breath becomes shaky.

"I'm scared that if I let go completely, I'll need you so much it will destroy me when you leave."

"I'm not leaving."

He moves. Slow, deep, deliberate strokes that pull the air from my lungs and replace it with something molten and consuming. His hand finds mine and laces our fingers together.

"I can feel you holding back," he murmurs, his lips against my throat. "Your stomach. Your sounds. Your whole body is bracing."

He's right. Even now, even here, some part of me is tense for the moment he pulls away.

I force myself to unclench. Let my hips meet his rhythm instead of fighting it. I grind against his cock as he pushes in again and again. Let the moan that's been building in my chest climb up my throat and leave my mouth without my permission.

"That's it," he says.