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I laugh again, gentler this time, and push lightly at his chest so I can hop down. “You already have a baby,” I tease, turning back to the stove. “He’s four years old and has a taco addiction.”

“Another baby,” he clarifies, voice dropping into that low register that always makes my stomach flutter.

“Simon,” I say finally, “after the wedding, I will gladly let you knock me up as many times as you possibly can.”

His breath catches.

I look up and catch the way his eyes darken, the way his pulse jumps visibly at the base of his throat.

“It’s been a few years since I’ve made a baby,” he says, stepping in close again, hands finding my waist. “Might need to practice a few times before the real deal.”

I bite my lip to hide my smile, heat already pooling low in my belly. I glance down the hallway toward Theo’s room. He’s been in there for the last twenty-five minutes, completely absorbed in the new toy Simon’s mom sent him in the mail—a big wooden truck with working doors and a tiny driver that he hasn’t stopped zooming across the floor.

Simon notices where my attention has gone. His hands tighten on my waist.

“I’ll be quick,” he murmurs against the shell of my ear, voice low and rough.

My pulse kicks hard. I squirm in his arms, my hands sliding up his chest until my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

“Simon…” I whisper, half warning, half invitation.

He doesn’t wait for more. His mouth crashes into mine, hungry and deep, one hand cupping the back of my head while the other grips my hip and tugs me to the edge of the counter. I melt into him, a soft sound escaping against his lips.

He tastes like a fucking energy drink, but I'm use to it now.

“I need you,” he says, voice wrecked and low against my mouth. “Right now. Let me have you, sweet girl. Please.”

I nod before the words are even fully out, my fingers already fumbling with the button of his jeans, desperate and clumsy with how badly I want him.

“Bedroom,” I whisper, my lips brushing the stubble along his jaw. “And be quiet.”

Simon doesn’t need to be told twice. He lifts me up and shuts off the stove, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct as he carries me down the hallway. His mouth is on my neck again, open and hungry, and I have to bite my lip hard to keep from moaning too loud. Theo’s room is just around the corner; the last thing we need is him deciding now is the perfect time to come looking for us.

Simon kicks the door shut and locks it behind him before setting me down on the edge of the bed, already tugging my sweater up and over my head. The second it’s off, his hands are on me—warm, rough palms sliding over my ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through my bra.

“God, Blaire,” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine as he works my jeans open. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of you.”

I help him shove my jeans down, then reach for his again, fingers steady now that I have a mission. “Then stop talking and take me,” I whisper, pulling him down on top of me as we tumble back onto the mattress. “Quietly.”

He laughs once before his mouth finds mine again. The kiss is deep and messy, all tongue and heat, his body covering mine like he’s trying to erase every inch of distance that’s existed between us these last five years. His hand slips between us, fingers sliding beneath the lace of my panties, and I arch up with a soft, shaky gasp that he swallows with another kiss.

“Quiet, remember?” he murmurs against my lips, even as his fingers stroke exactly where I need him.

I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my moan, nails digging into his back as the tension coils tighter and tighter. The weight of him, the heat of his skin, the way he’s looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted—it’s almost too much. I’m already close, already trembling, and we’ve barely even started.

Simon shifts, kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, grabbing a condom from the nightstand and rolling it on as fast as he can manage without ripping it while simulatiously squirting lube over himself. The second he’s done I’m reaching for him again, guiding him exactly where I want him. He pushes into me in one slow, deep thrust that has both of us groaning into each other’s mouths.

“Fuck, sweet girl,” he breathes, forehead dropping to mine as he starts to move. “You feel like home.”

“Move,” I whisper.

“Give me a second.” His voice is wrecked. “You feel too good. I’m going to finish in thirty seconds if I move now.”

I hook my legs higher around his waist and pull. He sinks deeper and swears into my neck, the sound muffled against my skin.

“Fuck.” He pulls back slow, almost all the way, then pushes in again, deeper than the first time.

My mouth falls open. I bite his shoulder so I don’t make noise.