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“That’s it. Take it. Quiet, sweet girl.”
He finds a rhythm that won’t slam the headboard. Short, deep strokes, hips grinding when he bottoms out, one hand braced by my head and the other under my thigh, holding me open. Every thrust drags that thick length through me. I can hear how wet I am.
I get a hand between us.
He catches my wrist. “I’ve got you.”
His thumb finds my clit, rough and in time with his hips.
I arch up and nearly cry out.
He presses me back down with his chest and kisses me so the sound stays in his mouth.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I do. His eyes are dark. Jaw tight. He’s trying so hard to stay quiet that a muscle jumps in his cheek every time he pushes in.
“You said after the wedding,” he murmurs. “As many times as I want.”
All I can do is nod. He’s so deep it feels like his cock is lodged in my throat and keeping me unable to speak.
“I’m going to hold you to that.” He thrusts harder, still controlled, still deep. “And I’m going top practice very chance I get. Until you can’t take a step without feeling me.”
“You’re already—” I break off when he hits that spot and my toes curl into the sheet. “Fuck. Right there. Don’t stop.”
He stays on it. Same angle. Same pressure. Thumb circling, cock thick and relentless, and the coil in my stomach pulls tight so fast I grab his hair and yank his mouth back to mine. I come shaking, biting his lip so I don’t cry out, clenching around him so hard he has to stop moving.
“Fuck, Blaire.” He’s breathing like he ran. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Squeeze me just like that.”
I’m still twitching when he starts again, sloppier now, chasing it. The condom is a thin stupid barrier and I hate it and I’m glad for it at the same time, because if he were bare I don’t know if either of us would be smart. He buries his face in my neck. His hips stutter.
I drag my nails down his back and whisper, “Come on. I’ve got you. Quiet.”
He comes with a broken sound bitten into my shoulder, buried as deep as he can get, hips jerking, holding me there. I feel him throb. Feel the heat even through the latex. He stays inside me until his arms shake, then eases out slow and careful, one hand still on my hip.
We listen.
Down the hall, a wooden truck hits the baseboard. Theo makes a truck noise. He hasn’t come looking for us.
Simon glances at the bedside clock before dropping his forehead to mine and laughing.
“Remind me to thank my mother for that truck. Earned us twenty minutes of alone time.”
“You said you’d be quick.”
“I lied.” He kisses me,then ties the condom and gets up long enough to throw it away and grab his clothes off the floor. He looks at me sprawled on the bed, jeans around one ankle, sweater somewhere by the door, and his eyes go dark all over again.
“After the wedding,” I repeat. My voice is hoarse. “Not before. We have enough going on.”
“I know.” He pulls my jeans back up for me, kisses the inside of my knee on the way, ridiculous and tender. “Doesn’t mean I can’t think about it.”
“You can think about it while you finish dinner. We gotta fed our kid.”
He grins and helps me sit up. My legs are useless. He looks entirely too proud of that.
From Theo’s room: “Mommy! The driver fell out!”
“Coming,” I call, steadier than I feel.
