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Chapter Thirteen
Mia
I had been excitedabout playing with my toys with Conor back at my place, but splayed out on his huge bed was a pretty decent compromise.
That was the other thing. My toys. Conor wouldn’t play with them with me during our month of no-sex, saying that playing and touching was all considered sexual and he wanted complete abstinence. He wouldn’t even let me play while he was around. Finding time to play with your toys while your, well, whatever Conor was –boyfriend?—wasn’t around wasn’t incredibly easy.
So tonight we’d be toyless which, let’s be honest, would be completely fine. The man looked at me and I was wet. He put his hand on me and I was ready to shoot off into bliss.
I pulled Conor along to his bedroom, his hand squeezing mine. When we entered the room and I pulled us closer to the bed, Conor stopped and tugged me back into him, where he crossed an arm over the top of my chest and cradled my belly with his other arm.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he whispered into my ear. I tilted my head to my shoulder, wordlessly asking him to press his lips to that magical spot. Smart man that he was, Conor complied, sucking, kissing, and nibbling up and down the column of my neck.
He slipped his hand under the top of my panties, holding his palm over my mound and his fingers just sitting on top of my folds. I spread my feet, trying to get his fingers to slip into the folds, to at least rest on top of my aching clit, but Conor seemed content in just holding me, kissing my neck, and holding his hand possessively over me.
“Conor.” My voice came out a little whiny, and it was a bit embarrassing.
“Mia.” His voice was barely a whisper in my ear. He turned me in his arms and leaned in to kiss me. As much as I actually enjoyed being pregnant, I would be happy when this bump wasn’t between us. I wanted to be completely pressed up into Conor.
His beard scratched against my chin and I wound my hands loosely around his neck. His tongue slipped into my mouth and our kiss was heated but not frantic. I lifted my eyelids, needing to watch Conor, and wasn’t at all surprised to see his hooded eyes fixed on mine.
He grinned boyishly against my lips as he pulled back. “God, I love you.”
My heart stopped beating for a second, only to flutter rapidly against my ribs shortly after. I should say it was too soon. We didn’t know each other.
But we did.
We spent a month getting to know one another again. He wasn’t the Conor from my childhood, just as I was no longer the little kid who hung out at his house before he left for college. We were two different people and while I was probably a little too sweet for a guy like Conor, and he was probably a little too gruff and hard for a woman like me…
I liked who we were together.
So I whispered the three words into the air, feeling them with every piece of my being. “I love you too, Conor.”
His grin was what fantasies were made of. Daily, he showed me how excited he was for this baby, and this grin right here told me how excited he was for us. Needing for us to be more, I reached between us and started to work on his pants.
“Naked, Conor,” I said, drawing the zipper down.
I pushed down on the denim of his jeans, not at all surprised to see he’d gone commando, and before I could kneel to get the denim the rest of the way off, because hello, I couldn’t bend at the waist these days, Conor put his hands over mine and finished the act for me.
“I can’t have your mouth so close to me right now, Mia baby,” was his gruff response and I couldn’t help but grin. Someone was feeling needy.
After he straightened up, I had to chuckle at the sight he was. He was naked from the hips down, still sporting his bar tee on top. “You’re cute.”
Conor scoffed and peeled his shirt off over the top of his head. “That was fucking ass-backwards,” he said, referring to the order in which he lost his clothes.
“Nah, it was good,” I said, grinning. I reached out to trace the tattoo on his side. I knew the Gaelic knot he had on the back of his shoulder, and I had previously studied the lines and shapes of his sleeve, which had homages to his siblings and heritage intermixed, but these words were new.
“This is new.” He must have gotten it sometime over the last few days.
He nodded, looking down to where my fingers traced. He lifted his arm a little to allow greater access. “Got it Thursday morning.”
Which explained why it was still slightly red. Not badly, but just enough.
“What does it say?”
“Dá fhada an lá tagann an tráthnóna.”
The Gaelic lilt of his tongue was sexy and almost enough for me not to care what it meant. But, “Which means…?”
