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A wide, warm hand came around her waist. “I do love when you talk to our baby in that half exasperated, half loving voice.” He pressed a kiss at the back of her neck and pulled her off the counter.
She blew a curl out of her face. Freaking prenatal vitamins. Her hair was growing like a weed. Kinda like her boobs. “I’m running out of bras, big guy.”
He lowered her to the floor and slid his hands up to cup her freed breasts. She hissed out a breath as he plucked at her way too sensitive nipples.
“I don’t mind going shopping.”
Harper lifted her shoulder to alleviate the buzz in her ear and the quick reaction of the goose bumps exploding down her neck and shoulder. Damn her husband’s deep bass of a voice. She so didn’t have time for him either. Even as her body vibrated like a tuning fork for his touch.
Too bad her body hadn’t gotten the message. She had one hundred and fifty dark chocolate tortes to make.
By tomorrow afternoon.
And in her current pregnant state, she hated the smell of chocolate. The unfairness of it was epic. Making chocolate anything used to be her favorite thing in the world.
She tried to wiggle away. “I don’t have time to go shopping. I barely have time to shower these days.”
“You’re definitely rocking the lemon smell today. Which tells me that you’ve been working way too hard.”
“Someone lured me away from my ridiculous schedule with a beach and now I have to play catch up.”
“That was so worth it.” He crowded her into the counter, still teasing her. Always freaking teasing her. He brushed his lips over her ear. “Well, maybe Santa will take care of some of your new wardrobe needs.” His deliciously hot breath fanned across the nape of her neck just before his lips trailed down to her shoulder.
“Really? Are you going to measure me?”
He cupped his fingers over the heaviest part of her breasts. His palms slid over the tight tips, then he trailed feather-light fingertips up to her collarbone. On the return trip he teased along the downward slope to her nipples again. Skin tingling and heart racing, she tried to tamp down the urge to push herself into his hand. But, as always, he knew just what she needed. He molded his hands around the aching weight and drew them together. “From my years of anatomy lessons.”
“Way to ruin it, Mr. Romantic.” She elbowed him in the belly, but he didn’t back up. “I do not need to know how many breasts have been in your freakishly large hands.”
Deacon scraped his teeth over her shoulder, pushing her shirt aside as he went for more skin. “The world has a shortage of perfect breasts…”
“Donotthink you’re cute, quoting Princess Bride to me.”
He laughed and did the twisty thing he did and she sucked in a breath. God, she simply couldn’t get enough these days. Either she was nauseous or horny, there didn’t seem to be a whole helluva lot in between.
The calloused pads of his fingers gave just enough friction that she gave up and rolled her head against his chest. She slid her hand behind her and found his muscled thigh and the thick shaft of his cock pinned down by his soft, worn jeans. She cupped him through the denim, pleased to hear an answering groan from him. “Tell me we’re alone.”
“We’re alone.” He added some tongue to his teeth and lips along her neck. Christ, he knew just where to touch. No matter what mood she was in, he could read her. She was so damn lucky, and at the same time it was overwhelming to have someone know her like that.
She moaned. “Really alone, or you-want-to-get-laid-so-you’re-lying-to-me, alone?”
He laughed into her neck. “Nick and Simon are guitar shopping in L.A., Jazz is doing last minute Christmas shopping and I have no idea where Gray is.”
She twisted in his arms and boosted herself up onto his hips. “Okay. Works for me.”
He grunted into her mouth, finding something else to do with those gargantuan hands. Namely cup her increasing ass. Right now, she didn’t care that her jeans were getting too tight. She just wanted her husband to do what he did best—fill up all the achy spots.
He set her on the granite topped island.
She grabbed his jaw and made him focus on her face. “You have to be quick.”
His mouth was all scrunched and yet he was still grinning like an idiot. “I can be quick.”
She released him, replacing her fingers with her mouth. Her tongue rasped through his heavy stubble to his oh-so-kissable lips. “Like, a wham bam, thank you ma’am kind of quick,” she said against his mouth. She reached for his buckle and zipper. Unwilling to wait to even get that down, she reached inside to stroke him.
“Keep touching me like that and there won’t be a need to request a quickie. It’s gonna happen.”
“Good.” She used one hand to pry his zipper down and the other to stroke him free of the denim and cotton. She had the strongest urge to hop down and get on her knees. Everything about Deacon tasted delicious these days. Thank God, because she definitely had an unreliable stomach.
