passionate than the last. He was breathless when we broke apart, his green eyes the darkened shade of a stormy sea. “I hope you’re ready for me,” he said.
I ran my hands over his body. “I hope you’re ready for me.” At this point, I was ready to leave him a dried-out husk. Thanks to the pregnancy, my hormones had shifted into overdrive. I had basically been the horniest I had ever been at a time I couldn’t have sex.
I was as ready for this as he was. Perhaps even more so. I really didn’t even need foreplay, considering that was what the last five months had been, since that very first kiss by his piano.
Honestly, from the first time he said hello. I very nearly repeated that cheesy movie line to him verbatim.
He chuckled as he spun me around to face the window. “I told you that I would show you the world,” he said, nuzzling my neck as he held me from behind. “Now show me yours,” he commanded in an urgent whisper.
I shuddered against him. He put my hands against the windows so I could brace myself. Then, he slowly slid his large hands down my body. I wore another dress, not just because they were easy and comfortable, although they totally were. They also made me feel feminine and womanly and powerful. Like a goddess.
He grabbed the dress and bunched it up in his hands, revealing my skin in the window’s reflection. I gasped as his hand slipped in between my legs.
“Auggie,” I panted, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Dr. Hamish had given him the green light. That was all these last few months of frustration had been about. I was surprised we made it to the room.
I watched his reflection in the glass as he rubbed his hand between my legs, sending shards of sharp pleasure throughout my body. The place that had waited for his touch for so long now reveled in how strong and nimble his fingers were. I saw him watching my reflection in the window. London was splayed out before us in all her glory, but his eyes were fixed on me, watching my face as he brought my body to life at the tips of his fingers. I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my lips if I wanted to. His lips grazed my neck as he continued to stroke me over my underwear. I was glad to be braced against the window or I might have wilted to the floor.
His other hand slipped up my body to cup a full breast. He ran a thumb over the nipple tentatively, to test for tenderness. I gasped out loud. “Auggie,” I whimpered, grinding against his hand.
He didn’t bother torturing me. He was as raw with need as I was. His finger slipped under my underwear. He moved easily, the tip of his finger circling the most sensitive part of my body until I cried out. “Not yet,” he murmured against my ear, his soft beard tickling my neck. With that he parted me with two fingers, slipping them inside.
My body clutched him deeper immediately. I was so hungry for him. He toyed with me for long, torturous moments until I was begging him for sweet release. He slid those fingers in and out of me, circling my sensitive clit at the top of every stroke, his fingers wet and slippery against me. I trembled so hard I could barely stand. “Scream so they hear you,” he commanded, his tongue blazing a trail around my ear. I had no choice but to obey the command as wave after wave of pleasure built up inside me. It spilled over at last and he had to hold me up to keep my legs giving out from under me. Instead he swooped me into his arms and headed for the bedroom, which faced out over the London skyline.
Neither of us cared about that. He lay me on the bed, pushing my dress up over my hips. He peeled away my underwear and spread my legs. My eyes met his. “No bleeding,” he confirmed with a smile.
I felt a wave of relief.
“But then again,” he said. “I may have to take another look.”
I gasped as he once again buried his face between my legs. His tongue was much gentler and much nimbler than his fingers. He used it to etch his name against me until I was convulsing underneath him, my hand clutching handfuls of