Page 82 of Afterglow

Her laugh is breathy as my hand widens across her thigh. “If by steal, you mean that you left it on my floor and I decided to make it my sleep shirt, then yes.”

I growl, letting my hand move higher up her inner thigh. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve been sleeping in this shirt for weeks now?” The same possessiveness that came over me when we saw her asshole ex on the street today is pulsing through my veins again and it’s begging me to strip this shirt off her so I can show her that she is mine. That if she wants it, she can have so much more of me than my shirt.

The look she gives me from under her lashes is pure sin and my hand moves of its own accord, up up up, to the apex of her thighs where I find…

Nothing. No lace, no cotton, no tiny scrap of fabric… Instead, I find her wet and hot where my fingers brush against her, causing her body to jerk.

I groan and drop my head into the crook of my arm. “Are you trying to kill me, blondie? Climbing into my bed in my shirt with no panties…”

Her breathing grows erratic as my hand moves to her center, and now she’s near panting. “Well, they were getting uncomfortable… with how wet they were.”

“Jesus Christ,” I say, pulling her down and locking my lips with hers in a bruising kiss. The movement dislodges my hand from between her thighs, but in a frantic movement, I’m yanking at the hem of my shirt and tearing it over her head. I’m in only a pair of boxer briefs, so when her hand snakes across the mere inches between us to rub me through the fabric, my head falls back on a groan that echoes around the room. With a swift tug, she peels them off.

Her hand on my shaft is my undoing, and I grab her by the hips and lift until she straddles me on the bed. Her naked body on display for me: full tits, round abdomen, and her slick pussy grinding against my hard dick.

“Shit,” I hiss between my teeth. She rolls her hips again and my eyes lodge themselves in the back of my head. “Please, Leanne, put me out of my misery.”

And with a lift of her hips, she does.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Leanne

Last night feels like a dream I don’t want to wake up from.

I don’t know if it’s Bryce’s bed, or if it’s this house, or if it’s the cocooned feeling of knowing the snow is thick outside, giving us an excuse to stay in all day, but I feel blissfully at ease this morning.

Yesterday was a roller coaster of emotions—high highs and low lows. But with Bryce’s steady breaths beside me as I slept, I’m seeing things more clearly today. For months I’ve been caught in a cyclone of dealing with the aftermath of Craig’s betrayal, the hurt I caused myself by not sharing it with anyone, and the tumultuous unknown of becoming a mother… And then there’s Bryce. He’s been the calm, immovable presence I didn’t know I needed.

He’s given me every assurance that he’s in this, but I’ve still been holding back… waiting for the other shoe to drop. Only… I’m starting to think maybe there is no other shoe, no hidden motives or agendas, no reason not to trust him. If he’s willing to give me everything of himself, why am I hesitant to do the same?

I reach for Bryce but only cool fabric meets my fingers.

I blink my eyes open and stretch, luxuriating in the softness of his sheets and the delectable soreness in my body. This is the second time I’ve woken up this morning. The first time was to the feel of Bryce’s hard length against my ass and our legs tangled together in the sheets. It wasn’t long before he had me on my knees, hands gripping his custom headboard, to take me from behind.

Pregnant sex is interesting… Right now I’m turned on all the time, so that’s great, but we have to be a bit more creative with positions than I’m used to. Not that I’m complaining. With Craig, after a year of trying, sex became a chore and the tenderness between us dried up long before that. But with Bryce, there’s more tenderness than I ever could’ve imagined for such a rugged man.

I clearly fell back to sleep though, because the clock by the bed tells me it’s ten o’clock. Hell, I don’t think I’ve slept this late since college.

I swing my legs out of bed at the same time Bryce strides in wearing a pair of low-slung grey sweats and nothing else. His bare feet slap across the worn wooden floorboards, the muscles of his torso flexing and shifting, and in his hands are two mugs.

“Tea?” he asks, setting one on my bedside table.

My bedside table? Is that what I want? The immediate answer is yes, but the thought still scares me as much as it exhilarates me.

“Thank you. How long have you been up?” I ask, reaching for the cup and taking a long pull of the hot liquid.

“A couple hours. I got an email from a potential client and went down a rabbit hole.”

“A wedding?”

He shakes his head. “No, actually it’s a corporate retreat. We don’t do a lot of those kinds of events, so I’m a little out of my depth in terms of what they’re looking for.”

“Want me to take a look?” I offer, my T-shirt sliding down over my thighs when I stand up.

His eyes rove over me—my bare legs, his shirt taut across my baby bump. He reaches his hand out and presses it to the left of my belly button, where our little butterfly is most likely to move. She obliges, pushing out against his hand, and his whole face softens.

I raise my eyebrows when he finally meets my eye again. “Sorry, what did you say?”