Warmth spread through her as his lips met hers. Her heart jerked out of its lazy pace and settled into a throbbing pulse that awakened the dormant parts of her. He tilted his head, angling deeper, his tongue seeking entrance. She gave it, but he teased, taking a taste of her and pulling back until she was forced to chase after him.
“Baby,” he murmured against her lips as she reclaimed them, “I’m trying to keep my hands off you as much as I can.”
She whimpered her distress, stroking her hand over his hair. “Please don’t.”
“You know the doctor said take it easy for a few days.”
“I know.” Gabby pouted, nibbling his bottom lip and tugging it gently. “That doesn’t mean you have to keep your hands off me.”
“If I start touching you, I won’t want to stop.”
“You don’t have to stop. You can touch me all night. Just touch me.”
“Ahh,” he groaned, catching on. “But that’ll be torture.”
“Oh, I know. Such sweet torture.” She let her hand play across his bare chest, her fingers sliding against his nipple rings. He gave a shudder as she brushed them, and she giggled. “I never thought I liked these much until I saw them on you.”
“Glad I could sway your thinking.” He kissed her deep, rolling her under him, careful not to put his weight on her. Always so careful. She cupped his face with both hands and melted beneath his kiss, let him plunder, met his exploring tongue with a thorough exploration of her own. And he was so sweet, so, so sweet. His hand slipped under the hem of the T-shirt she wore now—one of his, actually—pulling it up as his fingers journeyed to the underside of her breast. She arched into him, seeking the contact. Drowning in the luscious intimacy of his kiss.
A few quick adjustments and he had stripped the shirt off her. “Oh yes,” she whispered, needing the closeness, needing his skin against hers. She ached, throbbed for him, and the more she tried to keep arousal at bay and just enjoy the simple beauty of his big hands on her, the more it warmed and bloomed in her core. He stroked her nipple with his thumb, then rolled the tight, ultrasensitive bud between his fingers.
“God,” she breathed, squeezing her eyes closed. “I can hardly stand it.”
At her words, he released and circled with his thumb again. When he suddenly chuckled, she opened her eyes in surprise. “I think they’re even bigger,” he said, and she joined in his amusement.
“I think you’re right. They feel freaking gigantic.”
“So amazing,” he said. “Really, I never thought much about all this before. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, going through all these changes.”
She ached for a different reason than the passion he stirred. This should’ve been the most joyous time of her life, experiencing all these changes… She wanted it to be. By God, she would make it be, despite what everyone else thought. She didn’t want to admit her mother’s disapproval was weighing on her, but it was. Still, she didn’t have to let it ruin this moment.
He moved down the length of her body, kissing a trail to her navel. Her belly was still flat, but she’d noticed a little tightness in her jeans the past few days. She couldn’t wait to have a bump. Her sister-in-law’s had been so cute that Gabby had hardly been able to keep her hands off it whenever she saw her. Yeah, it might’ve been a little weird, but she didn’t care.
Ian’s tongue lapped a circle around her belly button while his hands still cradled her br**sts, and she moaned and rolled her head back and forth on the pillow.
This continued on, and she wondered if she’d bitten off more than she could chew making this request. His hands on her were no longer sweet torture—they were purely torture. Her inner muscles clenched and longed intensely for him. Just when she was about to beg him to take her, though, he coaxed her over on her stomach.
His strong hands kneaded her back muscles, releasing tension that had been pent up for…God only knew how long. Before she found out she was pregnant. Before she came here. Hell, probably before she was dumped at the altar. She groaned into the pillow as his fingers dug deep, finding areas of tightness she hadn’t even known about. His hands had always been amazingly gifted, but now she thought he must have some wizardry in those fingers.
He didn’t stop with her back, easing down and massaging her hips and bu**ocks, then the backs of her thighs and her calves. He should’ve been a massage therapist. As he bent one of her legs up and began plying the sole of her foot with that wonderfully soothing pressure, she told him so.
He chuckled, a dark sound that made her think he wasn’t unaffected by this either. “Maybe I’ll pursue that if your brother and I find we can’t get along anymore.”
“I would help you all I could with anatomy.”
“Awesome. Maybe I’ve found another calling.”
“I don’t know…I might get jealous to think someone else…unhh, God…is getting this too.”
“You would keep me too busy doing it to you for me to have any sort of career at it.”
“Mmm. You might be right. I’m so paying you well for this.”
“You don’t have to do that.” His lips grazed her left calf, and she smiled into her pillow. Oh, yeah. If she’d had to get pregnant from a one-night stand, she could’ve done a lot worse than him. “Can’t get enough of your skin,” he whispered. One hand stroked up the back of her leg and squeezed her cheek through her panties. His mouth followed his fingers’ progression, and she shivered. He licked a wet trail up her inner thigh, and she wriggled her legs apart.
The breath from his chuckle gusted against her skin. “No.”
“Please?”
“After we make sure you’re okay for a few days, I’ll let you have it. I’ll lick it and suck on it until you come apart.” He moved up, allowing his hand to roam over her back. She thought of the tattoo there, of his fingers caressing the soft, freshly healed lines.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“I’ll slide in slow, make you feel every inch. I’ll drag it out even slower than I put it in. I won’t go faster no matter how much you beg.”
“I hate you so much,” she moaned. His low, sultry voice and his words had brought a visceral reaction. Her pu**y squeezed in helpless need. He gathered her hair in his hand, arranging it on her back, then buried his face in it and breathed, his chest expanding next to her. His fingers slid along her bare arm crooked over the pillow.
“I want it as much as you do,” he growled. “So f**king much.”
She didn’t know how that was possible. He wasn’t OD’ing on preggo hormones. He moved his head up and shifted over, stretching out beside her. She turned her head to face him, watching the light from the TV flicker over his face, in the depths of his eyes. In the dark she might not have been able to tell, but the dim illumination highlighted something in those eyes, an ache it pained her to observe. He continued stroking her hair, her face. The muscles of his throat constricted as he swallowed.
There was little doubt in her mind he had something to say, and whatever it was, it was troubling him. She wanted to know. She needed to know. But before she asked, she sent up a fervent prayer it didn’t ruin this. “Ian. What is it?”