Page 43 of The Game Plan
I grip the back of her neck and crush my mouth to hers like I’ve waited patiently to do. It’s rough and hungry. Our bodies practically sag in relief. We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, both avoiding making the first move.
A moan leaves her lips, and I slide my tongue against the seam of her lips, begging for more. Her lips part, granting me access as our tongues dance together. She tastes like spearmint and desperation, and I eat it up.
My free hand roams over her body. Over her bump and down her hips until they graze the soft, smooth texture of her cotton sleep shorts. Savannah’s hands glide over my arms, across my shoulders, until she pushes her hands through my hair, gripping the soft locks as she holds on to me. It’s an awkward connection with her growing belly in the middle, but we make it work. Her hips thrust forward, chasing friction, wanting me to touch the place she’s desperate for.
But before I do, I break our kiss. She starts to let out a groan of frustration, but before she can, my lips trail down the side ofher neck. Sucking the soft flesh between my lips before nipping gently.
“Grant,” she moans breathlessly.
“You sure about this, Peach?” I ask, voice rough, praying she says yes. But if she told me to stop, to slow down, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
“God, yes!” She nods eagerly. “Fuck me, Grant. Make me feel good. I mean it.”
Pulling back, I reach for her hand. As much as I want to lift her in my arms and carry her to my bedroom, I don’t. It’s not because I can’t, but I wouldn’t want to risk stumbling over my feet. Not when she’s this far into her pregnancy.
With her hand gripped in mine, I pull her to my room. If I’m finally going to have Savannah Holycross, it’s going to be in my bed—so every time I rest my head, I’m reminded of this moment. I want her peach and vanilla scent clinging to my pillows. I want the sounds she makes burned into my memory, the image of her squirming under my touch etched into me. Does that make me a masochist? Probably.
I stop at the edge of my bed, turning to take her in—flushed cheeks, chest rising fast, eyes full of desire.
She’s so fucking sexy, and my cock twitches. It’s rock hard, pressed against the zipper of my khaki shorts, reminding me I’m dressed for work. I’m going to be late, and I don’t give a fuck. Nothing is taking me away from this moment.
“Strip, Peach,” I demand. Her eyes widen at my tone before her lips tilt in a seductive smirk. Pushing her shoulders back, confidence oozes from Savannah. Without breaking eye contact, she pushes her shorts down, kicking them to the side. Her fingertips trail up her thigh before sliding into the waistband of her panties.
A rush of warmth goes straight to my cock, and my balls instinctively constrict. It’s been so fucking long since I’ve been with anyone. I’m wound as tight as she is.
Her hands grip the hem of her shirt as she strips it over her head. Full tits bounce as she tosses the shirt onto the floor. My mouth waters. Savannah’s always had perfect tits. Nice sized—more than a handful—and full, but now,fuck. Now, with the faint stretch marks, they’re delectable.
“Goddamn, Peach. Fucking look at you.” I rub my hand down my face as I meet her heated stare. Her cheeks flush a darker shade of pink, and her hands move to cover herself. “Don’t hide from me, sweetheart. You’re perfect.”
Her lips part, a choppy breath escaping. “Touch me, Grant.”
We erase the space between us, our lips colliding as I help guide her onto the mattress. Climbing onto the bed next to her, my subconscious is aware of her belly as my lips find her neck again.
My hands move to cup her breasts, the fullness making me unable to hold them all. I begin kneading her soft flesh, moving my fingers to play with her nipples. A moan slips free as I thrust my hips forward, practically dry-humping the bed. If I don’t get inside her soon, I’m going to come in my pants. But it’s not about me right now. It’s about worshipping this incredible woman who’s growing a human life. This isn’t just about sex—it’s about making sure she feels cherished, desired, wanted.
Her nipples harden into marble as I rub my thumb over them. The sweet mewls and moans that leave her lips are stored in my memory bank for later. As my lips drag along her collarbone, I pinch her left nipple, rolling the tip between my fingers.
“Fuck!” she screams, and I smirk against her soft skin.
“Your left tit is still so sensitive, Peach.”
I feel her head nod as I suck a pebbled peak into my mouth. “Feels so good, Grant. Oh my god.”
My tongue flicks against her nipple as her body writhes beneath me. As much as I want to sit and suck on her perfect tits, I want to taste her sweetness even more. My mouth waters as I recall what it was like to eat her pussy.
“Grant, please.”
Her nipple leaves my mouth with apopas I lift my head to meet her dazed eyes. “Please, what? Tell me where you want me.”
“My…my pussy.” Her voice is quiet, almost as if she’s embarrassed.
“What do you want me to touch you with?”
“Your mouth,” she rushes to say, chest heaving.
Leaning back on my heels, I stare down at the goddess spread before me. I take in every curve, every change, every beautiful mama mark on her flawless skin. This is the vision of her I want to remember forever. Even in this vulnerable state, with her body transforming every day, she should be proud—she’s creating life. And me? I love every change.
Reaching behind my neck, I grip the collar of my shirt and toss it off in one quick motion.
