Page 42 of Tight End
I chewed, swallowed, and finally let a slow grin curve my lips. “Warned you I’d probably keep you knocked up for a long time.” The words were more satisfying than any touchdown call. “It’s sexy as fuck.”
She glared at me, but before she could lecture me for the language, tiny feet thudded against the blanket. Kyler used my thigh like a vaulting horse, launching himself onto my lap. Kayte followed, squealing. I caught them both, one under each arm, and collapsed back onto my elbows while they giggled and tried to climb my chest like it was a rock wall.
“You’re riling them up again.” Marissa’s tone was stern, but her gaze softened, her mouth tipping at the corners. “They’ll never nap now.”
I shrugged, helpless, as Kyler’s stubby fingers found my beard and tugged. Kayte squeaked when I tickled her ribs. “Not my fault they recognize a superior wrestling partner.”
Marissa sighed—the put-upon sound of a woman wildly in love with her chaos. “If you don’t stop encouraging mayhem, I’m revoking your sex privileges.”
I lifted a brow, tipped Kayte upside down until she shriek-laughed, then set her right-side up and deadpanned, “Sex is how we ended up in this situation, remember?”
Her palm slid protectively over the gentle swell of her stomach. “Exactly.”
“Pretty sure you begged for it.” I winked.
She huffed, but color warmed her cheeks. “Well, I’ll have more self-control going forward.”
I snorted. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby. We both know you can’t keep your hands off me. Especially when you’re pregnant and desperate.”
I punctuated the tease by blowing a raspberry against Kyler’s neck. He shrieked again, the sound bubbling up like champagne.
Eventually, the twin tornadoes slowed, their little bodies worn out and sagging against me, lids drooping. Marissa gathered the cups and tucked everything back in the cooler. I hauled both kids into my arms for the walk home. We had a double stroller, but I enjoyed having them snuggled up in my arms.
By the time we reached the penthouse, Kyler was snoring against my shoulder, and Kayte’s thumb drooped from her mouth on my other side.
Upstairs, the nursery’s blackout curtains were drawn, but it glowed with dim whale-shaped night-lights. We eased our son and daughter into their cribs, whispered words of love, and crept out.
Marissa stifled a yawn behind the back of her wrist, and when she was done, my fingers slid between hers. Instead of guiding her toward the living room, I stepped across the hall and nudged our bedroom door with my boot.
“What are you doing?” She sounded bemused, but there was that spark I knew—in the dilation of her pupils, and the way her thumb stroked the inside of my wrist.
I closed the door behind us. “Testing my theory.”
She barely had time to arch a brow before I pushed her gently against the wood and covered her mouth with mine. The kiss started slowly—a long slide of lips tasting apple and summer air—but deepened fast, hunger sharpening every pass of tongue, every low sound vibrating in my chest. Her hands smoothed up my arms, her nails grazing my skin, and I felt her surrender in the melt of her spine against the door.
Fabric rustled, and I found the thin straps of her dress, easing them over rounded shoulders kissed pink by the sun. The bodice slipped, pooling beneath the swell of her breasts. She inhaled, her cheeks flushing as I roamed below the edge of maternity lace. I thumbed one nipple and felt it peak instantly.
“Raiden.” Breathless. Faint admonition drowned by need.
I kissed the protest away, my lips brushing the corner of her mouth. “Want me to stop?”
Her answer was a soft bite to my lower lip. “Don’t you dare.”
I grinned against her, heat coiling low. “Thought so.”
The dress puddled at her feet. I scraped my beard down her throat, pausing to mouth over her rapidly beating pulse, one hand curving around the ripe globe of her belly. She was rounder than last month, tighter under my palm, and the primitive thrill of it nearly stole my control. My baby, growing safely inside her.
“You’re gorgeous.” My voice came out like rough velvet. “Full of life. Full of me.”
She shivered. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
I scooped her up, carried her the four strides to our bed, and laid her in the center. Afternoon light bled through sheer curtains, illuminating her skin. My shirt hit the floor next, then my jeans. She watched, her breath hitching each time my muscles flexed.
Pregnancy made her hungrier; I’d learned that early. And I’d been more than happy to satiate her any time she wanted it.
Kneeling, I kissed the arch of her foot, skimmed palms up shapely calves to her knees, then parted them slowly. Her cotton panties were dampened in the center.
I ran a single knuckle along the heat. “Already wet for me, sweetheart.”
