“What did you feel?” His voice came out husky.
“Happy.” She moved closer, resting her trembling hands on his broad shoulders. “I was happy that night. It was…it was exciting and passionate. I couldn’t even remember my own name afterward.”
He swallowed again, then said, “Me, too.”
“So let’s deal with this mess in the morning.” She twined her arms around his neck. “Right now, let’s just forget our names.”
She knew the exact moment the resolve in his hazel eyes crumbled. His handsome features softened, his head tilted toward her. Their lips were inches apart. Lana’s heart did a crazy lurch. She wanted this man. She might be insane for that, probably still in shock, most likely about to make another huge mistake.
But she still wanted him.
She bridged the distance between their lips and kissed him. It was supposed to be a soft kiss, an exploratory brushing of mouths, but what it ended up being was…pure passion. Deacon fused his mouth to hers, kissing her so deeply he stole the breath from her lungs. His tongue slid into her mouth, seeking hers, sending little bursts of heat to her core.
No stopping it. One second they were sitting side by side, kissing wildly, the next she was flat on her back, her torn sweater yanked up to her chin, with Deacon’s tongue on her breasts. His body was heavy on top of hers, the weight of him bringing both a thrill and a sense of security.
Pleasure cascaded through her body as he lavished attention on her breasts, which were full and achy beneath his lips. Not to mention extremely sensitive, thanks to the pregnancy. She moaned as he suckled one beaded nipple, the excitement rising inside her so strongly she lifted her hips so she could rub herself against him. The feel of his massive erection only fueled the excitement.
When Deacon latched his mouth onto her other breast, her hips bucked again and another desperate cry slipped from her lips. He instantly pulled back. “Am I hurting you?” he asked roughly.
“No, it feels good,” she whispered. “Everything you’re doing feels so good.”
Looking appeased, he resumed his gentle assault, kissing and fondling her breasts, running his big hands over her hips. And then one hand moved between her legs, stroking her over her pants, teasing and rubbing until she impatiently fumbled for the button at her waistband.
Deacon helped her out, popping open the button and sliding the material down her legs. His hand returned to tease her throbbing sex, and somehow he managed to remove every last inch of clothing separating them—using only one hand. His shirt and pants wound up on the floor, her bra disappeared entirely, and his boxers and her panties were a tangled mess at their feet.
They both groaned as his bare chest met her breasts. The light dusting of hair between his pecs tickled her rigid nipples, making Lana giddy with desire. They kissed again, while his heavy erection strained against her belly. Lana reached down, stroked him, pumped him, drawing a ragged groan from his lips. Flames of arousal licked at her skin, heating that tender spot between her legs, until she finally brought his tip there and teased them both.
She almost reminded him to get protection, but suddenly they both glanced down at her stomach, and the realization that they didn’t need anything seemed to settle over both of them. Bracing his hands on her waist, Deacon pushed himself inside her. He dragged out the motion, sliding in slowly, inch by incredible inch.
Sweat bloomed on Lana’s forehead. This was torture. She wanted him to fill her, to drive her over the edge into oblivion. With an impatient moan, she lifted her bottom, joining their bodies completely.
Deacon’s head fell against her neck, his groan warming her skin. He withdrew slightly, and then he was moving. A fast, reckless pace that had her clinging to his strong back. Pleasure swelled in her womb, rising, spreading. Every muscle in her body tightened, every nerve ending sizzled with her impending climax.
And then Deacon squeezed out, “Lana,” and she toppled right over that edge. Her climax ripped through her, so raw and powerful that her fingernails dug into the sinewy muscles of his back. Deacon’s hazel eyes burned with arousal, glazed with release, and his guttural cry and hurried thrusts intensified the waves of pleasure crashing through her body.
When the waves finally ebbed, delicious lethargy spread through her. Deacon’s chest rose and fell against her breasts, his breath hot on her neck, his lips even hotter as he peppered kisses on her skin.
“God, Lana,” he murmured. “You’re so incredible.”
She waited for her pulse to slow, for her limbs to figure out how to move again and then she rolled over to her side so they lay face to face.
“I like seeing you look like this,” she murmured back, as she traced the proud line of his jaw with her thumb.
“Like what?”