“For a moment there, I thought I’d lost you. I saw him lean into you, thinking he kissed you. Then I saw the moving van going down the lane. I thought you were already gone.” His arms tighten, and my hands cover his forearms, stroking over them.
“I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t disappear like that.”
“You still might leave.” A million questions rest in his tone.
“If we learn the baby isn’t yours, you’ll want me to go anyway.”
Bull stiffens behind me, squeezing me tighter into his chest.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true. If Sprout isn’t yours—”
“You don’t think I want you? What do you think earlier was? In my truck. By the tree.” His mouth presses to my neck as he speaks as if the words can seep through my skin.
“You got caught up in the excitement of the heartbeat. We both did,” I admit, as I’m just as guilty of wanting Bull to take me on the front seat of his pickup despite the parking lot and equally guilty for what we did by the tree. That beautiful fricking tree and its romantic stories, plus all his pretty words about heart and life.
I’m not asking you to marry me, Scarlett.
“I wasn’t caught up in anything but you. I told you I don’t care who the father is. I want Sprout, but I also want you.” His arms flex around me a second before he continues.
“I like you. I like how your scent lingers in the bathroom after you shower, and you laugh at my jokes. You get excited about watching movies, and you want everything explained during a hockey game. I like your smile and how you chew your lip when you’re horny and how . . . Just, dammit, Scarlett. I wake up looking forward to seeing you, and I want to go to bed with you in it every day that ends with day and turns into a night. I care about the baby, but this isn’t only about Sprout. This is about you. Us. I don’t want you to leave.”
My heart beats so fast in my chest, I’m certain he can hear it through my back. My body trembles at the fierceness of his tone, the sincerity in it, the intensity of it.
“I’m not leaving.”
His breath hitches behind me, and his mouth comes to the exposed portion of my back. Suction kisses work over my shoulder blade, and my knees give a little, lowering me to his spread lap. I rest in the crook of his legs while his lips continue to suck at my skin. A soft tongue licks along the curve of my shoulder blade before he nips me, and I squeak. He lifts an arm at my waist for the knot of the towel and tugs it free.
“I should shower,” he mutters as his teeth continue to nibble at my shoulder blade. The only response I can give him is a soft purr. He tugs the damp towel from between us, and I sit naked in his lap. His hands coast up my sides before both come forward to cover the bump of my belly. His nips turn more aggressive, and he shifts behind me to get to the curve of my neck just above my clavicle. With a sharp bite from him, I bend forward, pressing my backside into the seam of his jeans, and groan. The noise spurs him onward, one hand dipping lower on my body, forcing my legs to spread while the other hand remains flat on my belly, holding me in place over him.
“We were interrupted,” he mutters, strumming his fingers over my sensitive folds. I tip my head back for his shoulder. “No more thoughts about him.”
“Fine by me.”
Bull slips a finger into me, destroying all my thoughts of anything but him. His finger easily slides back and forth as I’m instantly wet for him.
“Slide your legs over mine.”
I do as he says, but my legs are shorter than his, and my toes can’t touch the ground. “I’m going to fall,” I warn as I struggle to sit over his thighs with my legs spread wide open. His finger hasn’t lost a beat, adding a second to the first.
“I’ll never let you fall,” he says, and a million more promises linger in his words. His mouth works more intently at sucking my skin along my neck and down my shoulder. His teeth scrape over the ball of my shoulder while his fingers slip in and out of me, making a soft suction sound.
“Bull,” I warn, as my thighs tremble and my toes point, desperate for support as they dangle inches above the ground. He scoots himself back on my bed only a few inches, not breaking his rhythm. His heels hook into the low frame, lifting my spread thighs and opening me in a way I’ve never felt so exposed. It’s wild and wonderful as his fingers work me and his mouth kisses me. I glance up to note how we sit within the small frame of the mirror over the low dresser opposite the end of the bed. Unable to help myself, I watch as Bull fingers me, and his mouth sucks at my skin.
After another minute, his eyes catch mine in the reflection, and he pulls back. He keeps his focus on me in the mirror, his deep voice ruffling my hair. “You like watching?”
“I like watching you,” I admit. “I like watching us.”
“Sweetheart, I need to be inside you,” he says to me through the mirror.
“I’d like that.” His fingers release me, and I cry out at the absence, but he works at the button and fly of his jeans, shifting me only a little to lower his pants and underwear to his thighs.
“I really should have showered,” he mutters.
“You smell like sunshine and hard work.” And all man. Scooting back a bit more, he keeps me reversed to him, and I shift my legs, so I balance on my shins.
“You naughty woman,” he teases, holding himself upright and dragging his tip through my slit, moistening himself before guiding my hip to lower me and take him in.
“Jesus,” he hisses behind me, holding me still a second. I can’t say this is a position I’ve experienced before. I’m on my knees, straddling him, my back to his front, but my God, I’ll do it again.
“Eventually, I’ll be too fat to do it missionary,” I say for some reason, and Bull chuckles behind me.
“We’re going to practice all kinds of positions, sweetheart. Missionary is the least of them. And you won’t be fat. You’ll be beautiful.”
My lower belly swirls with the anticipation of all we’ll do. Or it might be that Bull lifts me only a little and then slams me back down on him. He guides me to draw him deep and then lift to the tip, threatening to release him. It’s a teasing game of torture, and I love it, but I need more.
“You touch yourself?”
“I . . .” I don’t know how to answer him. Do I admit that all these weeks of wanting him has left me with a heavy finger workout? Do I tell him he’s been the center of every fantasy? Do I confess how even the slight nearness of him has had me so worked up, some nights I think I’ll hardly make it to bed before I combust?
“Do it. Now.” His command sends a thrill through me, and I reach for the tight nub, working it frantically as he slides me up and down his thickness.
This is a big dick, I want to scream to the mirror, briefly recalling Shelton’s words. I only peek at our reflection for a second because the scene is too much. I’m a woman gone wild at forty, and I’m falling for the man behind me.
“Bull,” I groan, getting so close.
“I can’t wait to feel you explode all over me, milking me with your tight—”
“If a cow reference comes next—”
“Pussy,” he mutters, and I break, shuttering with the release. A noise echoes in the room, and I realize I’ve been screaming out his name like a prayer of gratitude. Falling forward, I brace a hand on the bed between his thighs as he hammers into me, thrusting upward as I fall back down over him.