Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(58)

“How do you want me?” he asks, pulling his hands away to slide his briefs down his legs.

“Like this.” I whimper, bumping my backside against the firm ridge in his boxer briefs again.

With deft fingers, Grant pulls my underwear down my legs. Bringing his hand between my thighs, he presses gently against my clit. I gasp, bucking into his hand, absolutely wild for that delicious friction.

I reach back, one hand touching the hair at the nape of his neck, and the other grabbing his ass. He obeys my unspoken command, lining himself up with my warm, wet center.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmurs, his lips at the back of my neck.

“You’re not. Please,” I say on a needy groan.

He moves with slow, purposeful intention, pressing forward inch by broad inch until I’m so full of him, I can hardly breathe.

I cry out, rocking my hips into his, deepening our connection. He feels incredible, and hot lust rolls through me, pushing away every thought and worry I’ve had over the last few weeks.

I wanted to learn to stand on my own two feet, and I have, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have needs. And right now, my pregnancy hormones are dictating that I need this right here. His strong arms around me, his rigid body moving inside of mine.

Grant nibbles on my neck, pumping in and out while he rubs my clit with expert precision. Only a few minutes later, I feel my orgasm barreling toward me. Holy unexpected . . .

“I’m c-coming.” I gasp, the waves crashing over me harder and faster than I’ve ever experienced.

Grant grabs one of my plump breasts as he fucks me into his own orgasm, a strangled moan filling my ear as he empties himself inside me. We’re a sweaty, breathless mess for the next few minutes, both of us just trying to slow our heart rate while we listen to the rain fall outside.

“Wow,” I choke out, still panting.

“Yeah,” he says, gathering me close.

“Could you help me turn over?”

Grant complies, helping me sit up and shift my body so that I’m now facing him. We curl into each other like we’ve done this our entire lives.

“How do you feel?” he asks, one hand reaching down to caress my belly.

“I feel amazing,” I say with a chuckle.

“Me too.” He smiles, pressing his lips to my forehead in a precious kiss.

“I wasn’t sure if sex while pregnant would work,” I say. “It seemed unlikely with another . . . being in the room.”

“True.” Grant laughs, smoothing my hair from my cheek and neck. “Third parties aside . . . I think you wear it well.”

“The belly?” I ask, incredulous.

“You’re sexy as hell.” He sighs, touching his lips to mine. “It’s been tough.”

“Has it?” I laugh, my eyebrows raised.

“You have no idea.”

“I’m sure I have some idea,” I whisper against his lips.

We kiss then, long and slow and perfectly in sync. It’s the kind of kiss that I doubt I’ll ever forget.

“I have a gift for you too,” I say once we part.

“You do?” His voice is surprised.

“I’d get it for you, but I don’t think I’ll be moving from this spot for a minute.”

“Where is it?”

“On the dresser.”

Grant plants a firm kiss against my forehead before he vaults out of bed, younger now than I’ve ever seen him act. I watch him (well, his muscular butt) as he saunters over to the dresser, finding the box and lifting it.

“This?”

“That’s the one.”

He looks at it for a minute, reading the sans serif type on the front, and then on the back, and then on the front again.

After what feels like a year has passed, I speak up. “What do you think?”

“It’s a DNA test?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asks, sounding confused but not irritated.

“Well, don’t you want to know if she’s yours?” I ask, tapping my fingers across my swollen belly.

He stares for a prolonged moment before setting the box down on the dresser and climbing back into bed with me. “I hate to say this after you’ve already spent money . . . but I don’t need that thing,” he says softly, his fingertips resting lightly on my arm, drawing inscrutable patterns.

“Why not?”

“I just . . .” He sighs, thinking for a moment before he shrugs. “I don’t care. She’s yours. And that’s good enough for me.”

“You don’t . . . care?” I brace myself for the impossible hurt I know is about to hit me.

“I don’t. I’m going to love and care for this child, regardless of whether she’s mine or someone else’s. It doesn’t matter to me. She’s your baby, Ana, and I plan to protect and care for both you and your child for as long as you’ll have me.”

For the umpteenth time today, tears well up in my eyes, a fountain of gratitude pouring from me. What am I supposed to say to that?

“Okay,” I whisper through the tears.

“Okay.” Grant chuckles, reaching over to the bedside table to grab a tissue. He wipes my wet cheeks and my nose with a tenderness I almost can’t believe for such a large man.