Page 66 of There Are No Words

I set the jar down on the bed and brought my hand to my shoulder, casually dropping one strap of my lingerie, then the other. I picked up the jar and dipped two fingers inside, rolling the butter between my fingers before bringing it to a nipple.

At the cold sensation, I gasped lightly and turned to Brady, smiling innocently.

His eyes were fixed on mine, his jaw clenched, but I could tell it was taking a lot of restraint for him not to look down.

I needed to up the ante, so I arched my back and moved my fingers in larger circles over my areola and down, around my under-boob, lifting it up so my perky nipple was erect.

“What are you doing, Allegra?” he finally asked through gritted teeth.

Still smiling, I turned to face him and decided to work both breasts at the same time. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen breasts before.”

“Not yours,” he returned, eyes narrowed.

Touché. But whose fault is that?“Now you have. Like what you see?”

He growled but said nothing.

“You can touch them if you want,” I offered, turning and intentionally brushing one breast against his arm, my other hand still applying butter to the other.

Growling again, he looked down. It was so obvious he wanted to reach out and touch it. Maybe even do more with it (I only hoped), but he didn’t make a move. Frozen in place, he only warned, “Allegra.”

I loved when he said my name. The way he said it with such need.

* * *

Brady

I couldn’t believe she’d do this to me. She had to have known what she was doing. But she also knew where I stood on the topic—I wasn’t giving an inch until she gave me what I wanted.

Then she had to go and practically beg me to touch her tits. As if that’d be enough.

I mean, they were bigger than ever thanks to this pregnancy, and I was barely keeping it together. I wanted those tits. Had to have them. I mean, I was a tits man right down to my very core.

But a touch?

No.

I wanted them in my mouth, biting one and catching her nipple in my teeth.

To have them pressed up against my chest as I rocked into her.

I wanted to watch them bob up and down as I slammed into her.

Or for her to ride me, letting them sway with the motion. I’d grab one with my hand, greedily rolling her nipple in between my fingers.

I wanted to take her from behind, pull her by her hair and watch her eyes as they rolled back in her head. Then knead one of those glorious tits with my hand—better yet, I wanted to pinch her nipple—all while my other hand stroked her clit to really make her explode.

Yeah, there was no way a simple touch was going to suffice.

Not with those beauties. Hell, they were even better than I’d imagined.

But they were right there. On full display. And she looked so pleased with herself for finding my weakness as her hands worked her tits. Fuck, I should have been the one working them.

That was it, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I reached across the bed—over that fucking pregnancy penis—and picked up the jarof cream she was using (slathering all over herself) and dug my fingers in.

I climbed over her (although, I wished like hell it was for another reason) and inhaled deeply.

“Let me,” I commanded and watched as her hands fell away and she arched her back again, as if giving them over to me.

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