Page 21 of Curvy Girl and the Bad Boy Cowboy

My pulse quickens. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean I'm going to regret it if I don't do this."

"Do what—"

His lips find mine before I can finish the question.

God, he's still such a good kisser. His lips taste like that fantastic grilled cheese, and there's a hint of sweetness from my chocolate shake. If I could, I'd stay like this forever, suspended in this perfect moment where everything feels possible.

He breaks the kiss but doesn't move away, instead leaning his stubbled cheek against mine. His breath is warm against my ear as he whispers, "You look more gorgeous than ever. I want to claim you once again—this time I'll stay after, this time I'll stay forever."

A shiver runs through me at his words. I'm not sure if he means every syllable or if he's fully aware of what he's promising. But I can't bring myself to say no to him either.

I've been waiting—longer than I care to admit—for him to say these things, to wake up to what we could be together.

"Follow me," I whisper back, taking his hand and standing. "To my bedroom. Don't say anything about the mess—I forgot to pick up the clothes I was trying on this morning."

He smirks, that classic Ethan expression that never fails to make my legs tremble. "I won't be looking at the clothes, Naomi."

My bedroom is just across the hall, bathed in afternoon light filtering through the gauzy curtains. As promised, there are clothes scattered across the foot of the bed—evidence of my earlier struggle to find something that still fits comfortably.

None of that matters now as Ethan closes the door behind us and we begin undressing with an urgency that belies the months apart. I'm naked first, suddenly self-conscious of my changing body—the fuller breasts, the small but definite curve of my belly.

But the hunger in Ethan's eyes as he sheds his own clothes banishes any insecurity. When he stands before me, gloriously naked, I can't help but feel a rush of desire. I've missed his body—lean and muscled from ranch work, and particularly the thick, veined cock that's already hard for me.

He doesn't waste time with more words. Instead, he guides me to the bed, his fingertips trailing fire across my skin. When his hand moves between my thighs, I gasp at the contact.

"Always so wet for me," he murmurs, his fingers curled, going back and forth inside me. "I've always loved that about you."

I arch into his touch, my body remembering his even after these months apart. There's no awkwardness, no fumbling—just the perfect pressure that makes me writhe beneath him.

"I've missed you," I confess, the words tumbling out unchecked. "Missed this."

"I'm not going anywhere this time," he promises, his free hand cradling my face, making me look into his eyes. "I need you to believe that."

His sincerity is almost as arousing as his touch. I pull him down for another kiss, deeper and more desperate than before. His body covers mine, careful to keep his weight off my belly, and the feeling of skin against skin is electric.

"I want you inside me," I whisper against his lips. "Please, Ethan."

He positions himself between my thighs, the tip of his cock teasing my entrance.

"You're sure?" he asks, ever so serious now. "With the baby, it's okay?"

The question—his concern—makes me fall for him a little more. "It's perfectly safe," I assure him. "Dr. Mason already told me."

With a groan of relief, he pushes forward slowly, filling me entirely. We both gasp at the sensation, familiar yet somehow entirely new.

"God, Naomi," he breathes, holding still once he's fully in. "You feel like coming home."

The words bring unexpected tears to my eyes. Home. Yes, that's exactly what this feels like—finding home in each other's arms. He begins to move, setting a gentle pace that gradually builds in intensity.

This isn't like the urgent, passionate encounters we shared before. This is something different—something deeper and more meaningful. In every stroke, every kiss, every murmured endearment, I feel his promise. This time is different. This time, he's truly with me.

He kisses my face—my forehead, my cheeks, the corner of my mouth—as his pace quickens. His grip on my hands tightens, our fingers interlaced against the sheets.

"I'm never going to let you go," he breathes against my neck. "I was too dumb the first time to realize what we could have had. But not now." His eyes lock with mine, intense and certain. "Now I see it—my future, our future together with our daughter."

I want to tell him that I want all that too, but that we can't rush it, that we need to be sure. Yet the words die in my throat. How can I speak of caution now, with him looking so heartbreakingly handsome above me?

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