Page 63 of The Rebound
He touches my neck and urges my mouth to his. He keeps one hand there, his thumb lightly stroking the rapid pulse in my neck while the other cups my breast. He pinches my nipple and I feel my knees tremble.
Somehow, I’ve unbuttoned his jeans and I push my hands into his briefs, drawing them down his thighs. I’m practically shaking with need and I can feel Saint almost vibrating with anticipation too. You would think last night would have taken the edge off our lust for each other, but somehow it had the opposite effect. When I wrap him in my fist, he makes a breathless noise. He’s alarmingly hard for me. And of course I freaking love it.
His hands are everywhere, massaging my ass, cupping the generous swells of my breasts, tilting my mouth up to his… It’s like he can’t get enough of me. I feel the exact same way. I want every part of him and I want itright now. He pushes my leggings down my legs and I pull my top off over my head, dropping it on the floor beside us.
His kisses are urgent and hot, and oh,wow, I need him. Abandoning the foreplay, I climb into his lap as he sinks down onto the couch.
“Baby, wait.” His voice is rough, barely above a growl.
Wait?The word wait doesn’t resonate. It has no meaning. I can’t wait. Not even to move this party into his bedroom. Saint seems to understand. The need between us is too great.
He shifts my panties to the side and when he feels how ready I am for him, he groans.
“Fuck, Kinley.”
He uses the slickness to press his fingers inside and then sweeps them over my clit. He keeps right on kissing me while I whimper and moan and writhe above him. I feel dizzy with desire.
I grip his biceps to keep my balance and begin lowering myself down. Saint brings one hand between us to position himself at the right angle, and then I’m being stretched around him. Saint’s hands at my waist lift and lower me, and just like last night, he doesn’t pound or pummel into me. His rhythm is maddeningly slow and steady, allowing everything to build. And build, it does.
I feel so full of him and so loved. He kisses me through it all, telling me how much he loves me, and how good I feel. His lips move to my neck and I rock against him, desperate to move faster, to have more of him.
Saint suddenly shifts and I realize I’m being lifted—being placed on my back on the sofa, and then he’s moving over top of me, joining us again. I arch my back and welcome the intrusion. The feeling of fullness is perfect, and when he brings his thumb to my clit, I let out a very loud, very eager sound.
“Yes,” I say, panting.
“You are so perfect,” he groans, his eyes moving over me—from the spot where he’s still moving deliberately to my heavy breasts that wobble on each smooth thrust.
His thumb does wonderful things and I find myself racing toward my release faster than I thought possible.
“Saint!” I groan, my fingers fighting for purchase on his muscled thighs.
It’s then that his measured strokes finally falter. He begins moving faster, harder, and with each thrust, he hits just the right spot. My eyes sink closed and I can’t hold out any longer. Pleasure spirals through me, greater than I’ve ever known. I come apart with a strangled cry, his name leaving my lips over and over again while Saint continues to pound into me, his own low moans now joining mine.
“Baby, fuck.” I feel a spasm move through him and he makes the sexiest sound, burying his face into my neck. He doesn’t move his body from mine, but he begins kissing me all over—my forehead, neck and collarbone, and it is perfect. Watching him lose control just became my favorite new pastime.
EPILOGUE
KINLEY
One year later
The second baby shower of my life is a little less stressful than the first.
For starters, Aspen offered to help with the planning and setup, taking some of the weight off of Saint’s shoulders this time around. Once all of our moving boxes were unpacked and the new house was in good enough shape for visitors, Aspen organized everything for us—light refreshments, a couple of non-humiliating baby-themed games, and even a gift registry for the brand-new little one.
Secondly, I actually know the guests this time around. Everyone who was invited last time is invited again this time. When they arrive, Saint and I take turns greeting each one, exchanging hugs and inside jokes. Having spent the last year getting to know the team and their wives, I feel like they’re a big extended family.
Caleb toddles by us, squealing with excitement as Saint follows after him, making scary pirate noises that have my fourteen-month-old dissolving into a fit of giggles. Pirate Chase is their favorite game, and Saint is always devoted to giving Caleb his complete and undivided attention whenever they play.
It’s adorable. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of watching them play.
“Coming through.”
Eden’s crystalline voice cuts through the noise as she and Holt waltz into the foyer. She has multiple gift bags hanging from her arms, and her husband is carrying a box so big that it nearly doesn’t fit through the doorway.
“Eden, welcome,” I say, returning a kiss on the cheek.
“So sorry we’re late, Kinley. We hit traffic on the way here. I found so many lovely things for you. I left all the receipts in the bags in case you want to return anything.” She lifts her arms, showing off the gift bags. “More comfy-cozy clothes for my favorite mama, and that”—she points to the box Holt is tucking under the gift table—“is a Snoo. Have you ever heard of a Snoo? It’s very highly rated on all the luxury motherhood forums.”
