Page 242 of Diego

“I’ve been thinking about this,” I admit.

His lips curve against my skin. “Is that right?”

“Constantly.”

He lifts his head and studies my face, and the expression in his eyes makes my breath hitch. He lowers himself over me, propped on one arm while the other slides up my stomach to my breast. My back arches into the contact.

“Diego.”

“Yeah.”

I pull him down for another kiss.

He makes a hungry sound against my mouth.

I have been waiting weeks for this. Months, really, since the early days when our attraction was a complicated, unacknowledged thing that lived between arguments and reluctant truces. Then I was pregnant, then I was bleeding, then I was terrified. Every possibility was put on hold.

Now it is here.

His fingers brush against my nipple.

My hips lift off the bed.

He does it again, watching my face as he does. The corner of his mouth lifts.

“Diego.”

“Mmm?”

I wrap a leg around his hip, trying to pull him closer. “Don’t tease me.”

He laughs softly.

Then he lowers his head and takes my nipple into his mouth.

My head falls back against the pillows. The wet heat of his mouth, the gentle scrape of his teeth, the way his tongue works against me—it’s almost too much. I writhe beneath him, my hands tangled in his hair, my breath coming in short, sharp pants.

He shifts to give the other breast the same attention.

By the time he lifts his head, I’m panting.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “So responsive and wet for me."

He traces the skin just below my breasts, his fingers moving slowly, gently, giving me time to object.

I don't.

His hand drifts lower, over the slight swell of my belly, to the waistband of my sweatpants. He pauses again, waiting.

My breath catches.

“Blair.”

“Yes.”

“Let me touch you.”

I nod, words failing me.