“Are you trying to distract me, Ryles?”
“Never,” I tease, my mind now fixated on the temptation just beneath my fingers.
“We were talking about pronouns, remember? He is just a pronoun?” he asks trying to get back to the topic at hand. He swears I should know the gender because after all, I’m the one carrying the baby. Men.
And while I have a fifty-fifty chance of being right, I know it’s a boy. Has to be. The little boy with dark hair and green eyes who has filled my recent dreams. A freckled nose that scrunches up when he causes mischief and melts my heart just like his daddy. But that’s all an assumption, mother’s intuition, and is not something I’m going to verbalize.
“Uh-uh.” His fingers tighten on my arm as I try to cop another feel of him, distract him from becoming fixated on a pronoun that may or may not be right. “Pronouns.”
“Well, if you want to talk grammar . . . I seem to remember that wet and willing are adjectives,” I murmur, knowing damn well he’ll be able to read both mischief and desire in my eyes. Two can play this distraction game, Ace.
He throws his head back and laughs, and I know he has caught my reference to the words he teased me with the very first night we had sex on Sex. He pulls me even closer this time and doesn’t hold back when his lips meet mine. We kiss like we haven’t seen each other in weeks. Need mixes with greed. Passion collides with want. My body vibrates with desperation because how can it not when he can push every one of my libido buttons with such a simple connection?
His kiss is like gravity, pulling at every part of me until I want to cling to him and hold on so I’m never taken away. Our tongues meet, demanding at first, before the kiss morphs into a tender reflection of love and desire. His free hand comes up to cup the side of my face, his thumb running over my cheek as he ends the kiss despite my protests. And at first I take the look in his eyes as one of amusement over me wanting some form of physicality with him yet again, but when he speaks, I know it’s because he is seeing right through my attempts.
Damn him. He knows me too well.
“Did you forget I’m the master of the game of distraction, Ryles?” He lifts his eyebrows and a cocky, lopsided grin pulls up one corner of his mouth. “I see what you’re trying to do here.”
“Are you turning down sex?”
“Oh baby, I’ll never turn down sex with you . . . I just want to get back to pronouns.” He grants me a lightning-fast grin as he cuffs both of my hands and laces our fingers, presumably to prevent mine from wandering and tempting him further. For a man who doesn’t want to pick a name, he sure seems set on clarifying his parts of speech.
He wants pronouns? I’ll give him pronouns, all right.
“Like stick it in me, type of pronouns?”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “Not those specifically, no.”
“You’d rather talk grammar than please your wife?”
That flash of a grin is back. “No, I’d rather discuss why you hate the name BIRT.”
“You’re exasperating. And a tease,” I say, knowing I’ll get the sex eventually if the tenting of his shorts is any indication of his state of mind. He may be resisting now, but I know sex will win out in the end. It always does.
“So you think the baby is a boy?” he asks, eyes wide, voice excited. And the lighthearted tone tugs on my heartstrings.
“Does it matter what I think, considering you won’t even discuss names with me? I mean we’re getting close to the wire here, Donavan.”
“I love when you Donavan me,” he says then squeezes my hand when I try to pull away. “C’mon, Ryles, fly by the seat of your pants. Let the moment rule us. Live dangerously,” says the racecar driver to the social worker. All I can do is sigh in exasperation.
“Our baby’s name is permanent. It’s not a decision to be made on the spur of the moment.” I still can’t believe he’s sticking to his plan of naming the baby after we meet him or her. I thought this strategy was a joke the first time he brought it up but now know different.
“Look, you have names you like and I have names I like. Why don’t we just wait and see what BIRT looks like when he or she is born and then we’ll both say them and go from there?” I narrow my eyes at him, desperate to know the names he prefers or if he likes any of the ones I’ve thrown out at him over the past few months. His silence on the topic is killing me. “Live dangerously with me, Ry.” He chuckles as I shake my head, trying to feign irritation and hide my own smile.
“I already do live dangerously. I married you, remember?”
“Oh baby, I remember. No man is going to forget the things you did to me this morning,” he says with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
I blush immediately, momentarily embarrassed by my very needy and very horny self, that didn’t resist him despite knowing the caterers would be arriving at any moment. And of course the thought of his eyes heavy with desire and his cock thick and hard in my mouth makes my body ache to have him again. This time for my pleasure though, and I don’t think he’d have a problem delivering on that demand.
I have to force the image from my mind because I think he accomplished exactly what he was hoping for with the comment.
“Now look who’s trying to distract whom. BIRT’s name?” I arch an eyebrow as his laughter rings around us. The man is relentless. “What if I don’t like any of the names you pick and you don’t like any of the names I like?”