Six months ago, if someone had asked me if I’d be lying naked on Miles Hart’s bed, my big belly making it almost impossible for me to see his face between my legs, I’d have laughed.

I’m not laughing now. I’m moaning and panting and sighing.

I don’t think I’ve stopped making noise. Not since he peeled off my wet panties, not since he placed his palms on my thighs, and not since he spread my legs.

Leaning on my elbows, I try my best to watch, because this is straight from my wet dreams. This is one of my leading late-night fantasies.

Miles’s dark-blond hair between my thighs, his mouth on me, his tongue licking the most delirious lines up and down my aching center—it’s like a fevered dream, and I’m hot everywhere. I’m sparking all over my skin.

He slides his tongue across my heat, and I cry out, arching into his face.

“God, yes, please,” I mutter.

He murmurs something incoherent as he flicks his tongue faster, more intently, and I feel like a rocket in a cartoon. The tail’s been lit, and it’s flickering fast, urgently, speeding till it shoots off into the sky.

That rocket is me. I reach for him, for his hair, his hands, something, anything as pleasure rattles through me. His hands clasp mine, and I grip his fingers as he devours me, hitting me just right, so right that I fly into the stratosphere.

“Oh God,” I groan, as pleasure pulses wildly in my center, and I come hard in seconds.

He slows his pace, kissing gently, tenderly, then crawls up me, stopping to press a kiss to my belly. “One down. Eleven to go. Will this next one be easy too?”

I’m still seeing orgasm stars as he thrusts two fingers inside me, fucking me as he strokes me with his thumb. He moves around me, so we’re face-to-face, and his long, talented fingers are so deep inside me I’m clenching around them.

“You’re still dressed,” I pant and reach for his buttons, but I fumble as I try to undo them because it feels so good.

So unbelievably good.

To have this man stroking me to the edge is a decadent thrill. I manage one button on his shirt, then another, before a moan overtakes my mouth then spreads through my whole body. I grab his arm, grip hard, and cry out his name as I come again, my brain blurring into a neon haze of lust and desire and the most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt.

I’m warm and relaxed all over, but I’m also not sated. I want more. So much more.

When I come down from the high, I sit up to undress him and find he’s already done the job, and my mouth waters at the view.

Holy hell.

Miles is gorgeous naked.

We’re talking a statue of David level of male beauty. He’s carved and cut, with a beautiful cock that curves just right and is the kind of size I want to fist, and lick, and ride.

I stretch out my hand. “Let me touch you.”

He’s inches away, and he obliges, standing in front of me, proud and erect.

The skin is velvet-smooth, and he’s like steel underneath. The way he groans when I touch him sends a wild thrill through me. He’s been pleasuring me so far, but now, as I grip his glorious cock in my hands, I can experience completely what I’ve done to him.

What we do to each other.

The room is thick with want. The desire between us crackles. All this energy, all this lust—it sizzles and snaps, and as I slide my thumb over the head of his cock, spreading a drop of liquid, he curses.

“Fuck, Roxy. I need to get inside you. Need to make love to you. Need to bury myself in you.”

The range of his words makes my heart flip and my insides heat. Fuck me, make love to me, have me. Do all of that, I want to say. You’re the only one who can.

“How do you want to do it?” I ask, because other words are too hard to say.

He steps away from me, strides across his room, giving me an amazing view of a succulent ass I want to bite and nibble on, and he opens the door to his closet.

“What are you doing?”

But when the door is all the way open the answer is clear. There’s a full-length mirror on the inside.

He returns and flips me onto my hands and knees. “This position will be best right now, don’t you think?”

“Everything sounds good right now,” I say, staring at us, at me on all fours, curvy and full, and him kneeling behind me, lean and sinewy.

He spreads my cheeks, and I shiver. “I want to watch us, Roxy.”

“Oh God,” I groan, and he’s not even inside me, but holy fuck, look at him.

His face is so full of lust. His eyes are fiery blue pools of desire. He stares down at me, positioned like an animal, like I’m both the object of his greatest desire and the woman he covets.

I want him to covet me—all of me. This second, though, I ache for him. I need him in the center of my being.

“Miles, please, please,” I beg, bowing my back, inviting him in.

“Please what?” he teases, as he rubs the head of his cock between my legs.

“Fuck me. Take me. Have me.”

“Watch me,” he answers in a growl, and I do, gazing at him in the mirror as he grips my hips and slides between my legs. In one deliciously mind-bending move, he sinks inside me.

I swear I’m going to set a world record for coming quickly because this is a whole new land of sensations.

Him deep in me.

Filling me.

Fucking me.

Cherishing me.

And watching me.

My breasts are heavy, and my nipples tingle as he sets a pace, finding a rhythm quickly, and I push back against him.

“Sweetheart,” he groans as he goes deep. “It’s fucking better.”

“I know,” I pant, and my hold on reality unravels. Pleasure climbs through my body.

“It’s so much better than I imagined. You’re so fucking wet for me.”

“Because I want you so much.” I’ve been untethered, and I can’t stop telling him that, can’t stop moaning and groaning and letting him know how much I crave him. How much I need us.

I want us over and over.

I want the sex, of course, but I also want him having me like this. Wanting me like this. Loving me like this. Because that’s how it feels when he drives into me, his hand sliding between my legs, slicking over my most sensitive spot, his erotic gaze on my face in the mirror.

“You,” he groans as he slides over the rise of my clit, and I shake.

“You,” he says again, somehow going deeper.

And I lose my hold on the world as pleasure blurs everything but his sounds, his groans, my pants, and then my own cry of ecstasy as I call out his name.

Coming hard. Coming endlessly. Coming for him.

I’m far gone in this bliss, but not so far that I can’t watch him. I want to see the look on his face as he lets go. In the mirror, I never lose track of his reflection, of the strain of his jaw, the clench of his muscles, or the grit of his teeth. I don’t miss the way his neck tenses as his lips part and he groans my name.

It’s how he treats me after that grips my heart. It’s the warm washcloth. It’s the soft touch. It’s the way he curls me into his arms and kisses my neck and my hair.

And it’s his hands on my belly as he pulls me against him.

I don’t know how to not want this.

I don’t know how to move beyond this.

I want everything with him.

For tonight, I pretend he’s mine, and my baby is his, and we can all be together.