Nicole

A text arrives when I know Ryder’s flight is landing.

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Ryder: Listened to your show. I’ll be taking care of that issue for you tonight.

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Nicole: What issue would that be?

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Ryder: The one involving constant horniness.

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I’m aroused from the text. I’m aroused from the thought. I’m aroused from being alive. I don’t know if I can wait until he comes over. I try valiantly, knowing how good it’ll be. Sex with Ryder was mind-blowing. I flop down on the couch and let my mind return to memories of hot, sweaty sex. His hands all over me. His mouth everywhere. His gorgeous, glorious cock sliding into me.

And that’s it.

I can’t wait. On the couch, I take matters into my own hands, sliding my fingers up my skirt and inside my panties.

It never takes long these days. I’m on the edge all the time. Four minutes later, I’m there, with his name on my lips and his face in my mind.

Later, my phone rings, letting me know he’s here. I buzz him in. When he reaches my door, I’m ready to jump him. To hump him. To mount him for the rest of the night. I don’t know how we went from no sex since he knocked me up to the certainty that we’re screwing tonight, but it is a fait accompli. I’ll think about what it means later. Right now, it means I’m having him again.

When I open the door, Ruby beats me to it, barking and jumping like a jack-in-the-box. “She’s happy to see you.”

He strokes her head and whispers sweet dog nothings to her, then meets my gaze. “Are you?”

“Happy doesn’t even cover it.” I step closer, wrap my arms around his neck, bring my lips to his ear, and say please.

He groans, drops his bag, kicks the door shut, and heads to the kitchen to wash his hands.

Bless this man.

After he dries them, he scoops me up in his strong arms. As soon as we reach my bedroom, he sets me down on the bed, cups my cheeks, and stares into my eyes. “You need to know I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

My happiness bucket tips over. “It’s been four months.” There’s wonder in my voice.

He presses his forehead to mine. “Four long, hard months. Wanting you the whole time, too.”

I whimper. Please, may he end the drought this second. I’m not above begging. I have no shame when it comes to the bottomless pit of desire I possess for Ryder Lockhart. “I haven’t been with anyone, either.” I pull back to meet his eyes. “Unless you count my vibrator.”

His lips twitch in a grin.

“But that was only, maybe, fifty times.”

He arches a brow as he fingers the hem of my skirt. It’s loose and flowy. “Fifty isn’t too bad.”

“That was just this week,” I say.

His laugh is deep, and it echoes in my home. It fills my chest. It spreads in me. I want to bottle the sound of his laughter. Play it over and over when I need a pick-me-up. His deep, husky voice is my good drug.

His tongue is, too.

He presses a soft kiss to my lips. As his dust mine, he murmurs, “Missed you. Missed this.”

“Me, too,” I say against his mouth. “So much.”

His kisses are gentle, but full of need. With his hands on my face, his tender touch tells me he’s longed for this. His husky groans say I’m the only one he wants to kiss. When his tongue slides between my lips and I open for him, my kiss says I’m desperate. I need you.

Kiss me harder, take me soon, drive me to the edge.

I moan against his mouth and try to pull him closer, wanting so much more of him. I’m the one who kicks things up another notch until I’m wriggling, panting, dying. It feels like I might die if he doesn’t put his mouth on me everywhere.

“You eager for something, baby?” he asks, toying with my libido in overdrive.

I grab his face, his jaw rough with stubble. “Please. Have mercy on the horny pregnant woman.”

“Define what this mercy entails.”

“Go. Down. On. Me.”

See? I’m not afraid to make demands, either. I’m about to dry hump the air if he doesn’t put me out of my misery.

He scoots me up on my bed, and I sink down on the pillows. He places his big hands on the inside of my thighs, and I quiver. I’m easy. God, I’m so easy right now. It’s possible my panties are already soaked.

“Are you just worked up, or are you worked up for me?”

“Don’t torture me. It’s you, Ryder. It’s you. I need your mouth on me. I need you to go down on me. I need you.”

The noise he makes is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. Carnal and dirty, it’s a rumble from deep within him. I arch my hips, begging for him to bring his face between my thighs.

He reaches for my panties and removes them in record time. Seriously. That’s just gone down in the record books as the fastest removal of underwear ever, and then . . .

My world is a blur.

A white-hot neon haze.

His lips are on me. His hands spread my legs. His tongue flicks against me. He moans and groans, and murmurs my name in some kind of dirty prayer of lust. My hands grab his head, my fingers slide into his hair.

And I lose myself.

I lose the world. I lose my mind.

This man. His desire. My need. It all smashes together in one radiant moment of erotic bliss. I rock my hips into his face, I curl my hands around his head, I cry and moan and pant, and I fuck him.

I absolutely fuck his face.

But it feels like more than fucking.

It feels like so much more than mere bodies coming together. It feels like he knows me, like I know him, and together we can let go and give in.

That’s what this is.

It’s surrender to everything inside my heart.

As I writhe and moan and thrust and grab, I surrender to how much I need him now, and in my life.

He gives me everything. His tongue strokes me, his lips kiss me, his mouth consumes me.

I’m not a difficult one when it comes to coming. Tonight, I’m a piece of cake. I reach zero to sixty in less than three minutes. Everything in me tightens and tightens, and the pleasure coils.

“Oh God,” I cry out.

The rest is just sounds. Syllables. Incoherent noises of pleasure as I shatter. I break apart into a thousand, million, infinite diamonds of pleasure. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

When he stops, I’m still buzzing. Electric pulses sweep over me, the remains of my orgasm. The aftershocks of the earthquake he gave me.

Ryder climbs over me. “I love the way you come. I love making you come. I bet you need another one.”

My eyes widen, and I nod. I’m ravenous, and will take anything he has to give.

He kneels between my legs. He drags a finger across me, tracking a slow, torturous line along my wet, soft, aching center, and my hips shoot up. How the hell can I feel this way again? But I do, oh God, I do.

He thrusts a finger inside me, and I see stars.

“Ryder,” I moan, and my eyes flutter shut. It’s too much. Too good. Too intense. I’m liquid. I am a molten woman as he strokes a long finger inside me, another one rubbing against my clit.

“Baby, I feel terrible,” he says with a groan.

“Why?”

“Because you need it so badly. I feel fucking terrible that you were this desperate for so long.”

“I did need it. I need you. Oh God, I need you.”

I ride his hand to the edge again. I fly off in seconds, coming again, harder, more intense. Deeper. When I open my eyes, he’s stripped down to nothing.

My mouth waters, and I push myself up in bed. I’m breathless. “What are you doing to me? I don’t even know how I’m alive.”

“You’re alive and so fucking beautiful,” he says, then reaches for the hem of my shirt and tugs it off me.

I’m in my bra and skirt, my belly pushing at the elastic waistband.

I’m not in the least bit sexy. I slide to the edge of the bed, push off my skirt, and unhook my bra.

He’s standing. His mouth falls open. His cock twitches, and I swear it grows even harder as he gazes at me.

“Nicole.” His voice is nothing but a dry husk.

I’m keenly aware this is the first time he’s seen me completely naked since he knocked me up. My body tightens with nerves. I hope he still finds me attractive. I hope my weight gain doesn’t change how he sees me.

He touches my breasts first. But he doesn’t stay there. He travels down my body, to my belly, to the baby, and he dips his head. He plants the gentlest kiss on my navel. “You’re so beautiful.”

Whatever tension I felt pours out of me.

“I am?” I can’t help myself. I need to ask. I’m not some fertility goddess hippy earth mother. I’m a dating and mating columnist in New York City, land of the free, home of the beautiful skinny women. I’m not skinny, and I don’t want to be right now.

But I want to know that he still wants me.

“God,” he says, running his hand over my naked stomach. “You’re stunning.” He grabs my ankles and pulls me to the edge of the bed. “And I have never wanted to fuck you more.”

I shiver.

I love that he says fuck. I love that he knows that’s what I need to hear, that he can still want me in the same raw, carnal way.

He runs his hand along his hard length, and I shudder.

I get to have him again. This man I’m crazy for.