Chapter 23 It took me all of thirty seconds to drag him into my apartment. The moment my front door slammed behind us, Matt's hands were on me, his palm splayed against the small of my back, the other knotting in my hair, tugging just hard enough to angle the kiss better. Asshole. I arched into him, nails digging into the crisp cotton of his shirt, the heat of his mouth brutal against mine. The kiss was all teeth, all hunger, his tongue sweeping in like he was trying to rewrite every doubt he'd carved into me. I bit down on his lower lip hard enough to make him wince, and he groaned, not in pain but in approval, his grip tightening. "Still mad?" he murmured against my mouth, his breathing ragged. "Of course I'm still mad," I hissed, but my voice cracked as his hand slid under the hem of my shirt, rough fingertips skimming the swell of my stomach. His thumb traced the almost non-existent line of my hipbone, possessive and reverent, like he was mapping the proof of the twins between us. "Fair," he said. Before I could process it, he was lifting me, one arm under my thighs and the other cradling my back, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He didn't stagger, didn't so much as hesitate, just carried me through my cluttered living room like I weighed nothing, past the leaning towers of lesson plans on the coffee table. He set me down gently on the cushions, following me down, laying me out like I was something to ravish as he braced himself on one forearm to keep his weight off my stomach. The other hand slid from my hip to my throat, not squeezing, just resting, his thumb brushing against my pulse like he wanted to feel just how fast it raced for him. His eyes were dark, pupils so blown they were swallowing every bit of hazel. "Tell me what you want." I glared up at him. "I want you to stop talking," I hissed, rolling my hips up toward him. He laughed, low and rough, and dragged my shirt up, his mouth following the path of exposed skin - from my stomach, to my ribs, to the curve of my breast, the tight peak of my nipple. He bit down gently, and I gasped, pain like lightning arcing through my body, back bowing off the couch. "Christ, you're sensitive," he murmured, sucking a bruise instead on the tender skin just beneath. "Because I'm fucking pregnant," I shot back, pulling at his shirt but getting almost nowhere with it. He, on the other hand, made quick work of my jeans, yanking them down my thighs with a frustrated grunt when they caught on my hips. "Fucking hell, Sienna, do you not own maternity⁠-" "Buy some for me," I taunted. His nostrils flared. "I'll buy you a whole goddamn wardrobe if it means I don't have to fight denim next time." Next time. Okay. So, this was different. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my underwear, and all coherent thought dissolved into nothing. His fingers stroked once, twice, through my arousal, and I whimpered, thighs trembling. "Still so wet for me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my collarbone. His platinum ring glinted in the sunlight as he slowly sank a finger into me, crooked just right. "Even when you're pissed. God, especially when you're pissed." I choked on a moan as he added another finger, his palm grinding against my clit. "Matt-fuck, please⁠-" "Not yet." His lips brushed my jaw, his hand repositioning just slightly between my thighs. "Want you to come for me first. Just like this." The tips of his fingers pressed harder against that spot that made my mind go fuzzy, the one that made my body burn, the one that blurred my vision, and I cried out, my back bowing off the couch. "Look at me," he demanded. I did. His gaze held mine as the coil in my gut tightened, my body locking around his fingers, and just as my release started to crest, his palm moved, taking away stimulation to my clit and leaving me with just his relentless drags. I whined, but my body persisted, tightening harder, muscles locking, cresting higher, higher, higher⁠- My vision whited out, the orgasm ripping through me like a wildfire, a ragged cry tearing from my throat as he swallowed it with another kiss. "God, you moan so fucking pretty," he muttered against my lips. I hadn't even stopped shaking when his belt clinked as he freed himself, the thick length of him resting just beneath my stomach. The moment he pushed inside of me in one hard stroke, I nearly sobbed. He was unfair. It wasn't normal for someone to just feel like fucking heaven inside of me without even moving, but he did, like he was crafted to sit perfectly where I wanted him most. His groan vibrated through my chest as he started to move, my walls fluttering around him. The angle was brutal, my legs hooked over his elbows, his hips driving deep with a pace that stole the air from my lungs, but he was careful in the same breath, avoiding my stomach, not putting his weight on me, not even so much as a slip up. I clawed at his biceps, his shoulders, his hair, anything I could reach, every part of him solid and warm and real beneath my hands. "Still think I'm running?" he gritted out, his forehead dropping to mine. I couldn't answer. I couldn't breathe, not when he felt like this, not when his fingers dug into the backs of my thighs like he was afraid I was the one who'd disappear. The friction was too much, the stretch too perfect, the way his body loomed over mine like a shield against everything but him. He kissed me through the second orgasm, and then the third, his rhythm finally stuttering as he followed me over, his groan muffled against my mouth. For one trembling moment, we were fused, sitting in the aftermath, our breaths mingling between us, my pulse hammering so hard I wondered, briefly, if it was an emergency. I just wanted to stay like this. Right here, right under him, words not needed and silence screaming. But then he was moving. His lips brushed my temple, slow and soft, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "I meant it," he said. "All of it. I'm not leaving. I promise." My throat closed in. I didn't want to let myself believe it, not again, not when he'd shown me he couldn't be honest like that. But last time, he'd switched back to cold-Matt right after we'd finished. And he wasn't right now. He was here, he was soft, and he was holding me like the world might fall out from under us both if he didn't. I closed my eyes, hesitant, and let myself believe him.