His hand paused in the action of smoothing her hair. “Of course it would. I didn’t know you had a basement.”
“You didn’t know we did,” she corrected, smiling and snuggling back in the pillow.
His chuckle was low and gruff and delicious. He swept his hand over her shoulder and chest. “Is your father’s workshop far enough away from the living area? I don’t want to bother you with too much sound or a sawdust smell.”
“There’s good ventilation in it, and it’s technically in a room beneath the garage. I should have thought to tell you about it before. I think it’d be perfect,” she said, distracted because now he was caressing the upper swells of her breasts and it felt very good. She inhaled sharply when his fingertips detailed a nipple.
“Your breasts are extremely sensitive,” he murmured, his mouth near her ear. She shivered at the sensation of his warm breath.
“From the pregnancy, I suppose.”
She felt him harden next to her and hid a smile. They’d made love, and touched, and talked and repeated the cycle several times now, but Ryan didn’t appear to be tiring of the routine.
“Not just from the pregnancy,” he said. He slid his other arm beneath her and touched the other breast. Faith moaned softly, desire swelling in her yet again as he finessed both nipples at once. “I remember how sensitive they were on Christmas Eve.” He shaped the flesh of one breast into his palm, molding and squeezing gently, while he continued to pluck at a nipple. She cried out shakily and instinctively curled her body into his, sealing their skin, feeling his arousal next to her backside. “How lovely they were,” he continued to rasp in her ear. “If you had any idea how often I’ve thought about your breasts since then, you’d probably run for the hills.”
She snorted with laughter, and then moaned as he took both of her breasts into his hands. “There aren’t any hills around here.”
He removed one hand and she heard the bedside drawer open.
“You’d run for a sand dune then,” he assured gruffly a moment later.
He slid inside her at the same time his hand wedged between her thighs, stimulating her. Faith gasped in undiluted pleasure. He grunted gutturally as pulled her to him and flexed toward her at once, and their flesh fused.
He kissed her ear. “You’re the sweetest thing in existence, bar none.”
* * *
Morning sunlight peaked around the curtains as Ryan stuck his nose into the fragrant juncture of Faith’s neck and shoulder. He nuzzled her. She stirred and murmured.
“Wake up,” he said. “You may have plans to keep me in this bed as a slave to your every whim, but even slaves need food. Come on. Let’s take a shower and I’ll take you to brunch in town.”
“I can make us something here,” Faith mumbled sleepily.
“Uh-uh,” he said, playfully slapping the sweet swell of her hip to rouse her. “You’re not cooking. It’s your honeymoon, remember?”
She looked over at him, her heavy eyelids widening slightly.
“Okay. It’s not much of a honeymoon,” he agreed. “But I’ll make it up to you, someday.”
Her smile made something curl tight in his gut. “It’s been a wonderful honeymoon. I have no complaints whatsoever.”
He rubbed her hip, considering. She looked downright edible, lying there with her dark hair in disarray on the pillow, the tops of her breasts peeking over the edge of the sheet, that sexy, thoroughly feminine smile shaping her lips.
“Okay, you talked me into it. Who needs food,” he growled, kissing her shoulder and neck hungrily. She broke into giggles and twisted away from him.
“No, n
o, you’re right. We should eat. We never did last night.”
He watched her getting up, disappointment swamping him when she picked up her nightgown from the floor and held it over her. Was he nuts for suggesting they get out of bed?
“Where are you going?” he asked, thoroughly bemused when Faith started to leave the room.
“To shower,” she said, turning so that he could see the lovely profile of her back and rear end.
“The shower is right there,” he said, scowling as he pointed to the bathroom adjoined to the bedroom.
“I have my own.”