“Damien, I read the book this morning.” While she spoke, her fingers went up and down, up and down between her breasts, luring his gaze. “What it said was that at the end of your pregnancy, there may be slight bleeding after intercourse, and if that is the case you might want to avoid deep penetration. Otherwise, as long as it’s comfortable for the mother, it’s completely safe.”

He could barely concentrate on her words when oh-so-slyly her touch shifted to the right and she was stroking the swell of her breast, the full curve underneath, her head turning to the side a little as she made contact with her nipple.

Even with his tongue too large for his mouth, he forced words out. “It seems like we should err on the side of caution.” Though he was starting to think her arguments were pretty damn persuasive.

She was breathing now with that sound he loved—the little gasp of pleasure slipping out now and again, the deep jagged edge to each breath she pulled in, her mouth open in invitation.

“Absolutely, I agree. So if anything feels uncomfortable, I’ll just tell you to stop.”

Well, that was good enough for him.

Damien grabbed the jar of jelly with a growl and leaned over the bed. Knee in a plate of crackers, he slapped a big heaping handful of the sticky orange goo over her right breast and bent down for a taste.

“Oh, Damien, yes!” she cried when his tongue touched the tip of her nipple.

The taste of the fruit spread mixed with the taste of her skin and crashed with the sound of her calling out his name and gave him a heady rush of pleasure. He sucked the bud into his mouth, hard.

Her cry dissolved into a low groan.

For a man who had thought himself pretty much devoid of all sexual feelings three months ago, he was pretty damned turned on. Swirling his tongue around her nipple to clean up clinging bits of jelly, he reached into the jar with an index finger and hauled out another scoop.

She pulled in her breath. “What are you going to do with that?”

Moving away from her breast, he teased his finger back and forth in front of her, jelly sliding down his knuckle, a dollop still resting on the tip. When he skirted past her nipple, Mandy let out a soft cry of disappointment. She had thrust her breasts out toward him in invitation, full and plump, her taut nipples a deep pink, the one still shiny and wet from his mouth.

Teasing himself as well as her, he asked, “Oh, did you want it here?” He hovered over one nipple.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” she said, employing that clipped secretarial voice of hers. “Whatever works best for you.”