"Why would you even want this?" I whisper. “I’m pregnant, Reo. With your child. With your family’s mess."

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe for a second.

Then he says with a voice so thick I could drink it up and still be thirsty—“That’s what makes it better, O’Neal.”

And I’m gone.

My lips crash into his again. His hands press firm at my waist, pulling me against him like he’s starved. I don’t even care that my cardigan’s halfway off. Or that my heels dig into the back of my knees. Or that I can’t tell where the air ends and his mouth begins.

His hands are on my hips....