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“O-okay.” I reach down, stroking my clit. He grasps one breast in his hand, flicking his tongue over the nipple and then blowing on it until it’s as hard a pebble. Then he sucks it into his mouth, and I buck my hips beneath him. “Fuck me,” I beg.
“Keep touching yourself,” he commands, moving his attention to the other nipple. As the pressure low in my belly builds, and I get closer and closer to my climax, I press down on my clit, taking me the rest of the way. I cry out in pleasure, and my inner walls lock around his cock. He groans and begins pumping inside me with wild abandonment, spilling inside me before I’ve finished coming down from my high.
He collapses on top of me, and we cling to each other as we come down from our orgasms.
“Somehow, that was even better than last time—a feat I wouldn’t have thought possible.”
I nod in agreement. “I know what you mean. I think it’s because…” My voice trails off, suddenly afraid to say what’s in my heart.
“What?” he prompts gently.
“I think it’s because this time, you’re staying. This time, it’s real.”
“It was real before,” he says quietly. “I’ve spent that last six years loving you.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyelids. “Me, too.”
He rolls off of me, pulling me onto his chest. “Tell me about your son.”
“His name is Navy,” I say, my lips lifting into a smile. “He’s five.”
Sebastian sucks in a breath. “Five?”
I prop myself up on an elbow so I can look at his face. “Five,” I say again, nodding so he sees the truth in my eyes. “And he looks just like his father. I named him Navy, because of the color of your eyes.”
Epilogue
Sebastian
Seven months later
I watch in amazement as Navy, my son, cracks an egg into a bowl like a seasoned pro.
“You’re a wonderful chef,” I praise. “Your mom is so lucky to have you make breakfast in bed for her.”
As he cracks four more eggs into the bowl, one by one, I lean forward to sniff his hair. I still can’t get over what a treasure he is.
“I think that’s enough eggs, bud,” I say when he reaches for another.
He shakes his head firmly. “She’s eating for two, remember?”
I laugh. “Yes, but the baby inside her doesn’t need as much food as a grownup.”
“Does he need as much food as me?”
I smile at him. “Are you kidding? You eat more than your Uncle Brody—and he’s a giant.”
Navy giggles. “Will I be as big as Uncle Brody?”
“Hmmm. Let me see your muscles.”
He holds up his little arms like a weightlifter. I squeeze his upper arm. “Whoa. Yeah, you’re going to be huge.”
“I want the baby to be a giant, too,” he says, reaching for another egg.
I chuckle. “Your mama may disagree.”
He holds the bowl while I whisk the eggs to the consistency that Wren prefers. While I cook the scramble, Navy gets silverware from the drawer and begins setting the breakfast tray. I plate the breakfast and Navy checks it, the same way I check every plate that goes out of my restaurant. He reaches for a fork to take a bite of the eggs.
After a moment of reflection, he nods in approval. “Nice job, Chef.”
“Thanks, Chef.”
When I pick the tray up, he wraps his arms around my legs. “I love you, Daddy.”
My chest swells with emotion, as they always do when he says those words to me. I set the tray down and kneel in front of my little boy, wrapping him tightly in my arms and planting a kiss on his head. “I love you, too, Navy.”
“And Mommy? And the baby?”
“And Mommy and the baby,” I agree. “Forever and ever.”
