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I shift on either foot, my body still pulsing.
He leans his weight against the counter, angled towards me as he ices half the cake with vanilla frosting. I feel him watching me.
Heat flushes my skin, just from his masculine presence, all twenty-eight years of him to my twenty-one. We frost the cake in pure, aroused silence. His eyes graze me all over, basically building me to a peak without touching me.
As we both reach for the yellow gel icing at the same time, he says, “You’re looking a little fucking hot there, sweetheart.”
“Sexy hot?” I smooth the vanilla frosting.
He shakes the yellow gel icing. “Fucking hot.”
I clench a little and grasp the edge of the counter. He brushes against me to toss his knife into the sink, my body reacting to his closeness like being swiftly tugged by an undertow.
I shudder, my toes curling. Muscles constricting. An orgasm pummels me, so abrupt and sudden that I nearly squat and fall to my ass, but Ryke catches me around the chest, pulling me against his.
Ryke. I gasp sharply, my head tilted back against him. He kisses the base of my neck with that rough, Ryke Meadows force. I cry, “I…” I cry in a higher pitch. Oh my God. I’m electrified from top to bottom, trembling.
It takes me another second, but I do come down.
Sweat clings my shirt to my body, my heart thudding loudly. I spin towards Ryke. “What was that?” I ask, more in confusion. This was new. My body did something new.
“A fucking orgasm.”
“You didn’t touch me.”
“Welcome to being really, really fucking horny, Calloway.”
My smile stretches. I know that this is temporary. That my mood could plummet. I could only feel this once in my lifetime. And that’s okay. I bottle the moment for all its electric, spontaneous glory.
He kisses the top of my head and then spins me towards the cake. “You want to write it?”
“You can.”
He has his arm protectively around my belly, my back to his chest, while he scrawls on the cake with yellow gel icing.
I read the words, sorry we fucked on your couch.
Our apology cake looks pretty good.
Yesterday, we meant to just watch a movie in the living room, but we were kind of spooning. The easy-access position, my flirting, and our combined arousal led to sex.
Lo and Lily caught us after we fell asleep, naked under covers. On their couch.
They’ve done worse, so they weren’t upset, but we felt guilty because their son is obviously living in this house. It made Ryke question moving out sooner than we planned. He needs Lo though, and I need Lily right now. No houses are on the market in this neighborhood either, so we’re here to stay.
He passes me the icing and I draw a sun above the word fucked.
Then a little flutter stirs in my belly. I go still, and I feel him rigid behind me. We both don’t say a word. Scared it’ll all go away.
I place my hand on his, resting on my lower abdomen. The second wave of movement wells my eyes. Then the third—the tossing, the extra flutters. A foot or a shoulder, maybe. Or restless, hurried arms waving. Ready to run. And scream. And shout and say, I’m here now.
“Wow,” I breathe, rotating to face him.
There are tears in his eyes. He feels our baby kick one more time, and his shocked laugh breaks into a smile. I share it with him.
Happy tears roll down my cheeks, and I wipe them with the side of my hand. “I bet she smells our apology cake.” We have no idea if she’s a girl or boy, but we usually call our baby her more than him.
Either way, we’ll be happy.
He kisses me and then says, “Guess what, Dais?”
“What?”
He pulls me closer and whispers, “She’s alive.”
She’s alive.
I only hope she can stay that way.
Even if I have to go. Even if I have to say goodbye.
Just stay a little longer.
RYKE MEADOWS
The Cobalt house is fucking chaos.
“Holy shit,” Daisy curses. Rose has her hands full, cradling a hysterical, swaddled newborn while cleaning up Jane’s toys around her spacious living room. The mess is fucking frazzling her.
Connor has the other newborn cuddled to his chest, but the baby is also fucking hysterical. “Jane,” he calls to the little two-year-old, chasing their orange tabby cat around the leather couch. “Don’t irritate Sadie.”
“Kitty kitty kitty,” she squeals into a giggle, ignoring her father.
“Need help, Rose?” Daisy asks, setting our aluminum-foiled cake on the coffee table. She starts picking up stray stuffed animals.
“What?” Rose asks dazedly, protectively and territorially holding tighter to either Charlie or Beckett.
I lean most of my weight on my fucking cane, unable to bend my right knee that much. My face tightens in a grimace as I limp further into the room.
“Do they need fucking fed?” I ask, my gaze darting between both boys.
“No,” Connor says, his newborn fussing in his arms while yawning and crying. “Charlie can’t sleep.”
“He’s crying because he’s tired?” I know babies are a lot of fucking work, but Connor and Rose look more spent than usual, about five empty coffee mugs strewn around end tables.
Connor nods, his deep blue eyes focusing on Rose with more and more concern. Rose pats Beckett and coos to him, but she also notices Daisy cleaning her house.
Rose snaps her fingers at her sister. “You’re not here to do that.”
“I could be,” Daisy says with a cheerful smile, giving her two thumbs-up.
“You’re not,” Rose emphasizes. “That’s not how it’s going to be. I don’t invite you over to clean my house.”
Daisy tosses stuffed animals into a wicker bin like she’s playing basketball. “You straighten up
my room all the time when you stop by.”
“Because I’m older,” Rose notes. “And the neat one.”
Fuck.
“Tu l’es toujours,” Connor says smoothly. You still are.
She lets out a deeper breath, chin raised with more confidence, and she pats Beckett’s back again, his cries puncturing my fucking eardrums.
“Jane!” Connor suddenly yells.
I glance down near my feet, and the little girl in a baby blue dress yanks Sadie’s tail. The cat whips around, and I drop my cane, catching Janie around the waist and hoisting her up against my left side.
My right knee is on fucking fire.
Sadie hisses and swats her claws right where Janie once stood.
“Get the fuck away.” I shoo the cat with my foot, and Sadie scampers beneath the couch.
Connor rubs his lips, and when I meet his eyes, he nods at me in thanks.
“I thought you were giving Sadie to Frederick again?” Daisy asks, but she watches me hold Janie and add extra fucking weight to my leg. I end up sitting on the armrest of the couch, pain shooting up my thigh.
Motherfucking…
I’m waiting.
I’m fucking waiting for it to be easier, but it’s not. I feel like my leg muscles have atrophied and all that’s left is titanium, steel and bone.
With Daisy twenty weeks pregnant, I just want to concentrate on her health, which should take fucking precedence. Every time.
I miss the answer about Frederick. “What was that?” I ask Daisy.
“They thought Sadie and Jane would behave, but they called Frederick yesterday to give the cat up temporarily.”
Janie starts crying, as though she fucking realizes the cat will be sent away. Her cheeks and blue eyes redden, tearfully looking up at me like I can fucking fix this.
“She can’t go,” Janie cries, the words not that clear but I understand them. I think she also says something like, she’s my friend.
Connor nears Janie and me, Charlie starting to settle down, yawning more tiredly this time. Beckett is still a fucking mess, and Rose sits strictly in a Queen Anne chair to calm him.
“Tu as deux choix, mon cœur,” Connor tells his daughter. You have two choices, my heart. He squats down so he’s the same height as her.
