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When she finally came to a still on top of me, I leaned forward and rested my forehead against her chest.
She was panting lightly, and the pounding of her heart against my forehead was a reassuring feeling that I’d missed these last four months.
That’s when the baby moved against my belly, giving me a hard kick to let me know that he didn’t appreciate the cramped quarters he was experiencing.
I chuckled and pulled back, moving my hands to her belly and spanning it with both palms.
She covered my hands with her own and pressed down a bit harder.
“He doesn’t like it when his space is invaded,” she whispered.
“I guessed that,” I mused, feeling a bit of awe overtake me as the baby that Beckham and I had made together went on a tumbling trip beneath our hands.
One particular bump had me blinking in surprise.
“I think he just flipped over all the way,” she said. “That was a knee, and then a head.”
I pressed around to see if I could tell how the baby was oriented.
“You can press harder,” she said as she moved her hands away from mine. “It doesn’t hurt him or me.”
So I did, touching and prodding and ultimately pissing my kid off even more.
“I like that.” I grinned wildly.
She leaned forward and threw her hands around my neck.
“I’ve missed you like crazy, Trouper,” she whispered. “I…” She blew out a breath. “I don’t want this to ever stop.”
But, ultimately, it would have to stop.
I had no idea how long we’d been in here, but I knew that it wouldn’t be long until the guards came back and escorted me back to my cell.
“Fifteen more years of this,” I said sadly.
I didn’t regret what I’d done, though.
Not at all.
Maybe I should. Maybe I should feel bad about beating the shit out of a man that had been the catalyst to my wife being kidnapped from our home, taken to a house that had eight men in it hell bent on hurting my wife, and then left her there to die. All because he’d wanted his fiancée back.
And, honestly, I might not have blamed him for his actions had it not been my wife that had suffered at his hands.
A loud pounding on the door had me sighing.
“You have a half an hour left!” the guard bellowed through the door.
Then Beckham was gesturing toward the door.
“I guess you better get cleaned up. I wanted to show you some photos, get you to sign a couple papers, and talk to you about a few things.” She started to crawl out of my lap.
Our combined releases gushed out of her, and it was the single hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
“Talk later,” I growled.
Then I took her one last time. This time much harder and faster than the last.
When we were finished and she was getting dressed ten minutes later, I easily slipped back into my clothes.
I picked up the forgotten tube from earlier and grinned when I saw the mold of three of my fingers.
“Here you go,” I said. “Not my cock, but it’s my fingers.”
She took it with a wide grin. “I think that’s even cooler.”
She placed it on the counter, and then her smile was gone all together.
“So, ummm,” she hesitated. “Don’t freak out, but I had to borrow your brother.”
My brows rose.
“Why?” I asked.
“Well.” She wrinkled her nose, “I took him home with me because he was being a sad sac. And, well, I went to the doctor while I was down there, I wanted my mom to see the baby. And, well, things went to hell in a handbasket when my dad assumed that Easton was the baby daddy.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Did your dad recognize him?”
“Nope,” she said. “He was ‘in character’ from our undercover op because he was meeting with someone. And since that investigation is still ongoing, he didn’t realize my father was near until he’d already spoken to the other dude. He used my name, and my dad jumped to conclusions… and now everyone thinks that he’s the baby daddy.”
I dropped my hand from my lap.
“Are you ever going to tell them?” I asked.
Why did the idea of her passing someone off as her husband, someone that wasn’t me and probably way better suited for her, feel like it was ripping a hole straight through my heart? I was the one to tell her to go away and not come back. I was also the person to file divorce papers and send them her way.
“My mom already knows,” she said. “Easton’s not coming back. I’m here for the foreseeable future, and, well… I’ll tell them when you get out.”
“That’s in a really long time,” I hesitated.
“That’s all I’m willing to give them until you’re there to defend yourself,” she shrugged. “I’m sorry. That might make me the ultimate ass, but I just can’t deal with you being gone, their disapproval, the, uh…”
