I leaned down and pressed my mouth to her shoulder, her neck, kept moving. Her hands were white-knuckled on the headboard and the sounds she was making were the kind that would've had me clamping my hand over her mouth two months ago—too loud, someone might hear—but we were alone in our house with our puppies and our baby and I wanted every sound she had.
Every single one.
"Don't muffle it," I said against her neck. "Want to hear you."
"Wyatt—"
"Say my name like that again."
"Wyatt."
I groaned and drove deeper and she cried out and grabbed the headboard harder. I straightened up and gripped both hips and looked at her—moonlight on her skin, my handprints warm on her ass, all of her—and felt something so far past want I didn't have a word for it.
I reached around and pressed my palm flat on her stomach.
She made a sound I'd never heard from her before. Something deeper than want, something that went all the way down, and her whole body shuddered.
"Feel that?" I said low.
"Yes—"
"My baby in there." I kept moving, kept my hand spread warm and flat, felt her shaking. "My girl." I pressed harder, deliberate, and she moaned. "You feel how deep I am? Feel me?"
"God—yes—Wyatt?—"
"This is where it happened," I said roughly. "Right here. You took me so good, Haven, took everything I gave you and asked for more and now—" I thrust deep and held it and she gasped. "Now you're carryin' it."
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes."
"Gonna look so beautiful." I started moving again, slower now, grinding deep on every stroke. "Belly round, knowin' I did that. Knowin' you're mine." I brought my hand down on her ass again and she sobbed into the pillow. "And you're gonna let me take care of you. Both of you. Say it."
"Yes," she gasped. "God, yes, both of us, yours, please?—"
"Ain't ever gonna let you go." My voice had gone rough, Texas thick, and I was past caring. "Should've said it months ago. Should've told you from the start."
"You're saying it now," she gasped.
"Yeah." I drove deeper and she cried out. "Better late than never."
I reached around and found her clit and she jolted forward and I pulled her back by the hip, keeping her where I wanted her.
"Stay," I said.
"I can't—it's too much?—"
"You can." I kept working her, kept my pace, felt her shaking apart by degrees. "You take everything I give you. Always have. Take this too."
"Wyatt—" Broken now, completely gone. "I love you, I love you, please?—"
"I love you." I pressed my mouth to the back of her neck. "Come for me."
She shattered.
She clenched around me in waves, shaking, saying my name over and over into the dark, and I kept moving through it and kept my hand on her stomach and felt everything—her falling apart, the specific way she said my name when she meant it all the way down, the warmth of her skin under my palm.
I followed her over with my face pressed to the back of her neck, groaning her name, filling her deep, my hand pressing flat on her belly.
Neither of us moved for a long time.
