“No!”
I laugh. “But you have to admit I make a good point.”
Annabelle giggles. “It’s valid, I’ll allow it.”
I take that as permission.
Sliding onto the bed beside her, I lean down, kiss the curve of her shoulder, then lower—slow, deliberate. My fingers toy with the waistband of her shorts. Ease the fabric down her hips.
“I’m Scottish. And horny as fuck and very supportive of the mother of my child.”
“Maverick—” Her voice is a warning.
A breathy plea.
She lifts her hips when I tug her shorts the rest of the way off. Doesn’t stop me when I settle between her thighs like I’ve got all the time in the world, nudging her thighs apart.
Press my hungry mouth against her pussy and suck.
Lick.
Take my time.
She tastes like heat and want and laughter—like us. I groan into her, her hands tangling in my hair, hips bucking the moment my tongue finds that spot—her clit—that always makes her groan and whimper ...
Annabelle is melting beneath me, thighs trembling; every stroke deliberate, every kiss a promise.
It’s not just about getting her there. It’s about her fingers in my hair, tugging. The way her thighs cage my head. The way she reaches for me—mindless. Greedy.
I’m ravenous.
Gluttonous.
Want her to come in my mouth ...
She’s close—so close—hips bucking in that rhythm that tells me she’s losing control. Her thighs squeeze, breath hitching, and then she shatters.
It’s beautiful.
Chapter 27
Annabelle
This is it.
The day we tell our families.
I’m still in Arizona—technically not in hiding, but let’s be honest: I’ve been in witness protection mode ever since I found out I was pregnant. Two positive tests, followed by at least four more.
No bump yet. No glow, either, unless you count the sweat from nausea. But it’s real. It’s happening.
And it’s time.
I watch Maverick across the room as he wraps up a call with his agent. Something about optics and keeping it “classy” until the official statement. He’s nodding, listening intently, while I’m busy freaking out because he’d just shown me the text from his mom confirming she and his dad were available for a FaceTime in ten minutes.
Cue internal screaming.
It’s not that we don’t love our parents—we do. It’s just ... we haven’t exactly told them aboutanyof this. The wedding. The baby. It did not cross my mind for one second that my personal life would become national news.
