“Oh God . . .”
His hands go to my belly, thumbs grazing the curve like it’s sacred.
Then his giant palms migrate up, sliding from my belly to cup my breasts. I gasp, arching into his touch, his thumbs brushing across skin that feels too sensitive.
I roll my hips, chasing that sweet, aching friction, and he groans—head falling back, jaw tight. My palms flatten on his chest,feeling the thrum of his heart, the heat of him beneath me. Move to the headboard ...
“Look at me,” he says, voice hoarse, large, beautiful body glistening beneath me. “Let me see you fall apart.”
I force my eyes open, meeting his. He’s glowing in the low light—his beautiful, broad body slick with sweat, chest heaving, eyes locked on mine like I’m a miracle he never expected to hold.
With his name on my lips, a cry caught in my throat, my fingers clutch his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing in the world. My body trembles, breath shattering, and it’s like something inside me breaks open and spills pure light.
When I finally collapse against his chest, breathless and shaky, his arms lock around me. Strong and sure.
Steady.
Chapter 35
Maverick
Four or so months later ...
There are a handful of things in life you never forget.
The first time you hear your name chanted in a stadium.
The moment the woman you love saysyesto your proposal even though I was a sweaty, nervous mess—and half convinced she was going to tell me no.
And now?
Now I’ll never forget being woken in the middle of the night by those six magical words:
“Hey, babe? My water just broke.”
At first, I think I’m dreaming. Or hallucinating from the spicy Thai food she insisted we have for dinner to induce labor.
But then I hear it again—calmer than I expected, considering the gravity of the sentence.
“Wake up, Callum.” I’m being jostled. “My water just broke.”
I jolt upright like I’ve been electrocuted. “What? Are you sure?”
She’s no longer in bed with me; rather she’s standing beside it, clutching a towel between her thighs and with an oddly serene look on her face. “No, I pee myself for fun. YesI’m sure.”
And just like that, everything goes into high-speed slow motion.
My body moves fast—grabbing the bag, the keys, putting on socks I’m pretty sure don’t match—but my brain is lagging ten steps behind, panicking about everything from traffic to contractions to the fact that I still haven’t installed the car seat properly even though she’s reminded me five hundred times.
“Okay. Okay. We’re good. We trained for this.” I say the words like it’s a playoff game and she’s my teammate about to score the winning goal.
Annabelle calmly grabs her toothbrush. “Babe. Less sports metaphors.”
Right. Gotcha.
My ass leaps into my throat. “How far apart?”
“Five minutes. Maybe six? I don’t know—who cares?”
