Oh no.
“For a week,” he tacked on.
Oh no, no, no.
He pulled out and surged back in, accentuating his point. “Maybe two.”
I shoved my hand under my body and did as he said.
“There you go,” he groaned, sounding pleased physicallyandemotionally. “I knew you could do it. So fucking beautiful taking me.”
There was no holding back my sharp cry or the liquid bliss that coursed through my veins until every last inch of me was trillions of pleasure centers. All lit up. All overwhelmed. All-consuming.
And then they detonated.
I detonated. “Rhys.”
“Christ, I love the way you say my name when you come. I love the way you look, so soaked and perfect to take me. I love how your perfect pussy strangles my dick.” Another groan. “I love you.” And then he lost his rhythm but not the force in his unhinged thrusts when he came.
His palm slapped the desk by my head as my husband gave me more of his weight, his heavy breaths mixing with mine as we stayed like that for long… seconds? Minutes? Hours? I wasn’t sure. I was too busy being a melty pile of goo.
When he finally slid free and fell back into his chair, I tried to stand, but he didn’t let me. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel his stare. I could picture the reverent look on his handsome face when he slid a finger up my thigh. Gathering the dripping wetness that was our mixed releases before pushing it back into my oversensitive sex.
It was unnecessary.
He tugged my pants back up, and I honestly could’ve fallen asleep like that, bent over his desk with my ass in the air. He probably would’ve loved it.
Summoning every ounce of energy I had left—which wasn’t much—I reached into my hoodie pocket and took out my stashedsurprise. It was what I’d wanted to talk to him about in the morning and why I’d asked to talk again.
If I keep getting distracted by sex, I’ll be able to present him with a whole newborn and not just the positive test.
“What’s…” His words trailed off, and I forced myself to stand. It was a task that was made easier because he grabbed me before I had to really move and settled me on his lap. Rather than the happiness or even confusion I’d expected to see on his handsome face, it was panic.
I knew it wasn’t because he’d changed his mind. Unsurprisingly, Rhys hadn’t followed my stipulation months ago. We hadn’t talked about the vasectomy reversal once things calmed down. Unbeknownst to me, he’d called the day after our conversation to schedule the appointments.
It was supposed to be a lot longer before his swimmers started taking laps again, but I should’ve known better. Rhys did things when he wanted.
“Christ, I was too rough,” he said, gently touching my stomach. “Your mouth. The desk. You should’ve stopped me.”
It was the wrong thing to do in the face of his distress, but I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”
“But the baby?—”
“Is a tiny speck and totally fine.” I smiled as I tapped the little roundness I always had at the bottom of my belly, loving it even more now. “I’ve got cushioning to keep our baby safe.”
“Our baby.” His blue eyes moved from my stomach to my face and then back. “You told me you loved me for the first time in this office. Now you’re telling me you’re pregnant in here.”
“I also touched your hard-on for the first time”—I pointed to the side—“right over there.”
“Can’t forget that.” He cupped my cheeks and tilted my head up. “Rye’s always been the most important place to me. I worked hard to build it into what I wanted. Someplace I was proud of. You helped me protect that. I fell in love with you here. Now wherever you are is the most important place to me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t fuckin’ love the fact you’ve added these memories to a place that means so much. Better than any of the pictures or signatures on the wall. Better than I knew life could be. Love you, Luna.”
“Love you, too.” The tender moment was about to be broken by my hormonal ugly tears, but I blinked them away and pointed to the side again. “And I also love your hard-on.”
“It’s all yours. Forever.”
Rhys
Four Years and Nine-ish Months Later
