Light filtered in through my bedroom window…me in nothing but Nash’s t-shirt and a pair of underwear, him in his boxers. I let out a cozy, pleasured sigh as I woke, Nash playing the big spoon, his arms around me.
I couldn’t feel anything yet, not really, not exactly…but I was pregnant.
Pregnant with his baby.
I’d been here all of three months and I had what I’d wanted for years. The job at an elementary school. The baby on the way. The shelf full of kids’ books that would be well-used and well-loved.
A man wholoved me. Probably loved me more than Bryce ever had.
Nash’s embrace tightened and he pressed a kiss to my throat, right over my pulse. He was hard—I could feel him between my thighs, and I wanted himnow.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he rasped in my ear, his hand sliding down over my belly…under my shirt. He dragged it backup so he could cup my breast, thrusting just slightly. “Can I fuck you, sunshine?”
“Please,” I whispered.
Nash moved his hand so he could pull himself free; then he went for my underwear, dragging them over my hips. I kicked them off and hummed when I felt him against me, sliding through where I was already getting wet.
“Needy girl,” he chuckled in my ear, his hand wrapping around his shaft, lining up. “Begging me to put a baby in you even when you’re already knocked up.”
“It worked,” I breathed. “Doesn’t mean I want you to stop.”
He made a low sound against my neck. “No?”
“No.” I pushed back against him. “Still want to feel you. Want you inside me.”
He pushed inside slow, and I felt every inch of it, and we both went still for a moment—just that, just him filling me up, his arm tight around my waist, his mouth at my ear.
“Morning,” he said.
I laughed—soft and sleepy and completely undone. “Morning.”
He started to rock into me slow and steady, holding me against him—his chest warm and firm against my shoulders, his lips at my throat. The angle made me feel safe, cozy, like this was what forever felt like.
“Just the first time,” I gasped. “I want…gonna want more.”
“Tell me.”
“Want you…keeping me pregnant—” I gasped, my chest heaving. My breasts were so sensitive; it all made sense now, and I wanted him touching me, soothing, tasting. Maybe it wasn’t the time to tell him how many kids I wanted, but I just didn’t care. He’d never judged me. “Wanna make a family with you?—”
It made him speed up, taking the words right out of my mouth. I moaned, trying to muffle it against his arm—but his hand found my breast again and I stopped trying.
“Yeah?” His voice was rough, low, right against my ear. “Want to keep you like this.”
“Yes—”
“Belly round with my baby.” His rhythm deepened. “Beautiful and mine and?—”
“Nash—”
“How many?” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
“Kids.” He thrust deep and held there, his hand spread over my stomach. “How many do you want.”
The question hit me somewhere completely unprepared for it.
“Nash—”
