"Your lips to God's ears," she told him fervently.
*****
"Are we spending the night in here?"
"We just might. The sleep chair is very comfortable."
She was curled up in her husband's arms, her eyes already drifting shut. The babies were finally down for the count, and she had a feeling they were going to sleep until morning. It was a little past midnight before their guests left and they had kept the babies up.
"We should go to bed. Our bed."
"Hmm." Samuel rubbed his hand up and down her thighs, feeling the familiar stirring of desire. "We should. I want to make love to my wife."
"It's after midnight," she pointed out.
"So?" He was already pulling her zipper down.
"Samuel, stop! We're in Sofia's room."
"She's sleeping and even if she was wide awake, she would not have a clue what her parents were up to." He slid the shoulders off her, exposing her skin. "You smell nice."
"Thanks." Giving up, she allowed him to take the dress off. The low murmur of appreciation in his throat when he saw what was underneath had her smiling.
"They're new."
"And really appreciated. What do you call this color?"
"Periwinkle."
"There's barely anything there." He ran his fingers over the whisper of lace that scarcely covered her soft, full breasts. Trailing a hand down her flat stomach, he felt the jolt going straight through him at the quivering muscles. "The mark is still there."
"It always will be. You said you didn't mind it."
"I don't. It fascinates me." He looked into her eyes. "It's a mark of perfection."
She sent him a puzzled frown, the heat climbing through her body momentarily forgotten. "You mean imperfection."
He shook his head, finger tracing the incision. "No. Perfection. A sign of what was done to bring our babies into the world. To me that's perfect."
Emotions stormed through her at his hoarse admission.
"Samuel. I love you," she whispered huskily.
"I do believe I love you more." His hands cupped her breasts, making her gasp as he used his thumbs to create magic on her nipples.
"The monitor," she moaned, some fleeting part of her mind remembering that Lyka-Mae had one in her room.
"What about it?"
"The housekeeper…"
"You're saying she's probably listening to us right now?" His thumbs circled the nipples in slow erotic movements, sending heat straight to the core of her.
"Yes."
"Then we should probably go to the privacy of our suite." Putting his hands under her buttocks, he rose. She had the presence of mind to grab the dress he had tossed aside.
"Forgotten about that," he muttered as he strode from his daughter's room toward the connecting doors of their suite.
