Page 45 of Glass Wings

“This is real,” she whispers, resting her hand on my shoulder. She always knows what to say to calm the monsters raging in my mind.

I turn into her touch, close my eyes, and breathe her in. “I’ve dreamed about this … about you … for so long.” My voice comes out rough, almost broken.

She climbs onto the bed beside me, and instinct has me reaching out to steady her like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held. My palm slips over the curve of her stomach, and right then the baby kicks, strong and sure. My throat burns.

Luckily for us, Kennedy was gracious enough to stay at her parents’ house tonight and let us have privacy. Not that she would’ve heard anything, the apartment is big enough that she wouldn’t even hear the baby crying at night, but it’s different knowing it’s just us here. No extra footsteps in the hall, no doors creaking, no one waiting for us to leave the bedroom. Just me and Harley, the quiet of the night, and the steady rhythm of our baby moving beneath my hand.

After months of living under eyes that never look away, that kind of privacy feels like a miracle.

I kiss her, soft at first, like I have to remind myself what her lips taste like. It deepens fast, too fast; months of wanting, of missing her, pouring out in one breath. My hands roam slowly, reverent, memorizing the new lines of her body. The stretch of her skin.

Every time I hesitate, she murmurs against my mouth, “It’s okay. I want you. I’ve missed you.”

Still, fear grips me. “Are you sure?”

She cuts me off with another kiss. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure.”

“You’re so beautiful, Harley. God, you’re more beautiful than I ever knew.” The words come out rough, almost breathless. I press my lips to the curve of her stomach, my hands spreading wide to cradle the swell that holds our future.

A fierce, dizzy pride rushes through me knowing she’s carrying something we created together, that every kick and flutter inside of her belongs to us. I never expected this to undo me in the way it has, to make me ache and burn with the need to hold her, to protect her, to love her in every way possible.

“I can’t believe this is real,” I whisper against her skin. “That you’re mine. That this baby is ours.”

Her fingers thread into my hair, guiding me closer. And in that moment, every part of me, heart, body, and soul want nothing more than to worship her, to make sure she never doubts how wanted she is.

“I’m yours, Easton. All yours,” she whispers, her eyes shining with tears as they lock on mine.

For a second, I forget how to breathe. After months of steel bars, cold benches, and strangers defining me by the worst moments of my life, those words break through everything. She isn’t just saying them about tonight, about the way we’re touching now, she is handing me her heart all over again, telling me she hasn’t wavered, even when I gave her every reason to.

I cup her face, my thumb brushing away a tear before it can fall. “And I’m yours, Little Bird. Always.”

“I need you. I need you inside me now.”

Fighting the grin that tugs at my lips, I look up at her as I slowly pull her panties down her legs and push her dress up, exposing her belly and breasts.

“Tell me again.”

“I’ve been going crazy. Some nights all I think about is how it feels when you first slide inside me. And then I feel like a sex crazed maniac because sometimes it’s all I can think about at all,” she admits, her cheeks turning dark red in embarrassment. She has no idea how much that little admission just turned me on.

“Tell me more, what have you wanted the most?” I carefully pull her dress over her head and kiss her cheeks, and then her lips, slowly trailing down her body. My hands trace every inch, new and old, worshipping the parts I know she hates, and taking extra time to kiss the stretch marks. I tell her with my hands and my mouth how beautiful she is, how proud I am of what her body is doing.

“Close your eyes and tell me what got you off every night.”

“I didn’t⁠—”

I cut her off. “Don’t lie to me, I know you touched yourself, I know you came to the thought of my cock. Now tell me how so I can make it reality.”

She gasps at my words; eyes wild, lips swollen from my kisses, and chest flushed with desire.

“I wanted you on top, but I don’t think⁠—”

I press my lips to hers, ending that ridiculous sentence. “I’ll make it work, I want to make your fantasy a reality, no matter how uncomfortable or weird.”

She blushes again, and I’m not sure how she can possibly get anymore red, but she does.

“I wanted you on top,” she repeats. “Your lips were everywhere—my neck, my lips, my ears … you would whisper dirty things into my ear and then slide into me, one inch at a time, making me beg for it.”

My cock throbs at her words. I want nothing more than to be buried deep inside her, but I have to wait. She deserved more. I trail my lips across her collarbone and up her neck, her body squirming beneath mine as moans fall from her lips.