Page 94 of Run Rabbit Run

Mine.

The world calls her my wife and envies me and has no idea it's looking at the most complete act of possession one person has ever worked on another.

I go down to meet her in the hall.

That night I take her to bed the way I take her most nights, unhurried, certain, a man in no danger of ever losing what he holds.

The fire cracks low behind me.

Wren kneels at the edge of the bed, heavy with my child, breathing slow and deep.

Her hands rest on her swollen belly like she's offering it to me.

I step between her knees and tip her chin up.

Her eyes find mine without hesitation.

She's learned exactly where to look.

I slide my palm over the curve of her stomach, feeling the firm taut skin stretched tight by the life I put there.

She leans into the touch.

My thumb traces the line of a mark that appeared last week.

She carries proof of me now, visible and permanent.

I press my fingers into the soft flesh just above her hip, and she exhales my name like a prayer. "Ezra."

I push her back onto the mattress and follow her down, my weight settling over her without crushing the child between us.

Her thighs open for me on their own.

I run my hand up the inside of one, feeling the heat already gathering there.

She's wet before I even touch her.

I drag two fingers through her folds and bring them to her lips. She opens her mouth and sucks them clean without being told, her tongue curling around my knuckles like she's grateful.

I pull my fingers free and replace them with my cock, pressing the head against her.

She's tight, swollen, and so fucking warm.

I sink into her in one slow thrust, watching her face the entire time.

Her lips part.

Her eyes flutter.

She takes every inch of me and asks for more with the roll of her hips.

I bottom out and hold still, letting her feel how deep I am.

My hand finds her throat.

I wrap my fingers around it, not squeezing yet, only holding, and she tilts her head back to give me better access.

She trusts the pressure.