Page 21

"Yes," she chokes out against my skin, her tears hot and damp against my neck. "God, yes, Hudson."

I slide the ring onto her finger, and it fits perfectly.

The air in the room shifts, growing thick and heavy with a different kind of urgency. It isn't just the frantic heat of the last few weeks, it's something worshipful. This is a celebration of a life created and a life promised. I push her back into the pillows, my hands framing her face.

"I'm going to fuck you so slowly," I murmur, my forehead resting against hers, my eyes locked on hers. "You're so beautiful, Tinsley. So fucking perfect. And you're carrying my child. I can't even wrap my head around how lucky I am."

I strip the shirt and lacy bra from her body, my eyes roaming over her luscious curves. I lean over and take one of her tight nipples into my mouth and suck hard, savoring the way she cries out my name, her nails raking down my back. Every touch is deliberate, a promise of the future I intend to build around her.

I move lower, my hands sliding down to her hips, pulling her toward the edge of the bed so I can kneel between her legs on the floor. I don't rush. I drag her yoga pants down her legs and toss them aside. Then I spread her folds with my thumbs. Her sweet pussy drips with a need that mirrors my own. The scent of her, citrus and raw arousal, fills my head until I can't think of anything else.

"Hudson, please," she whimpers, her head tossing back against the headboard. "I need… I want to feel you. Now."

"Not yet," I growl, the possessiveness in my voice echoing in the large room. I lean down and bury my face in her heat, my tongue circling her clit before I take it into my mouth, sucking her deep. Her scream echoes around the room, and her legs wrap around my shoulders, locking me in place. She tastes like salt and sunshine and everything I've ever wanted. I grip her thighs, holding her legs open for my tongue as I worship her, moving from slow, broad strokes to sharp, flickering laps that have her weeping my name.

I work her with my mouth until she's shaking, her muscles jumping under my hands. When I finally stand to shed my own clothes, my cock is rock-hard, straining with a pulse that feels like it's keeping time with her heartbeat. I watch her eyes track me, those sharp aqua depths darkening with a hunger that makes my blood boil. She reaches out, her fingers grazing the head of my cock, a touch so light it nearly breaks my restraint.

I move over her, the head of my cock grazing her entrance, teasing the slick heat of her pussy. I lean down, my mouth hovering just inches from hers, our breaths mingling in the dark. "Look at me, Tinsley. I want to see you when I enter you. I want to see you realize that I'm never letting you go."

She meets my gaze, her expression raw and open, her soul laid bare. I push inside, inch by thick inch, feeling her stretch to accommodate me. She's so tight, so soaking wet, that I have to grit my teeth and close my eyes for a fraction of a second to keep from coming instantly. I fill her completely, my weight supported on my forearms as I look down at where we're joined.

"Fuck, you feel good," I hiss, beginning a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm. I'm not pounding into her yet; I'm savoring the friction, the way her pussy clamps down on my cock with every thrust. I feel every ridge, every pulse of her internal muscles.

I increase the pace, the heavy oak bed frame knocking against the wall in a steady, frantic beat. I watch her face as her orgasm begins to build, her eyes fluttering shut as she loses herself in the sensation. I reach down, my thumb finding her clit and grinding against it while I hammer into her, my movements becoming rougher, more desperate.

She comes with a shattering cry, her body convulsing around me, the internal ripples of her pussy pulling me over the edge with a violence that leaves me breathless. I let out a low, guttural groan and empty myself into her, my release hitting her in hot, thick spurts. I collapse against her, our breathing the only sound in the room, the silence finally feeling like a sanctuary instead of a threat.

We stay like that for a long time, tangled in sweat-damp sheets and the heavy weight of our new reality. The moon moves across the sky, casting new shadows in the corners of the room. “I love you, sweetheart,” I breathe against her soft neck.

“I love you, too.” As she snuggles tight against my side, I realize I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch. Life doesn’t get any better than this.

EPILOGUE: TINSLEY

My center of gravity is currently somewhere over Georgia. I haven't seen my feet since the middle of my third trimester, and at thirty-nine weeks, I’m abso-freaking-lutely miserable. I shift in our bed; the cotton sheets are cool against my overheated skin. At this point, trying to find a comfortable position is a lost cause.

The room smells like Hudson--expensive sandalwood, sun-warmed leather, and that crisp, clean Texas air that always seems to follow him inside. It's a scent that has become my sanctuary over the last few months, a sensory anchor that tells me I'm safe, I'm loved, and I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. He is still asleep beside me, his breathing a steady, rhythmic anchor. Even in sleep, he looks like a man ready to take on the world.

I watch him for a moment, my hand resting on my belly. The baby kicks, a sharp, insistent jab right against my ribs. It's the kind of movement that says, 'I'm done with the amenities here, let me out.' I feel exactly the same way. My ribs feel like they've been rearranged by a tiny, very active interior decorator, and my bladder has the capacity of a thimble.

I reach over and trace the line of Hudson's jaw with my thumb. He doesn't stir at first, but his breathing hitches.

"Hudson," I whisper, leaning in until my hair brushes his shoulder. "Wake up. We have a project. A very important, very time-sensitive project."

His eyes flutter open, that sharp hazel instantly focusing on me. There is no morning grogginess for my husband. He goes from zero to high alert in a split second. He reaches out, his palm cupping the side of my face, his thumb grazing my cheekbone with a tenderness that still catches me off guard.

"Is it time?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates through the mattress and settles deep in my bones. "Are you in pain? Do I need to get the bag?"

"I wish. I'm in a state of profound impatience," I say, shifting closer despite the logistical nightmare of my stomach. "But no, no contractions yet. That's the problem. Your child is being stubborn. He's comfortable, and he has no intention of leaving. I've read that there are certain holistic methods for encouraging a tenant to vacate. Methods involving oxytocin and, well, you."

Hudson's lips twitch, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face as he realizes exactly what kind of holistic medicine I'm prescribing. He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes darkening with a familiar, hungry heat. He looks at me like I'm the sexiest woman in the world, even now, when I feel like a parade float. The way he looks at me hasn't changed since the night we met, except now it's tempered with a devotion that is almost frightening in its intensity.

"Holistic medicine," he repeats, his hand sliding down from my face to rest on the curve of my hip, his fingers splaying wide over my skin. "I've always been a fan of traditional remedies. You want me to fuck the baby out of you, Tinsley?"

"I want you to try," I breathe, my heart doing a little skip that has nothing to do with my increased blood volume. Man. Pregnancy hormones are no joke. "Because if I have to spend one more day having my internal organs pummeled by your child, I might actually lose my mind."

He laughs, a rich, dark sound that settles low in my belly, and then he's moving. He's slow, deliberate, mindful of the weight I'm carrying, but not treating me like I'm made of glass. Hudson knows better than that.

He pulls the sheets back, his eyes roaming over my body with an appreciation that makes me feel beautiful in spite of my current condition. He leans down, his mouth pressing a hot, lingering kiss to the top of my belly, his breath warm against my skin. The baby kicks again, right against his lips, and Hudson chuckles against my flesh, his hand coming up to soothe the spot.