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Freaking Nolan Ryan.
And freaking Sawyer Randall for just smiling his uber-sexy smile and winning the name game.
Asshole.
Little blue eyes stare up at me, as if he knows I’m thinking smack about his daddy. He’s barely eating now, which hopefully means he has filled up his little Buddha belly and is ready to be good for a bit so I can get dressed and on the beach for pictures. But instead of setting him against my shoulder for a burp, I find myself just watching him watch me. This is my favorite part of breastfeeding. Sure, I love that he’s getting the proper nutrients needed to grow big and strong, but I love this: the way he gazes up at me, his blue eyes that are so very much like his dad’s, so trusting and full of love.
This little man is my biggest joy and greatest weakness.
I would do anything for him, as would his father.
There’s a knock on the door, and I expect it to be one of my sisters. You know, since we’re supposed to be on the beach taking pre-wedding photos and all. But the smile that crests my face isn’t for one of them. It’s for my husband.
He enters slowly, careful not to wake up our son, but he doesn’t know that Nolan’s a big faker. “How’s he doing?” he whispers as he approaches the rocking chair. As soon as our little man hears his dad, his eyes fly across the room until he finds the source of the voice. Sawyer smiles instantly the second his son spots him. “Hey, little man, are you being good for Mommy?”
That’s precisely the moment I become chopped liver. Nolan releases his semi-hold on my breast and reaches for his dad. “He hasn’t burped,” I tell him, adjusting my bra to cover my exposed chest.
Sawyer walks over to the table and grabs the cloth, throwing it over his shoulder as if he’s done this a thousand times before (he has), and sets out to get a burp from our son. It doesn’t take long, as usual, and Nolan is happy as a clam in his dad’s arms.
“How was he?” Sawyer asks, placing a kiss on top of his fuzzy head.
“He was awesome. He was held the entire time and he was doted on by all of the women,” I say, referring to the fact that everyone took turns holding the youngest child at the salon earlier.
“That’s my boy,” Sawyer coos, earning a baby babble and drooly smile from the baby in his arms.
“Did you get everything set up?” I ask, making sure my shirt is righted and stepping into my husband’s waiting arm.
“Yep. The chairs are all there. Payton and Karen were wrapping up the flowers and shit. I think they were getting ready to take pictures,” he says, his free arm wrapped around my shoulder and pulling me into his embrace.
“I know. They’re waiting on me,” I say through a yawn.
“Why don’t I take him with me?” Sawyer offers. I glance up, lost in those sexy blue eyes of his. “He’s already eaten, so he should be good for a while. He can go back to Linkin and Lexi’s with me and hang out with the guys for a bit.” Gazing down at our son, he says, “You’d like that, right, buddy? Hang out with the guys? Get away from all the girls who just want to kiss your cheeks? That’ll be cool in a few years, but now, not so much,” Sawyer says with a slight bounce of the arm he’s holding Nolan with.
Nolan instantly starts to babble and spit bubbles. “I think he’s excited to go hang with the boys,” I say as our baby reaches for his dad’s stubbly jaw. “I thought you were going to shave,” I add, running a finger along the side of his face and instantly feeling the slow burn ignite between my legs.
“I have it on good authority that my wife prefers me a little stubbly. It drives her wild,” Sawyer whispers, his eyes locked on mine.
“It does,” I answer a bit breathlessly, running a full hand along his jaw. “Completely wild.”
His eyes darken to sapphires and I can already tell his pants are getting a bit tight against my hip. It takes every ounce of control I can find not to throw him down on the floor and ride him like a carousel horse. Nice. And. Slow.
“You’re thinking something dirty,” he whispers, bending down and running his nose along the shell of my ear and inhaling. “I want to do so many fucking dirty things to you.”
My panties are useless. My brain isn’t working. My lungs practically forget their sole purpose in life. I’m just a panting, wanton woman, wishing her husband would devour her from head to toe. “Yes, please.”
“Randall! No fornicating with a bridesmaid before the wedding,” Linkin hollers from somewhere deep in the house, making Sawyer groan in frustration. Throw in the fact that our son is trying to push his face between ours, well, let’s just say that our private little thirty-second moment was broken.
“I really like fornicating,” Sawyer grumbles, adjusting his pants and the baby in his arms.
“I miss fornicating,” I add quietly, reaching over and rubbing Nolan’s back.
Sawyer pulls me into his arms as best he can while holding a kid, and whispers, “Tonight, you’re mine.”
I can’t even breathe, let alone answer, but the moment doesn’t actually require an answer from me. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. One that said the moment we’re alone, he’s going to take great pleasure in doing dirty and very pleasurable things to my body.
I shiver in anticipation.
“Randall!” Linkin hollers, making us both sigh.
