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Chapter Twenty-Six
Maceo
Iwake to the smell of bacon and coffee—two of my favorite things outside of Josephine. I sit up, finding Hades belly-up next to me in the bed. His enormous head turns to me and his happy tongue falls out of his mouth.
I laugh, rubbing his belly. “Runt must be with yourmamá, hmm?”
He responds with a snort.
Heaving myself out of bed, I stretch before pulling on my favorite gray sweatpants. They’re also Josephine’s favorite. Never could understand why since she doesn’t wear them until one day, I realized they were her favorite because she could see the outline of my dick running down my leg. Now that I know, I only wear them around her—no need to attract unwanted peepers. I’m hoping these bad boys get me Christmas morning sex.
“Come on, big boy. Let’s go find our girls.”
I pad barefoot and shirtless across the house with Hades at my hip. Once we enter the living room Runt sees Hades and charges after him, happy her play partner is awake.
The smell of breakfast-goodness grows stronger as I reach the kitchen. When I round the corner, I stop dead in my tracks. Josephine works over the stove in a holiday apron and nothing else.
It’s a Christmas miracle.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!”
Josephine looks up from her cooking to my booming voice. Her megawatt smile takes over her elfin face, brighter than the sun. Acting on impulse, I stalk forward and fist my hand in the back of her hair before latching onto her luscious lips.
Fuck! She tastes good, like fresh berries and cream. I have enough control to turn off the stove before hoisting her up by her glorious ass and setting her on the kitchen island. “Mmm, you made my favorite breakfast,” I say licking my lips. “Wife à la carte.”
In a flourish, I guide her ass to the edge of the counter, bending to dive in face first. Josephine gasps, opening herself up to me like a flower. I love it when she lets me take charge.
When I have her in a crooning mess, I straighten, yanking my cock free of my sweatpants and bury myself in her. I don’t stop tunneling ‘till we’re pelvis to pelvis. As much as I want to go buck wild, I rein myself back as best I can—Josephine’s pleasure comes first.
My arms circle her, holding her close in a tender embrace that contradicts with the roughness of my thrusts. I find my release at the same time that Josephine finds hers, grinding hard against her sensitive clit, and loving the way her body jolts in my arms.
Sated, I lean my forehead against hers. “I think we should start every morning like this.”
She laughs. “We practically do.”
“Then we need to do it twice as much.” I pull myself away from her and run to grab her one of my shirts to wear. There’s no way I’ll be able to sit through breakfast if all she wears is an apron. May as well take her to bed if that’s the case.
We sit at the breakfast nook to the massive spread. Josephine has inherited her mother’s need to make too much food. It’s a dream come true for me since I’m always in need of food. My stomach growls, but I stop stuffing my face when I look at Josephine.
She takes her blood sugar while I mentally take notes on how she does it. One glance at her plate, and I noticed she has stuck to the higher protein options, avoiding sugar and carbohydrates.
I’m a jerk for enjoying the delicious French toast she made when she can’t have it. It’s one thing to have aversions to certain foods while pregnant, as she does with sweets, but not being able to indulge at all seems brutal for a pregnancy.
“What have your numbers been like?”
Josephine puffs out her chest and smiles. “Great, actually. I’m hopeful I won’t need insulin.”
Hmm.“Your blood sugar hasn’t been off once?”
“Well, not crazy off like you’d expect, especially after I cashed in Doctor Stoll’s one-day ticket to indulge yesterday. But I’m following this to the T. I’m not risking anything when it comes to our boys.”
Without a doubt, she would take this seriously, but it does seem bizarre that her numbers have been consistently good, especially after she eats.
Josephine frowns, deep in thought. “You don’t think I have a faulty glucose meter, do you? I mean, I have been a bit paranoid with this pregnancy, so maybe I’m overthinking things.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t think you’re being any more paranoid than me. You did only start this tracking two days ago. We’ll monitor it and go from there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she says, returning to her breakfast.
