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“But I do,” I say, cutting him off.
Orlie stops and pulls back. “What did you say?”
I’ve been working toward this. Orlie is not hard to love. But I feel likeI’mhard to love. I can barely believe he has thrownhimself into me with the passion and ardor of all the stars in the universe, even when I never offered him love in return.
If a man wants to, he will. And Orlie has made that quite clear.
But for me? Mousey Kira Solace? The quiet one with the glasses?
Apparently, I’m worth it. And it’s time I finally believe that.
“I love you, Orlie,” I say and then touch his chin with my thumb. “Orlando.”
A lopsided smile creeps over his face. “Seriously?”
I nod. “I want…I want to be with you. I want to make a family with you. A real one.” I brush my lips along his cheekbone. “I’m ready.”
“Gosh, I want to just grab you and kiss you, but my hands have been all over your feet and there is just something about feet that ruins the romance and –” Orlie rambles.
“Go wash your hands and then come back and kiss me,” I say with a laugh.
Orlie rushes across the sprawling living area to the open-concept kitchen, all black and stainless steel. I push myself up to standing and meet him halfway as he rushes back to me, swooping me up in his arms and kissing me with his whole self.
Our son flips inside me. He knows just how important this moment is and I’m so glad we can share it with him.
One of Orlie’s hands drifts to my belly. He spreads his wide palm against it as his lips curl into a smile against mine. “God, I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”
He kisses every inch of my face with care, a topographer sketching out a map. Like he must know every inch, texture, crevice, all of it, so that he’ll never forget.
I find my lips on his again, a deep kiss, tongue delving into his mouth. We have kept things rather tame as we navigate our new relationship as future co-parents, potential lovers. Now,though, my tingling nerves need to be satisfied. I want Orlie’s hands all over my body. Want him to see me in a way he hasn’t in many months.
“Please, I want you,” I say into his mouth. “Take me to your bed. Please.”
Orlie’s too stunned to take the lead, so I grab his hand and pull him up the floating stairs to the master bedroom. Never been in it, except for the one time Orlie gave me a tour a month and change ago and we both nervously laughed about it, before pretending it had never happened.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
I resist bringing up his time with Diane. Surely he must have pleasured her while she was pregnant. Or maybe he’s blocked all that out of his memory. I can’t blame him for that.
“You won’t. I need this.” I untuck his shirt and begin undoing all the buttons.
As I do so, Orlie’s dark eyes fix on mine; he drives me toward the edge of the bed and, just as my legs hit the end of the mattress, his shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his broad, toned chest.
Delicious.
I slide my hands across his pecs. “I’ve missed this.”
He grins and then goes to push my shirt up, pausing before touching me. “May I?”
I smile. So careful with me. Too afraid to mess this up. I pull up the front of my shirt, exposing my bare belly to him. Orlie’s fingers tentatively stroke the skin. He hasn’t been allowed to touch me like this. Not yet. And, consequently, he looks at me for permission.
I give him a small nod. As his hand settles on my bare belly, our son jabs his way toward Orlie’s palm.
“Hey, little guy,” he says. “Join the party.”
I brush my hand through Orlie’s hair as he leans down to kiss the bare skin.
“Oh god,” he mutters. “This is…this is the best.”
