Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
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.
"Easy, little man," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. "Your mother and I are busy."
He moves up, his mouth finding mine in a steamy kiss that causes my girly bits to tingle. His calloused and sure hands trace the lines of my body, waking up all my nerve endings.
He shifts me onto my side, his body curling around mine from behind, his thick cock pressing against my rear end. He's rock-hard, straining with a need that he's been tempering for weeks out of a misguided sense of caution. I reach back, my fingers finding him, sliding over the smooth, hot length of him until he groans into the crook of my neck, his breath hitching.