I cross the kitchen in two quick steps and lean down, placing my hands on either side of her. “Darlin’,” I murmur softly into her ear, “you’re not broken. You’re not failing me. You hear me?”
She tilts her head slightly to look at me, her bottom lip trembling. “But what if I am?”
God, it guts me.
I brush my thumb along her cheek, my voice lowering even more. “Then we keep tryin’. And I’ll make it really fun for you.”
That pulls a shaky laugh from her, and I breathe easier.
“Carter Hayes,” she whispers, eyes narrowing as if she’s trying not to smile, “are you seriously turning my emotional spiral into foreplay?”
“Guilty,” I admit, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Because I can’t stand seein’ you sad. And I’ll do whatever it takes to put that smile back where it belongs.”
Her groan turns into a laugh, and I thank God for it.
I stay bent over her, my hands pressed on the counter, her face inches from mine. She’s pouting, lips pushed out as if daring me to argue.
“You know what I see when I look at you right now?” I ask, voice low, teasing.
She narrows her eyes. “A tragic heroine whose body has betrayed her?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “No. I see my wife bein’ dramatic as hell, sprawled across the counter, and she’s still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Her eyes flicker, softening for half a second before she huffs, trying to hold onto her pout. “Flattery won’t fix my barren womb.”
“Darlin’, your womb ain’t barren. It’s stubborn. Like you.” I grin when she gasps, affronted. “Takes a little time to get what it wants.”
She swats at my chest, but a smile is tugging at her mouth now. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re mine,” I murmur, sliding my hand over hers where it rests on the counter. I squeeze gently, grounding her.“You hear me? We’re doin’ this together. No rush. No pressure. Just us.”
Her lashes flutter, and I see her fighting the wobble in her lip again. I press a slow, sure kiss to her knuckles before pulling her hand to my chest.
“You’re not failin’ me, Catalina. Don’t you dare think that. We’ll keep trying, and if the test continues to come back negative, then we’ll try again. You’re perfect regardless.”
She looks at me, her chestnut eyes glassy and soft. Then she sighs, collapsing into me when I pull her off the counter and onto my lap on the barstool.
“Fine,” she mutters against my neck, arms wrapping around me. “But if I’m not pregnant in, like, two weeks, I reserve the right to have another meltdown.”
I kiss the top of her head, smiling into her hair. “Darlin’, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Her laughter bubbles against my throat, and the kitchen feels whole again.
She’s still pressed against the counter, my hands braced on either side of her. I think I’ve finally coaxed her out of her spiral, until she shifts, tilting her hips just enough to brush against me.
Heat shoots through me. “Catalina…”
Her eyes sparkle, lips curving smugly. “What?”
“You know what,” I growl, my jaw tight, cock already straining against my jeans.
She turns around, sliding her hands up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, tugging me closer. “Maybe I’m just distracting myself,” she whispers. “Healthy coping mechanism, right?”
I grunt, leaning in until our mouths are a breath apart. “Pretty sure no therapist would recommend grindin’ on your husband in the kitchen.”
“Maybe they should.” Her smirk widens, her voice dropping into a purr.
I grab her hips, hauling her flush against me, swallowing her little gasp with a kiss. She tastes like matcha, her tongue teasing mine as her nails scrape down my chest. My blood’s boiling, ready to bend her back over the damn counter and fu?—
