The doctor returns and I watch as she ties the tourniquet around Mia’s arm and presses her skin to find a vein. “Sharp scratch,” she warns.
Mia flinches as the needle slides into her vein. I grit my teeth. I hate seeing her hurt—even for a second. I’ll take a thousand needles if it means she doesn’t have to. I shove my hands in my pockets so I don’t snap it in two.
When it’s done, the doctor packs up her bag. “I’ll call with the results and I’ll book you in for a repeat hCG.” She grabs her things and smiles. “Congratulations to you both.”
I walk the doctor to the door, confused that there’s nothing else to do, but I thank her for coming.
Before she leaves, Dr. Patel gives me a look. “I know you’re worried, Jensen, but let the woman breathe. It’s a pregnancy, not a medical emergency.”
Everything to do with my wife is an emergency. Mia’s not going to so much as exhale without me knowing about it. This baby rewrote the rules. She was always mine. I put my ring on her finger. Gave her my name. Fucked her like I was trying to meld with her.
But now… Now, she’s carrying a piece of me.
And that changes everything.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, even though I want her to stay until Mia hits the third trimester.
She shakes her head, smiling like she sees right through me. “Mia will be fine. She has you. But if anything changes, call my office.”
I nod. Damn right she’ll be fine. Because Mia’s not doing a second of this pregnancy alone. She’s mine. Mine to love. Mine to protect.
And that growing belly?
That’s everything.
I’ll spend the next seven months worshipping my wife the only way I know how—on my knees, inside her, watching her swell with what I put there and making sure no one touches what’s mine.
EIGHT
MIA
I wake up alone.No Jensen wrapped around me, no warm breath against the back of my neck, no heat pressed against my spine. For a moment, I just lie there, waiting for him to come back.
He doesn’t.
What the fuck?
I can hear the clink of crockery coming from deep in the penthouse.Is he… Is he making fucking breakfast?
I sit up slowly, not because of that, but in case I get dizzy. The room tilts around me for a second before it evens out, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Then I wait for the wave of nausea to hit, but my stomach doesn’t even churn.
That’s an improvement on yesterday when I felt like I was going to throw up my soul before I’d even smelled my coffee.
Our bedroom is warm, but I grab one of his hoodies from the walk-in anyway. It’s comforting to wear his clothes, especially when I don’t know why he left me in bed. He never does that.
I’m hesitant when I pad into the kitchen. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find, but it’s not Jensen’s moving around like he’s been moonlighting as a Michelin-star chef. Heat rises fromthe stove and the oil hisses as it cooks. Whatever he’s making smells delicious and my belly grumbles.
But I don’t care about the food right now. I care about the fact my husband is here, and not in our bed.
With me.
“Morning, beautiful.” Jensen glances over his shoulder as he pulls the skillet off the heat. “I’m making eggs, bacon, and pancakes, but if you want something else, I can do that.”
Okay… he’s not angry or upset, but this isn’t right.
I stare at his broad back, squinting. Whoisthis man? The Jensen I know doesn’t start the day without being inside me. Doesn’t breathe without touching me.
He hasn’t even kissed me yet.
