"I know. But I check anyway." He props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "You know what I was doing three months ago? Killing people. Taking orders. Living out of a duffel bag with no idea where I'd be next week, let alone next year."
"And now?"
"Now I have a wife. A son on the way. A home." He shakes his head slowly. "A family. An actual family."
"Is it everything you hoped for?"
"It's more." He leans down and kisses me—soft at first, then deeper. "So much more."
The kiss shifts, changes.
His hand slides from my belly to my hip, pulling me closer.
I can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my—his—t-shirt.
Even five months pregnant, even exhausted from the summer heat and the constant demands of a growing baby, I want him.
I always want him.
"We have the house to ourselves," he murmurs against my lips.
"We do."
"And you look incredibly sexy in my shirt."
"I look like I swallowed a watermelon."
"You look like you're carrying my child." His hand slides under the hem of the shirt, fingers tracing up my side. "That's the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
I laugh, but it turns into a gasp as his hand finds my breast.
Pregnancy has made everything more sensitive—every touch amplified, every sensation heightened.
His thumb brushes across my nipple and I arch into him, wanting more.
"RJ..."
"I've got you." He helps me sit up, then pulls the shirt over my head.
For a moment, he just looks at me—the swell of my belly, the changes in my body, all the evidence of the life we're creating together. "Beautiful," he breathes. "So fecking beautiful."
He kisses me again, and then we're moving together—slow and careful, mindful of the belly between us.
He guides me onto my side, settling behind me, his chest warm against my back.
This has become our favorite position lately—intimate and close, his arms wrapped around me, his hand on my stomach.
"Okay?" he asks, always checking, always making sure.
"More than okay."
He slides into me slowly, and I sigh at the feeling of fullness, of connection.
We move together in an easy rhythm, unhurried, savoring every moment.
His lips brush the back of my neck, my shoulder, the sensitive spot behind my ear.
His hand strokes my belly, feeling our son move even as we move together.
