"Van." I pull back just enough to look at her. "We don't have to?—"
"I want to." Her eyes are dark, certain. "I've been waiting twelve weeks to touch my husband. I don't want to wait anymore."
I search her face for any sign of hesitation, any hint that she's not ready.
But all I see is desire.
Desire and love and the fierce determination that's carried her through the last three months.
"Okay," I say. "But we're doing this my way. Slow. Gentle."
"Gentle," she agrees. "We've got all the time in the world."
I stand, pulling her up with me.
I toss my cut on my desk and my shirt hits the floor, and then I'm reaching for the hem of her sweater, easing it up and over her head.
She's wearing a simple cotton bra underneath, nothing fancy, but the sight of her—the new fullness of her breasts, the soft swell of her belly where our baby is growing—takes my breath away.
"Beautiful," I murmur, tracing my fingers along her collarbone. "You're so fucking beautiful."
"I don't feel beautiful. I feel?—"
"Beautiful," I repeat, cutting her off. "That's what you feel. Because that's what you are."
I kiss her again, walking her backward toward the bed.
We fall onto the mattress together, a tangle of limbs and whispered words.
I take my time with her, relearning every inch of her body—the places that make her gasp, the spots that make her melt.
She's different from before.
Softer. Fuller. Healthier.
The sharp edges of addiction have been smoothed away, leaving behind the woman I fell in love with all those years ago.
I trace my lips down her throat, across her collarbone, lower.
My hands map the new curves of her body, the swell of her belly where our baby is growing.
"You're staring," she whispers.
"Can't help it." I press a kiss to her stomach, just below her navel. "You're carrying my kid in there. That's... that's everything, Van."
She threads her fingers through my hair, holding me there. "I still can't believe it's real sometimes. That we made something good out of all that chaos."
"We did." I move back up her body, settling between her thighs. "And we're going to keep making good things. Together."
When I finally sink into her, it feels better than I remember.
She gasps, her back arching, her nails digging into my shoulders.
I hold still for a moment, letting her adjust, letting myself feel the reality of this.
My wife. My baby. My future.
All of it right here, wrapped around me.
