For the first time in a long while, I feel whole.
We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. I’m still inside her, my cock softening but not slipping free. I don’t want to leave her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Samantha’s chest rises and falls under me, her skin damp, hair wild around her face. She looks wrecked. Beautiful. Mine.
“God, Nick,” she pants, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my back.
I push up on my elbows, forehead to hers. "Did I hurt you?"
She laughs, the sound breathless and bright. “No. I’ve needed that for eight months. You’re going to need to do it again soon.” She grins, her eyes sparkling. “Pregnancy hormones are a bitch.”
I laugh and kiss her nose, then her mouth. "I’m all yours, Samantha."
And I mean it.
Chapter Ten
Samantha
It's two days before Christmas, and I have officially achieved the grace and mobility of a penguin that's been knocked flat on its back.
I stop halfway between the kitchen and the couch, one hand on the wall, the other pressed to my lower back like I'm trying to keep my spine from escaping. The baby's dropped. I felt it yesterday morning. A sudden shift that made breathing easier, but turned walking into something that should probably earn me a medal.
"You okay?" Nick's voice comes from behind me, warm and concerned.
I wave him off, even though I'm not entirely sure I'm okay. "Just need a second."
He's there anyway, his hand replacing mine on my back, rubbing slow circles that make me want to puddle right into the floorboards. The man's been stuck to me like a shadow for two weeks now. Not that I'm complaining. Well, maybe a little.
"Let me help you."
"I can waddle on my own, thanks." I say it, but I still lean into him, because pride only gets you so far when you'rehauling around what feels like a bowling ball duct-taped to your stomach.
The baby does a slow roll, and I press a hand to the spot where I'm pretty sure her foot is wedged under my ribs. She's been restless all day, more than usual. Like she knows something's brewing.
I can feel it too. There's a tightness in my chest that has nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with the fact that we're almost out of time. Any day now, she'll be here. Any day now, I'll be holding her instead of just counting her kicks.
The thought leaves me breathless. Excited. Terrified. Maybe a little of both, if that's possible.
Nick steers me to the couch, and I lower myself down with all the grace of a beached whale who’s given up on dignity. He kneels in front of me, hands on my knees, those silver eyes searching my face like he's waiting for me to crack.
"I'm fine," I tell him. "Really. She's just heavy."
"You should rest."
"I've been resting. I rest so much, I'm about two naps away from sprouting roots right here on the couch."
A smile tugs at his mouth, soft and indulgent. The kind that makes my stomach do a little flip, even with a tiny human currently practicing her floor routine in there.
He's been like this since he came back. Attentive to the point of hovering, watching me like I might break if he so much as looks away. His hands keep finding my belly, like he needs the reminder that we're both still here.
And at night, he holds me like I'm something precious. His arm wrapped around my stomach, his breath warm against my neck. Sometimes I wake to find him whispering to the baby, promises and reassurances in a voice so tender it makes my eyes sting.
I'm in so deep with this man, it's almost embarrassing. Not that I'd admit it out loud.
The bakery bell chimes downstairs, and I recognize the pattern of footsteps on the stairs. Ella.
She lets herself in without knocking, because that's what best friends do. She's carrying a bag from the Thai place down the street, and her eyes go straight to Nick, who's still kneeling in front of me like he's guarding a treasure.
