She laughs, breathless from fussing and arranging.
This is the part of her that floors me. How happy she is, making our world a better place to be. I don’t think shecomprehends how deeply satisfying it is to watch her build a life for us.
When we’re done, she stands with her hands on her hips and lets out a pleased little sigh.
“See how it brings everything together,” she whispers.
She’s right. The blue picks out the color of the throw cushions and drapes, and a frame where she’s placed a picture of all of us grinning together in the pasture.
Her breath stutters, and her eyes shine.
I reach for the cardboard box in my pocket. “Got you one more thing.”
She blinks. “Wade… you already bought me the rug.”
“That was for the house,” I say. “My feet are gonna enjoy it as much as yours.”
She snorts. “What is it?”
I hand it to her. “It’s somethin’ that’s gonna bring you a whole lot of pleasure.”
Her fingers tremble as she opens the box, and her breath catches when she sees what it is.
Inside, nestled in velvet and straps, is the butterfly, sleek, curved, and built for one purpose. A thin belt to hold it snug against her. A small controller clipped to the side.
Her lips part.
Her cheeks flush.
Her breath comes shallow, and her thighs shift, pressing together like her body already knows what it means.
“Wade,” she whispers.
“It’s for nights like these, when me and Caleb are out working,” I say, voice dropping low as I step behind her. “So you’re ready when we come back.”
She swallows, breath shaky. “I’ve never…”
“I know,” I say. “You never had a chance to just be awoman. To enjoy your body. To know what gives you pleasure.” I brush my mouth along her jaw. “I want you to remember that you’re a woman first, before being a mother or a partner to me and my brother. A beautiful, sexy woman.”
Her hands tremble at her sides. “You make me feel sexy,” she says, smoothing her hands over the curve of her belly and hips, like she’s contemplating the shape of herself and whether it should be possible to feel that way.
“Everything about you,” I murmur. “It’s exactly what I would have asked for if I got to pick out my ideal woman.”
She shivers.
“Turn around.”
And she does, so trusting and obedient.
I slip the straps from her dress and let the soft fabric pool around her feet. She’s in nothing but cotton panties and a simple nursing bra, her curves warm and flushed from the day.
I kneel.
Her breath breaks.
“I want,” I murmur, palms gliding up her hips, “to see you wear what I chose. Feel it buzzin’ against you when you’re bakin’, or foldin’ blankets, or just walkin’ across these floors.”
I ease her panties down her thighs and strap the butterfly around her hips, adjusting it until it fits snug against her slick flesh. Her knees wobble, thighs pressing together in anticipation. Then I turn it on.
