I yank one of her legs up over my thigh, pinning her where I want her, and slide inside.
She tries to scream, but it comes out a gasp that's half protest, half plea.
"Now you can talk, princess," I murmur, grinding my hips against hers.
She slaps my chest, laughing breathlessly. "I am not discussing what your brother is doing with his dick while yours is inside me, Austin Hawkes!"
"Good," I say, nipping at her throat as I slam into her again and then again. "Then shut up and come on my cock like a good fiancée."
She throws her head back, her body arching up to meet me. "You can't just distractme—"
I cut her off with another kiss, fucking her so hard she can't remember her own name, let alone the details of my brother's drama.
She buries her face in my shoulder, moaning my name. "You are such a menace," she whispers, but there's not a single trace of accusation in her voice, only love, only joy.
"You love this menace," I remind her, my lips at her ear.
"Yeah," she whispers, her eyes shining with something that makes my heart thud unevenly against my ribcage. "I really fucking do."
I bury my face in her throat, breathing her, thanking God that she's mine. That she's here. That I'm inside her right now with my ring on her finger. That this—me and her—is forever.
Finally.
Epilogue
Austin
Two years later
Some things never change, like Stu Mancini's party. I'd still rather chew glass than be here…and being here is still mandatory.
Fuck. My. Life.
"Suck it up, buttercup," Serena says, patting me on the chest with a smirk that says she doesn't even feel the least bit sorry for me as we sail through the doors. "It won't be that bad."
"Liar," I mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close. "It'll be worse than bad."
"You only say that because you're a Neanderthal, Austin." She rolls her eyes at me. "If you weren't, we wouldn't end up on the internet every year."
"If these assholes wouldn't flirt with you, I wouldn't be a Neanderthal." That's a lie. I know it's a lie. She knows it's a lie. The goddamn universe knows it a lie.
"It won't actually kill you if one of your teammates smiles at me, you know."
"It might."
She shakes her head, her lips twitching. I'm not really kidding, though. Ever since she got pregnant with my kid, I feel this unholy possessiveness that refuses to relent. Someone looks at her, and I want to poke their eyes out. They smile at her, and I want to wear their teeth around my neck like a fucking medieval invader.
God help anyone who touches her. I am not responsible for my actions. That's my wife. My baby. It's all mine.
I tried to Google to find out in which trimester this feeling goes away. Google was no fucking helping. Apparently, "being an asshole to everyone in my wife's vicinity" isn't a pregnant symptom. I call bullshit. She's pregnant, and this is a symptom.
"Are you going to behave tonight?" she asks, eyeing me warily.
"Nope." I grin at her, which is little more than a feral show of teeth.
She narrows her eyes like she's trying to burn her command into my brain, but I just ignore it. I don't have to play nice, not until our daughter gets here in three months. Then, I might consider it. Maybe.
"Come with me," she says, linking her fingers with mine.
