I push myself up on my elbow so I can see his face. “Connor, look at me.”
He turns his head, and I’m struck by how uncertain he looks. Like he’s bracing himself for rejection.
“I can’t believe you even have to ask that.”
“Fern—”
“No, let me finish.” I reach out and stroke my thumb across his cheekbone. “When I first came to Silvercreek, I was running. I was scared and alone and convinced that I would never be safe anywhere. Then I met you, and everything changed.”
“I was an ass when we first met.”
“You were protective.” I smile softly and add, “Connor, I’m not here because the lottery chose me. I’m here because I want to be. Because you’re my mate. My fated mate.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I didn’t use to. I thought fate was just something people made up to explain coincidences.” I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips. “But then I met you, and I felt something I couldn’t explain. This pull, this connection. Like some part of me recognized you before my brain even caught up.”
“I felt it too,” he admits. “From the very first moment I saw you.”
“So yes. I believe we were meant to find each other.” I hold his gaze and let him see everything I’m feeling. “I love you, Connor. I love you so much it scares me sometimes.”
His breath catches. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.” I’m laughing now, with tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I love you, I love you, I love—”
He surges up and captures my mouth in a kiss that steals the words right out of my mouth. His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head so he can take the kiss deeper, and I melt into him like I always do.
“I love you too,” he breathes against my lips. “God, Fern. I love you so much. I’ve been wanting to say it for weeks, but I didn’t know if you were ready to hear it.”
“I’m ready.” I kiss him again, harder this time. “I’m so ready.”
He slides his hands down my side and grabs my hips, pulling me on top of him. I go willingly, straddling his waist and bracing my hands on his chest. The new position puts my growing belly between us, and Connor’s eyes drop to it with something like reverence.
“Is this okay?” he asks. “I don’t want to hurt you or the baby.”
“Skylar said it’s fine. More than fine, actually.” I roll my hips experimentally and watch his eyes flutter closed. “She said it’s good for me to stay active.”
“Active,” he repeats, his voice dropping to a growl. “I can work with active.”
I lean down and kiss him again, slower this time. His hands glide up my back, taking my shirt with them, and I sit up just long enough to pull it over my head. Connor’s eyes rake over me, taking in the changes that pregnancy has made to my body—fuller breasts, rounder belly, and softer curves everywhere.
“You’re so beautiful,” he muses.
I reach behind me and unclasp my bra before letting it fall away. Connor’s hands immediately come up to cup my breasts, and his thumbs brush over my nipples until I gasp. They’re more sensitive now than they’ve ever been, and every touch sends sparks shooting through my entire body.
“I want to taste you,” I tell him. “All of you.”
His eyes go dark with want. “Fern.”
“Let me.” I start working my way down his body, pressing kisses to his jaw, his neck, the hollow of his throat. “Let me show you how much I love you.”
He doesn’t argue. Just watches me with hooded eyes as I push his shirt up and over his head, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and stomach. I trace my fingers over his abs, following the lines of muscle down to where they disappear beneath his jeans.
“Lift your hips,” I instruct.
