“Okay?”
“You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Neither do I.” She reaches up and touches my face. “We’ll figure it out.”
I catch her hand. Hold it against my cheek. “You’re not disappointed it’s me?”
“What? No. Why would I be disappointed?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you were hoping it was Ash. Or Titan.”
“I was hoping it wasn’t Marcus.” She steps closer, her body almost touching mine. “Beyond that, I didn’t care. Any of you three is a good outcome. Especially you.”
The tightness in my chest returns. “Why?”
“Because you’re careful. Thoughtful. You notice things other people miss.” Her thumb strokes my cheekbone. “You’ll be a good father.”
“I don’t know how to be a father.”
“None of us know how to do any of this. We’re making it up as we go.” She smiles.
I pull her closer and kiss her. Slow. Deep. Trying to communicate what I can’t put into words. She responds immediately, her arms wrapping around my neck, her body pressing against mine.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Bed,” I say.
“Yeah.”
I kill the overhead light and leave only the hallway’s amber stripe bleeding across the floor. When I return to her on the bed, my finger hooks her hoodie string, tugs once, lifts the cotton over her head slow enough to watch goose bumps chase my knuckles.
Her bra clasp pops under one thumb. I slide my palms beneath each breast, cradling the heavier weight, thumbs stroking the soft undersides I’ve memorized. My mouth closes over one nipple, tongue swirling lazy circles until her breath stutters against my cheek.
I pull off just long enough to whisper, “Still so sensitive,” eyes dropping to the peach-sized curve that carries my kid.
I sink to my knees. Jeans glide down, panties caught on a single finger; I peel them away like silk.
My lips find the faint linea nigra, tongue tracing the dark line to her navel, then lower, parting slick folds with reverent fingers. The cool air kisses her clit and I lick slowly from entrance to hood, gathering every drop of her new, honeyed taste.
I hum, and the vibration rolls through her thighs as she fists my hair.
“Ghost—fuck—right there,” she gasps, voice shaking.
I seal my lips around her clit, sucking in gentle pulses while two fingers ease inside, and stroke the spot that makes her toes dig into the bed.
She bucks hard. “Don’t stop—please—your tongue feels so good?—”
I could live on this taste forever.
I lift her, lay her sideways across the bed so nothing presses the swell. Kneel behind her lifted thigh. My beard scrapes her tender skin, my mouth returning to her clit from this new angle.
My third finger joins, scissoring slowly, opening her while my tongue flicks in perfect counter-rhythm.
“More,” she whimpers, her thighs trembling.
Her back bows, a quiet cry muffled in the pillow as the first gentle orgasm ripples through her. I don’t stop, though my tongue softens to featherlight laps. Fingers still moving, drawing every aftershock until she trembles.
She turns her face, eyes glassy. “One more,” she begs, voice wrecked.
I crawl up, chest to her spine, lips to her ear. “One more,” I promise, hand cupping her soaked heat, ready to begin again.
