The masterpiece he made with his own hands has never been slept in.
It’s been three months since she’s been home, though, and we agreed we’d try.
My chest tightens. She’s so peaceful. We should just let her sleep here…
“Okay,” I brave. “Let’s try.”
He moves carefully, slipping his finger out of her grip. It’s unbearably sexy, the ease this man has with our baby. He rises and bends to pick her up. He locks her securely against him while his broad hand cups the back of her head, shielding her.
She looks impossibly small against his mile-wide chest. She stirs, makes a soft sound, then settles again, utterly convinced the world cannot reach her here.
That’s exactly how we both feel in his arms.
I follow them upstairs, light as I can be, but I wince with every creak of wood.
Her bedroom is dim as the curtains are drawn, and thecrib is gorgeous in the corner. On the walls is the romantic wallpaper we found of a night sky and compasses.
I rush forward to smooth out the sleep sack, and Anton lowers her carefully, one hand resting lightly on her chest to maintain contact, slowly replacing the sleep sack over her chest.
I zip the sack up inch by inch, holding my breath until she’s secure.
We stand side by side, barely breathing.
She’s settled.
Easing the door closed behind us, careful not to let the latch click, we wait.
The hallway feels smaller, quieter—like the house is holding its breath with us. I tilt my head, taking him in, the competence, the care, the way he handled her like it was instinct.
Yeah. I’m not letting that go unacknowledged.
Nor the fact that we’re finally, for the first time in months…alone.
“Well done, Daddy.” I drag my finger down the center of his chest. “That was incredibly sexy.”
Something dark flashes through his eyes.
His hand comes to my waist, hard enough to tell me exactly where this is going, exactly who’s in control of it now.
“Yeah?” He barely finishes before he presses a kiss to my lips that’s so deep, I think he wants to make me a mother all over again.
My back hits the wall. His body brackets me there, all strength and intent, and I feel it everywhere. What he is, what he wants…what he’s about to do to me.
“This,” he murmurs against my mouth and cups my breast, “is not happening quietly.”
I smile against him and reach between his legs, but he catches my wrist the instant I feel the hard promise under his jeans.
With a low sound, he lifts me, my legs locking around his waist. The hallway dissolves into motion and mouths and heat as he carries us toward the bedroom.
“You’re in so much trouble…” he growls.
“Why? I thought I was your good girl?” I tease, and he kicks the door open with his heel.
He tosses me onto the bed, and I gaze up at him coyly from under my brow. “You’re impatient.”
He braces his arms on either side of me. “No man would have patience once he knows what it feels like to be inside you.” His weight settles between my thighs. “That and she might wake up.”
He’s right. There’s no time to waste.
