He's already imagining our child holding this.
With the plush animal in my hand, I return to Nick and wrap my arms around him, pressing my face into his chest, letting his heartbeat steady me. His arms come around me immediately, tight, secure, the way he always holds me when I need anchoring.
"Thank you," I whisper against his shirt. "For this. For everything."
His lips press to the top of my head. "There's nothing I wouldn't give you. Either of you."
We stand there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the kitchen quiet around us. My free hand finds its way between our bodies to rest on my belly, and his palm settles over mine, fingers weaving together.
The moment stretches, tender and perfect. Then Nick's hand shifts on mine, and he draws me back so he can find my gaze.
"There's something I want to tell you," he says quietly. "I spoke to Beck today about the tabloid issue. We’ve called off the lawyers. I’m not going after Rennick Media anymore." His jaw flexes, then releases, and I see the weight of this decision in the set of his shoulders, the solemnity of his expression. "I've decided to let the whole thing go."
I set the elephant on the island. "You dropped it? What about wanting to make sure no one else comes after us… or comes after you?"
I know how deeply that concerned him when the story about me first broke. I had accepted that Nick needed to protect himself in whatever way he felt necessary. I’d understood that. I’d supported him, even if I disagreed with his tactics. But this is a surprise.
"Like I told Beck, that’s not a war I need to wage right now. Especially not when it only puts us farther into the spotlight. We don’t need the extra attention. You don’t need the stress.” He strokes my cheek, his touch tender. “So, I’m done with it.”
Surprise washes through me first, then a deep gratitude. This man who’s spent his whole life armored in control and vengeance decided to give it up. For me. For us. For the family we're building.
My eyes sting with fresh tears.
"I'm sorry," he continues, his voice low and rough. "Sorry I let my anger drive me at all. I’m sorry I made you feel like I wasn't hearing you. You were right, and I was—"
I silence him with a kiss. My hands frame his face and I pour everything I can't articulate into the press of my mouth against his. Appreciation and pride and fierce, overwhelming love for this complicated man who keeps choosing to be better than the wounds that shaped him.
He makes a gruff sound in his throat and pulls me tighter, one hand fisting in my hair, the other splaying wide across my lowerback. The kiss deepens, hunger sparking between us like a struck match. When I finally pull back, we're both breathing hard.
"Thank you," I whisper. "For choosing us over the fight."
"Always." His thumb traces my jaw. "You and this baby—you're everything that matters to me."
The ever-present pull toward him intensifies. His hand moves on my hip, fingers pressing differently now, and I feel his body shift against mine. The hardness of him. The heat.
"Avery." My name is coarse gravel in his throat.
"I know."
His hand slides lower, cups my ass, pulls me flush against him. There’s no mistaking his arousal now. No mistaking the hunger darkening his eyes.
"Right here," I breathe. “I need you.”
His reply is little more than a growl of agreement. He spins me around, then bends me forward over the counter, one hand between my shoulder blades holding me in place. The marble is cool and smooth beneath my palms, permeating through the fabric of my shirt. My skirt rides up as his other hand slides between my thighs, pushing my panties aside.
"So wet already." His fingers find me slick and swollen, and he groans low in his chest. "Fuck, baby. You're soaked."
I can only whimper as his fingers circle my clit, teasing, not giving me what I need. My hips rock back, seeking more pressure, more friction, more everything.
"Nick—please…"
"My greedy girl." He drops to his knees behind me, hands gripping my thighs. "Let me taste you first."
His mouth seals over me. No warning. No build-up. Just the hot, wet glide of his tongue through my folds, lapping at my entrance before circling my clit. I cry out, hands scrambling for purchase on the marble, but there's nothing to hold onto.Nothing but the sensation of his mouth working me with devastating skill.
"God, Nick. Mmm."
He responds by pushing two fingers inside me, stroking and stretching me, then finding the spot that makes my vision blur. His tongue flicks my clit in rhythm with his fingers push deeper, and pleasure coils in my belly, winding tighter with every stroke, every swirl of his tongue.
