I’m ready.
Chapter thirty
That’s not a flaw, that’s a fucking privilege
Carina
Iwake to the sound of a zipper and the faint scent of his cologne.
He’s by the window, half-lit by the early morning sky, wearing his navy suit. The one that fits him too well. His hair’s still damp, and he hasn’t noticed I’m awake yet—which is maybe why I get the full effect.
The broad shoulders. The steady hands. The way he rolls his sleeves once, frowning down as he adjusts his cuffs and exposes his damn corded forearms to an increasingly hormonal woman.
He’s all clean lines and quiet focus, calm in the way only Reid can be. And it does something to me, the way he always looks like he’s ready for a fight, but never starts one.
“Are you trying to get laid again?” I croak, my voice rough from sleep.
His head turns slightly, and that mustache twitches. “You were asleep.”
“You’re standing in front of a window in your best suit, and you thought I’d sleep through it?”
He finishes tightening his tie. “Didn’t know my suits had ratings.”
“Oh, they do. This is a solid eleven.”
I push the covers back and sit up, my body sore in a way that’s more satisfying than it is annoying. He was relentless last night, but sweet about it too. Always checking in before I could ask, slowing down when I needed him to. But he never stops treating me like he’s starving for it.
There’s a low, fluttering kick just under my ribs, followed by a firm push against the left side of my belly. Always at this time of the morning when I sit up.
I breathe through it and press a palm to the spot.
“She’s awake,” I murmur, voice still scratchy from sleep.
He turns around, eyes soft the second they land on my bump.
“Morning, trouble.”
“Me or her?”
He crosses the room in three long strides and kneels beside the bed, suit pants creasing, completely unbothered.
“Both of you.”
One big hand rests over mine where it’s curved along my belly, and almost instantly, she kicks again—right into his palm.
He lets out the softest breath, as though this knocks the air out of him every single time.
“Hey,” he says quietly, dropping his voice low like it’s just for her. “You being good to your mom?”
Another thump, this time closer to the center.
“Thought so,” he murmurs, thumb stroking once across my skin. “If she gives you shit while I’m gone, I’ll handle it when I get back.”
“Wow,” I say softly, watching him. “Look at you. Peak dad-mode.”
He glances up. “I haven’t even weaponized the dad jokes yet.”
“You’re lucky she can’t roll her eyes, then.”
