“So much! Thank you.” She gets up, and before I can protest that she shouldn’t exert herself, she has barrelled over and fallen into my lap. My arms close around her.
This is my favourite place for her, except, perhaps, for when I’m inside her.
“So you were right, it didn’t need any editing, or formatting?” I’m surprised, honestly.
“Oh no, it was terrible.” She smiles up at me. “A disaster. Missing words, spelling mistakes, plot holes big enough to park a car in. The characters barely make sense,” she tells me earnestly.
“But you enjoyed it?” I check.
“Yes, because there was this bit…” She launches into a long anecdote from the story, where the hockey player discovers that the woman he had a one night stand with is pregnant with twins, and instead of freaking out as she expects, he moves her into his house, insists they marry, starts listening to podcasts about child-rearing, decorates a nursery, and builds a crib.
I smile inwardly, because we’ve done a lot of those things together.
As she talks, I stroke her back and run my fingers through the silk of her hair. When she’s passionate, it’s the best feeling for me. She’s the fire that gives energy and light to our life.
“It was so great,” she concludes. “You should borrow my copy and read it when the book comes out.”
“I will.” I’ve long since realised that reading her books occasionally makes her happy. It’s also educational. These hockey players are very inventive. “If you’re still buying a copy?”
She widens her eyes with shock. “For sure! I want to read it again and see the changes, and how it should be. And I need to pay for the book I read!”
I wave my hand. “I’ve already done that. The author got a special bonus payment that looked as though it was from one of the retailers. The money is in her account.”
It felt like the least I could do, given the circumstances of my pregnant wife losing her mind and requiring the book immediately in a very dubious manner.
“Thank you.” Tess traces her hand over my jaw and up over my scalp, digging her fingers into my hair. It feels good to have her hands on me.
“I’d do anything for you, lapochka. You know that.”
She tilts her chin up in a silent request for a kiss, and I gather her closer to me, side-on so our baby isn’t in the way, and dip myhead to meet her mouth. It’s a sweet, loving kiss, but as ever, my body responds to her proximity.
“Husband,” she murmurs onto my lips, tempting me to deepen the kiss into a filthy, wet slide.
“Did that book make you all hot and needy?” I tease when we come up for air.
She nods. “That, and you, sitting over here so gorgeous and perfect.”
I’m not, but I don’t correct her. If she wants her illusions, I will take shameless advantage and keep her for myself.
“Since you put this baby in me, I’ve been…” She wiggles on my lap, and my already-hard cock throbs.
“Well, you did say you wanted to thank me for the book.” I slide my hand into her top and her soft warm skin floors me yet again with how much I don’t deserve her beauty.
Her grip on my nape tightens possessively, and I bite back a moan.
“How about over the desk so my belly doesn’t get in the way?” she pants.
“Yes.” Always yes. The only issue is that I don’t want to let her go long enough to bend her over and fuck her as she needs. “I love you, and I’m going to make you scream.”
EPILOGUE
KIRILL
Eight years later
“Daddy, Daddy!” The voice of our eldest daughter accompanies the thunder of her little footsteps in the hallway, then she bursts into the library. She’s wearing a bright-orange skirt, a fluffy orange sweater that has a grinning mouth and a green neckline like a pumpkin, and black and orange striped leggings. I quickly put my computer to sleep before she gets close enough to see anything seven-year-old eyes shouldn’t.
Katy is our eldest daughter of five children. Two boys and three girls.
