"You okay?" His voice is softer as he kisses my sweat soaked skin, and I laugh slightly, stretching against the sheets.
"Perfect." And I mean it.
This is us now. Him fucking me with abandon. My begging for it. And then, the aftermath. Soft kisses on sweatyskin and words of love as he massages any tension out of my body.
It's delicious.
The rough and the tender. The claimed and the cherished.
His hand moves from my stomach to trace the scar where they cut Angelo out of me. The sight of it always makes Adrian go quiet and still.
It's a physical reminder of his worst fears.
For me, it's a reminder of missed time.
We've talked about more children. I'm ready. I miss the feeling of pregnancy, and I'm dying for another shot at a birth I'll remember. Adrian is not on board.
I almost died.
Angelo almost died.
He can't fathom doing it again. Even when I remind him that we didn't die, and we are both safe, a darkness overtakes his features whenever I bring up having more children, and I know it is going to be an uphill battle.
We will get there when we are both ready, and for now, I'm enjoying Adrian. Exploring our bodies and marriage. It's decidedly nice.
"What are you thinking about?" Adrian's lips brush my shoulder.
"How far we've come."
"Regrets?"
I turn in his arms so I can see his face. Silver eyes watch me with an intensity that still makes my breath catch. I can't imagine a world in which I don't want my husband.
"No regrets." I touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "You?"
"Never." His hand covers mine.
It's strange to think about how much my life has changed. While I like to think I'm the same person I've always been, I can't ignore the ways life has changed. Last year, I was barely getting by. Now, I'm married to one of the wealthiest men inthe city, part owner of Mr. Bolinger's shop, and on the board of the New York Public Library.
Most importantly of all, I'm a wife and mother.
Speaking of motherhood, I glance at the clock, groaning.
"I need to get Angelo ready," I say, even though I don't want to leave this bed. "And fix my hair and makeup." I give him a pointed look.
He just laughs.
"We have time." But he releases me anyway because he knows I won't relax until I've checked on our son.
I slip out of bed, fingering my long, gold dress. Adrian watches from the bed, propped up on one elbow, gloriously naked and entirely comfortable with it. I slip my lingerie back on, before adding my dress. The shoes can wait.
They are a killer, and I wonder if Gemma chose them to punish me. Things have been strained between us for months.
I shake my head, trying to get back into the headspace I'd had in bed.
"You also need to get dressed," I say, as I walk out. "We can't be late."
I leave Adrian in bed, walking towards the nursery we put together months ago.
