Saint, on a whole, has been far more attentive. Checking on me consistently. Asking me about how I feel and tracking the changes. It’s obvious he’s done this before, even though he doesn’t talk about it.
We did talk about his family once. Enough for me to understand the impact of his losing them. He’d been away on a deployment as a marine when someone broke into his house and killed his wife and son. I couldn’t bring myself to ask questions or poke at that trauma. I’m just grateful he confided in me.
That he let me hold onto him afterward.
I go to clean up some empties and hand out new drinks. A group of four burly men in the corner is practicing infant CPR on a doll. It’s so small in their hands as they apply chest compressions with the tips of their fingers.
Never in my life would I have thought…but I love the family I’ve found in these muscley, hairy, leather-covered bears. Mack grins at me and points, pride on his face. “Think yours will fit in my hand like this?”
He’s cupping the doll with its diaper in his palm and head on his forearm. It’s tiny.
“Maybe when you’re sitting down. Don’t be swinging my baby around like that.”
He laughs and nods, bouncing the doll in his grip as if to showcase how he could handle it. I shake my head and work my way through the tables.
Sin grabs me by the hips and pulls me back into his lap. His rough hands immediately cradle my belly. It’s not much yet. But of the three of them, he’s the most caveman about it.
I know he’s never imagined himself with a baby, but he hums against the side of my neck—a deeply satisfied sound.
“You smell so good, princess.” His voice is quiet, rough, but so full of love that it has me shivering.
“That’s the hormones, I’m sure.”
He merely growls, his chest vibrating against my back as he wraps another arm around my shoulders to keep me pressed to him. A warm cocoon of muscle and leather. Pure safety and sin.
Mouth to my ear, his teeth giving me a little scrape that sends goosebumps skating down my bare arms, he whispers, “Genevieve.”
I laugh, leaning my head back to look at him. “And if it’s a boy?”
Every baby name he’s offered me has been for a girl:Valentina, Adelaide, Olivia.
“She’s a girl.” He sounds so confident as he pulls me into a kiss, which he will let get carried away if I don’t escape his grasp now.
I shimmy my way free with a knowing smile, swat him on the knee, and point. “Behave.”
“Not in my vocabulary.”
Recollecting my dishes to bring to the bar, I raise my brow at him. “I don’t believe you. You wield that word at me far too regularly.”
He grins a promise at me before I go back to work, dropping dishes in the sink, collecting empties, refilling drinks, and wiping tables down.
Doc has me on some special vitamins and a strict diet to help with my morning sickness, and it’s helping a lot. I almost feel back to normal.
That particular mother hen nabs me around the waist and traps me between his knees and the bar. Deft fingers find my pulse, and Doc’s lips move as he counts. It’s become his ritual, checking my vitals before he can touch me purely for his pleasure.
His hand shifts to splay across the back of my neck, and he searches my eyes. He’s given up trying to hide the intensity of his feelings, not that he was doing a great job to begin with. Still, I like this so much better.
Especially since he doesn’t ask me how I’m feeling. I’ve promised to tell him if anything doesn’t feel right. Abnormal. Bad.
“If you’re feeling okay later, I want to wash your hair.” He squeezes the small muscles at the base of my skull, where they’re often tight.
I raise a brow at him suggestively. I quite enjoy it when he washes my hair. He’s thorough.
“If you don’t feel okay later, I want to wash your hair, but without my cock.”
I see he read my mind. I do like that part of it, too, with both of us sudsy and naked and wet. Arousal zings through me, and it’s a welcome feeling.
His pupils widen, and a smirk curls the corner of his mouth.
