“Open your eyes, baby.”
I do, and he holds my gaze.
There’s so much emotion there, so much love, so much need. I can feel it all, in the way he’s moving, in the way he’s touching me, like he’s trying to tell me, with his body, what he’s said so many times—words I haven’t responded to.
“I love you,” he breathes, his voice breaking.
Tears prick at my eyes. And finally, I give him the words I haven’t since he came back to me.
“I love you, too,” I whimper, my hands cupping his face.
He fucks me harder, his thrusts deeper, faster. My body tightens around him, my orgasm building again.
“Come for me, Enya.” His hands grip my hips forcefully.
I’m so close, so very close, and when his thumb presses against my clit, rubbing in tight circles, I’m gone.
My body convulses around him, my cries muffled against his shoulder.
He follows me over the edge, his cock pulsing inside me, his groans guttural against my ear.
As we come down from the high, we cling to each other, aware that everything changed between us with those three words I gave him.
He pulls out, and collapses onto the bed beside me, his hand resting on my belly.
I can feel our baby move, little kicks and flutters, and I smile, my eyes closing as I press myself against Nick.
“I’m not letting you go again.” His lips brush against my forehead. “Not ever.”
I believe him.
21
PINK OR BLUE
ENYA
I’m twenty-five weeks pregnant, and Dominic Delacour is literally, physically, and technically living with me. This means he’s here when I wake up. He’s here when I go to sleep. He’s here when I need something from the top shelf.
He’s driving me up the wall.
“I thought you had a job.”
He looks up fromThe Washington Post. “Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you at work?”
He grins. “Taking time off for good behavior. I’ll start after my paternity leave.”
I give an exaggerated eye roll. “You’re taking paternity leave?”
“Yes. I think all men should use their paternity leave. Don’t you agree?”
“Ugh!”
I drink my tea because there’s no winning this conversation. Nick is wily and manipulative—he does exactly what he wants and somehow convinces you it was your idea all along.
He studies me thoughtfully, his brows furrowing. “Are you worried that I can’t support us?”
