I grinned. She wasn’t wrong.
“Come on, superstar. Let’s get our boy home.”
Three hourslater we were back home in Odin, getting Westy settled into his crib in the nursery.
My wife smoothed the blanket over our sleeping son, her face soft with exhaustion and so much love. She was still in her stage makeup, but she’d traded the sequined dress for one of my t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts.
God, I loved her.
“Sleep tight, baby boy,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to her fingertip and then to his forehead. “Mama and Daddy love you so much.”
Westy made a little sighing sound in his sleep.
Our kid was everything I never knew I wanted. Dark hair like mine, blue eyes like his mama’s, and a stubborn streak a mile wide that he definitely got from the both of us.
“C’mon, baby.”
I took her hand and led her out the door, quietly closing it behind us as I led her down the hall to our bedroom.
The second our door closed, I crowded her against the door, my mouth finding hers.
“Mmm,” she hummed, her fingers finding the hem of my shirt. “Someone’s feeling frisky.”
“Always,” I rumbled against her neck, my hands already sliding under the hem of my shirt she was wearing. Her skin was warm and soft, and I couldn’t get enough.
“Good thing,” she giggled, the sound going straight to my cock. “Because I have a confession.”
I pulled back to look at her, taking in the flush on her cheeks and the way she was biting her bottom lip. “What kind of confession?”
Her hand came up to rest on her belly, and the smile that spread across her face was pure sunshine. “I think we need to make room in the nursery.”
“Are you—” My eyes dropped to her still flat belly.
“Ten weeks,” she whispered, her eyes bright. “I found out last week, but wanted to wait until after the concert to tell you. Surprise!”
I was so fucking happy.
Without a word, I scooped her up bridal style, and she squeaked, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Weston!”
“I got ya’, baby,” I said, carrying her to our bed.
I laid her down gently, mindful of the baby she was carrying, and followed her down, caging her beneath me with my forearms braced on either side of her head.
“Another baby,” I murmured, still trying to wrap my head around it.
“Another baby,” she confirmed, reaching up to trace the line of my jaw with her fingertip. “Are you happy?”
“Happy?” I leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep, pouring everything I felt into it. “Baby, I’m fucking ecstatic.”
She laughed. “Language, Daddy! Little ears might be listening.”
“Westy’s asleep, and the new one can’t hear anything yet,” I pointed out, my hands already working on the hem of my shirt she was wearing.
“Actually, babies start hearing around eighteen weeks?—”
I cut off her yammering by pulling my shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but a lacy pink bra and her cotton shorts. My mouth went dry at the sight of her.
