Page 103 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

She’s fine now. The baby’s fine. But the worry still sits like lead in my chest. I can’t shake the image of her pale face in that hospital bed, the way her hand kept drifting protectively to her stomach every time she’s worried.

I’m glad she agreed to come live here, even if we both called it “for a while.” She thinks it’s temporary. I know better. There’s no fucking way I’m letting her go back to that apartment. Not now. Not ever. This is where she belongs, here, in my bed, in my home. Our home.

The thought settles something deep inside me, something restless and jagged that’s been clawing at me since the day she walked away.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle her, and brush a strand of hair off her face. Her lashes flutter but don’t open. My hand drifts lower, palm settling gently over the still-flat curve of her belly. Our baby. I still can’t quite believe it.

I wasn’t part of Alexei’s pregnancy because I didn’t know about it. But this time is different. With this child, I’ll be there for every step. For every appointment, every night, every moment until the baby is born.

Life gave me a second chance with them, and I’m not about to fuck it up. I’ll protect them both with everything I have.

I lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead. She sighs in her sleep, shifting closer, and I let myself linger for a moment, breathing her in, feeling the warmth of her skin against my lips.

Then I stand, quietly, and slip out of the room.

Alexei’s door is cracked open, I push it wider and step inside. He’s sprawled across his bed, one arm flung out, stuffed rocket clutched in his fist.

When we came home from the hospital and told him Laurel was staying, and that he was going to have a little brother or sister, his face lit up like I’d never seen. Eyes wide, grin huge, the kind of pure joy kids are supposed to have.

He hugged her so tight she laughed, then hugged me, then asked if he could help pick the baby’s name. I’ve never seen him so happy. I close the door silently and head down the hall to my office.

The room is dark except for the glow of the monitors. I drop into the chair, pull up the latest shipment reports from the docks.

I’m neck-deep in spreadsheets, when the bedroom door opens with a soft creak.

My head snaps up instantly. Laurel stands in the doorway, wearing nothing but one of my black dress shirts, unbuttoned halfway, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem skimming the tops of her thighs.

Her hair is sleep-tousled, eyes still heavy-lidded, but there’s a small pout on her lips that tells me she’s not happy.

I push my chair back and stand immediately. “Something wrong? Are you okay?”

She crosses the room barefoot, until she’s right in front of me. One small hand presses flat against my chest, right over my heart.

“Let me think,” she says softly. “I woke up and the bed was empty beside me. So no, I’m not okay.”

Relief crashes through me so hard I almost laugh. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in, burying my face in her hair for a second just to breathe her in, vanilla, her. She fits against me perfectly.

“I had to get some work done,” I murmur into her hair. “But you should go back to bed.”

She rubs her chest against mine, slow, teasing, and tilts her head up, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Make me.”

“Solnyshko…”

Her lower lip catches between her teeth, that little move she knows drives me insane. “How about you come back to bed with me?”

My cock twitches instantly. “Fine, but we’re just going to sleep,” I warn, even though my hands are already sliding down to grip her ass through the thin fabric of my shirt.

She groans, needy. “Why not? It’s been three weeks. Three weeks is too long, if you ask me.”

I chuckle low in my throat, fingers flexing against her. “Trust me, I know. But the doctor said no stress.”

She presses harder against my chest, pouting. “The doctor also said I need to be relaxed.”

I smile rubbing the pad of my thumb along her lower lip. “Solnyshko, I’m sure we can find safer ways to help you relax.”

She wrinkles her nose adorably. “You think sex isn’t safe?”

“The doctor said not to stress you,” I repeat, voice dropping. “I don’t want to do anything that could put you or the baby at risk.”