Page 141 of Truck Up

He increases his thrusts, his cock growing with each movement. He’s just as close as me.

“Angel, come. Right. Now.” The command is so visceral and guttural. My body responds in kind, and I cry out as my release washes over me with the fierceness of a veracious lion.

“Christian,” I cry out his name as he continues thrusting into me, prolonging my pleasure. I’m lost in the moment. All that exists is the two of us, connected through this blissful experience and love.

“Fuuuucckk.” He cries out, his voice hoarse and husky. His release hits us like a wrecking ball and we both succumb to pleasure.

When we finally come down from our releases, I’m surrounded by the muffled cries of our little one. It makes me chuckle.

“Did we wake her?” I ask.

Christian slaps my ass. “You woke her with your screams.”

I press on his chest, forcing him back down onto the bed. “Because you made me.”

I press my lips to his and roll off him to get up. He grabs me and pins me underneath him. Then he deepens the kiss, leaving me feeling breathless and ready for more.

“I’ll get her.”

I moan when he gets up. I know we have to take care of Chrissy, but I really don’t want to lose this moment. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get some time to ourselves again later.

“She probably wants to eat.” I prop myself up on my elbows and stare at him as he pulls his boxers back up. “You need me for that.”

He looks back at me and winks. My Christian winks. I’m still adjusting to this new version of him.

“I know,” he says. “But I’ll go comfort her while you clean up.”

I fall back onto the bed and sigh. “You’re a good man, sir.”

“I know!” he calls out, and the biggest smile covers my face.

The sunlight streamsthrough the nursery window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I watch Christian from the doorway, a smile blooming on my face.

He’s sitting in the rocking chair, our daughter, Chrissy, nestled in the crook of his arm. He’s humming a soft tune, gently rocking her back and forth, his eyes filled with a tenderness I never thought I’d see in him.

Just a few months ago, the thought of Christian holding a baby, let alone our baby, would have seemed like a fantasy. The Christian I met, the brooding mechanic with a chip on his shoulder—the man haunted by the shadows of the past—would never have held a child with such gentleness.

But that was then, and this is now.

He looks up, catching me watching him. A slow smile spreads across his face, and he lifts Chrissy so I can see her. Her eyes are still closed, but her tiny fingers are curled into fists, and her lips are forming a soft, sleepy smile.

“Look at her, Lia,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t believe I helped make this perfect little creature.”

Perfect is an understatement. She’s a miracle. A testament to our love and a symbol of the life we’ve built together. A life I never thought possible.

Our little Christina Grace saved our family. Not everyone was happy about our name choice, but they accepted it in the end. Christian’s family had a harder time accepting it than mine. Then again, their history with Christian’s mom was tainted whereas mine hardly knew her.

But naming our baby girl after his mother was important to me. Christian had the love and support of his family to save him from his battle with addiction. Christina didn’t. By naming our daughter after her, we’re giving new life to her memory. A life of love and support and undying dedication. Our baby girl will live the life she never got and bring happiness and joy to her memory.

I join Christian, carefully taking Chrissy from his arms. “She’s the most beautiful baby girl ever to exist.”

She snuggles into my chest, her tiny breaths soft against my skin. It’s an overwhelming feeling, this fierce, protective love that surges through me.

Christian pats his lap, adjusting so I can fit in the rocking chair with him. He’s my protector, as well as hers. As long as he’s in my life, I have nothing to fear.

“She looks like you,” he says, his voice filled with wonder.

I smile, tracing the delicate lines of our daughter’s face with my finger. “Maybe a little. But her eyes … they’re the color of yours.”

He leans down, his lips brushing against my hair. “She’s ours, Amelia. All ours.”

The words, simple yet profound, fill me with an overwhelming sense of peace. We’ve been through so much, Christian and I. It took a lot to get here, and most couples probably wouldn’t have made it.

We’ve overcome the feud between our families, the whispers and the doubts, the lingering shadows of the past, his addiction, and losing his mother. We’ve faced our fears, embraced our love, and built a life together.

As I hold Chrissy close, I know that this is just the beginning of our lives together. We have a lifetime of adventures ahead of us, a lifetime filled with love, joy, and the precious gift of family.

And in that moment, I know that despite all the challenges we’ve faced, we’ve truly found our way home.

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