Page 31 of It Must Be Fate

I look up at Tristan to find him staring lovingly down at his son. When he feels my gaze on his cheek, he lifts his eyes to mine.

“He always stops crying when he sees you,” he explains.

“A mama’s boy in the making,” I say fondly.

“He’s your clone already. They both are. My genes didn’t stand a chance, it’s like they weren’t even in the room when we made them.” He smirks arrogantly. “You can confirm I was, if the question ever comes up.”

I laugh quietly, careful not to make any noise as I watch Cato’s eyes flutter shut. Tristan hums a soft lullaby to soothe him back to sleep.

He’s not wrong. The twins both have dark, almond eyes and even darker hair. It’s too early to say if they’ll look like Tristan or not, but I think they will. I can’t imagine that his genes, like the man himself, will let that one go without putting up a fight.

Tristan has never been one to give up.

“That just means we’re going to have to try again,” he adds with a cheeky grin. “How about baby number three?”

My mouth parts in shock. “Don’t you think we have our hands full already?”

“We have two babies and four hands between the both of us. By my count, that leaves two available hands.” His eyes light up. “We could even go for a second pair of twins.”

I put my index over his lips in a quieting motion. “Hush. Don’t put that out into the universe.”

“Why not? If we keep having them two by two, that’s half the work and twice the reward.”

I snort. “Speak for yourself.”

Tristan reaches for me, his fingers coming out to brush the hair away from my face. His hand moves down my arm to my waist and finally comes to rest on my hip. He curls me towards him until Cato is squeezed between us.

“If there was a way for me to carry the physical responsibilities, I would, baby.” His hand moves to my stomach and his fingers dip beneath the hem of my shirt. He splays his palm against the bare skin of my tummy, his touch sizzling. “There’s something about you pregnant, about seeing you carrying my child… It’s indescribable. I want you visibly pregnant almost as much as I want the actual baby. I want to put you on display, to show you off so the whole world knows that you’re mine in the most primal way a woman can belong to a man.” His fingers brush against the lining of my shorts, teasing the sensitive skin there. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be ready.”

I tilt my hips forward, searching for his errant fingers. He makes me lose all reason when he touches me like that. “Okay,” I say breathily. “In the meantime, there’s certainly no harm in practicing.”

His smile turns downright devious. His hand clamps around my hip, his fingers digging into my flesh.

Cato mumbles softly, pulling Tristan’s attention down to him.

“Son, I’m going to need to put you back in your crib so your mummy and I can do an undressed rehearsal of giving you another sibling.” Tristan dips his head and kisses Cato’s forehead, then scoops him into his arms. He’s walking away with him when I hear him whisper. “No crying, don’t be a cockblock for your daddy now.”

I laugh as he disappears but don’t hear the telltale sign of Cato starting to cry again. He must have listened to his father’s request.

Tristan returns and closes the door softly behind him, his eyes pinned on me from the moment he’s back in our bedroom. I sit up and hold my weight on my elbows as I watch him approach.

He grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it off over his head slowly, his gaze finding me again the second he’s free. His eyes stay on mine as he pushes his briefs down his legs and steps out of them. Then he straightens to his full, towering height, unashamed and certainly proud of his nakedness as he closes the remaining distance between us.

“Wife,” he whispers, his voice laden with lust as he crawls onto the bed and over to me.

I reach for him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him close. “Husband.”

“Have I told you I love you recently?” he asks, burying his face in my neck and pressing hot kisses against the underside of my jaw, my throat, and down to my collarbone.

“Not today,” I pant, threading my fingers through his hair.

He makes a disappointed noise as he pushes my shirt up my chest, revealing my breasts.

“I’ve been remiss.” I cry out when his mouth closes around my taut nipple. His fingers slide beneath the band of my shortsand dip between my folds until they find my entrance. “Can you ever forgive me?”

I giggle and nod.

“I love you,” he whispers reverently.

---