Page 66 of Broken Vows

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I get home just as Melinda’s stepping out of the shower. And instead of pulling her against me, I take the towel and begin drying her shoulders with careful attention.

"Vincent," she says softly, amber eyes searching my face. "You look exhausted."

"Long morning," I murmur, trailing the towel down her arms, then carefully over the swell of our child. "Are you feeling okay? Any nausea today?"

Her smile is gentle, surprised by the tenderness. "I'm fine. We're fine." She covers my hand with hers where it rests on her belly. "What happened with your father?"

"Nothing that can't wait." I set the towel aside and cup her face, thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "Right now, I just want to be here. With you. Away from all the family bullshit."

"Just here?"

"Just here." I kiss her forehead, then her nose, then finally her lips—soft, reverent, like she's something precious I'm afraid of breaking. "Let me take care of you."

I lift her easily, carrying her to our bed with the same care I'd use handling something infinitely valuable. When I lay her down on the silk sheets, she's watching me with an expression I've never seen before—something soft and vulnerable that makes my chest ache.

"Vincent," she whispers as I strip off my clothes with none of my usual urgency. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I join her on the bed, pulling her against my chest, skin to skin. "Everything's just... a lot right now. The family, the threats, this thing with Marco. But when I'm here with you, it all makes sense."

She turns in my arms so we're facing each other, her hand coming up to trace the worry lines around my eyes. "You don't have to carry everything alone anymore."

"I know." I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "That's what scares me. I've never had anything to lose before."

"You're not going to lose us," she says fiercely. "I won't let that happen."

When I kiss her this time, it's with gratitude and relief rather than raw need. My hands map her body like I'm memorizing it—the softness of her breasts, fuller now with pregnancy, the curve of her waist, the strong line of her thighs.

"I love how you're changing," I murmur against her throat. "How beautiful you are carrying our baby."

Her breath catches as my mouth finds her breast, tongue circling her nipple with gentle reverence. "Vincent..."

"Let me worship you," I whisper, trailing kisses down her body, pausing to press my lips to the swell of our child. "Let me show you what you mean to me."

But she catches my shoulders, guiding me back up to meet her eyes. "My turn first," she says softly, that gentle smile holding something mischievous. "Let me take care of you for once."

Before I can protest, she's pushing me onto my back, her hands trailing down my chest with the same reverent touch I've been giving her. When her mouth follows the path of her hands, I can't suppress the groan that escapes.

"Melinda," I breathe, threading my fingers through her hair as she takes me into her mouth. But there's nothing urgent or demanding about it—just the slow, careful attention of someone who wants to give pleasure, not just take it.

"You always take care of everyone else," she murmurs against my skin between kisses. "Let me give this to you."

The combination of her warm mouth and the tenderness in her voice nearly undoes me. This isn't about power or control—it's about her wanting to cherish me the same way I cherish her.

"God, baby," I whisper, the endearment slipping out before I can stop it. "You don't have to?—"

"I want to," she says simply, and the sincerity in her amber eyes makes my chest tight with emotion I don't have words for.

When she finally releases me, flushed and breathing hard, I pull her up to kiss her deeply—tasting myself on her lips, tasting the love we're both finally ready to acknowledge.

"Now," she whispers against my mouth, "let me feel you."

When I slide inside her, it's slow, careful, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. She's warm and tight and perfect, but this time it's not about claiming or dominance—it's about connection, about finding sanctuary in each other.

"God, you feel like home," I breathe, moving with gentle, steady rhythm. "Like everything I never knew I needed."

She wraps her legs around my waist, not to demand more but to hold me closer. "This is home," she whispers. "Right here. Us."

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