Page 115 of The Final Faceoff
“You were made for this,” I rasp, my voice rough with possession, with reverence. “Made to take me. To carry my babies. Look at you, so fucking perfect.”
She moans, still shuddering from her release, her body warm and pliant beneath my touch. But I’m not done—not until I’m so deep inside her she won’t forget who she belongs to. Who she’s meant to have inside her.
I thrust deeper, grinding against her, feeling the tight, slick heat of her clench around me. She whimpers, nails scraping over my shoulders, dragging me closer. “Leif, please?—”
She cries out, body going taut, shattering apart as pleasure overtakes her. Her head falls back against the tile, lips parted, breathless as wave after wave rolls through her. I hold her through it, never stopping, never slowing, wringing every last ounce of pleasure from her before finally letting myself go, following her into bliss.
I groan, burying my face against her neck as I push in harder, filling her completely. The idea of giving her more—of planting myself even deeper inside her—makes my control slip.
“You want it?” I growl, my hand sliding down to cup her belly again. “Want me to fill you up even more?”
She nods frantically, lips parting on a gasp. “Yes—God, yes.”
That’s all it takes. My grip tightens, holding her steady as I sink into her one last time, pressing so deep it feels like I’m a part of her, like I’ll never leave. The thought of her body taking me, holding me inside, sends me spiraling, pleasure ripping through me like a live wire.
I groan against her skin, her name spilling from my lips as I give her everything—every drop, every ounce of me. I stay there, holding her against me, feeling her heartbeat against mine. The water keeps running, washing away the heat, but I don’t let go. I never will.
Mine.
I stay there, panting, forehead against hers, hands smoothing over her belly, her hips, her thighs. Marking her. Worshipping her.
She sighs, boneless, sated, wrapped around me like she never wants to let go. And, fuck, I hope she never does.
ChapterThirty-Nine
Leif
Training for the Big Game
How do I spend my free time? Focusing on the birth of our daughter. Hailey is thirty-eight weeks pregnant. The baby could come any day now. Things are almost settled. The hospital bag is ready—I’m just praying our little one doesn’t come when I’m not in town. If she does though, I already have permission from the coach and GM to fly back home immediately.
The nursery is ready. It’s pale sage-green walls Hailey picked out, the plush cream rug beneath my feet, and the crib that I built with my own hands. Okay, Lucian came to help me. He’s temporarily staying with us, in case Hailey goes into labor while I’m out of town. I’m thankful that football season is over, but not so much that Sarah is running around the house. That dog is the devil.
The rocking chair sits in the corner, positioned just right to catch the morning light. The dresser is already stocked—tiny clothes folded into neat little stacks, soft blankets in every shade of neutral, shelves filled with books I can’t wait to read to her. Everything is perfect. Everything is ready.
Except for her name.
I stare at the framed prints on the wall—soft watercolor moons, stars, and constellations dancing across the space. A theme Hailey fell in love with the second she saw it.
“She’s gonna be a dreamer, Leif,” she told me, running her fingers over the fabric of a little onesie printed with a crescent moon. “We have to give her a name that fits.”
And yet, here we are. Two weeks—or sooner—from meeting her, and we still haven’t settled on one. We’ve tried many. Lorena, after her mother. We weren’t in love with it, though it might end up as her middle name . . . maybe?
The thought makes me smile as I rub a hand down my jaw. Every part of this journey has felt surreal, but this? Knowing she’ll be here any day now? It’s like standing at the edge of something huge, something life-changing, and feeling the weight of it settle into my bones.
A soft creak behind me pulls me from my thoughts. I turn, and there she is—my whole fucking world.
Hailey stands in the doorway, one hand resting on the curve of her belly, the other gripping the frame for balance. She’s wearing one of my hoodies, sleeves too long, her legs bare, her feet tucked into fuzzy socks because she’s always cold now.
Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, wild and untouched, catching the light like it was never meant to be anything but free. But it’s her eyes that undo me. God, those eyes. They don’t just look at me—they pull me under, drag me deeper, strip me bare. Love burns in them, fierce and endless, something that doesn’t waver, doesn’t break. It doesn’t ask for permission. It claims. And I let it, because there’s no part of me that doesn’t belong to her.
I cross the room in three long strides, reaching for her, pulling her close. She sighs, melting against me like she was made for this.
“Hey, baby,” I murmur against her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She exhales, soft and content. “Hey.”
I rub my hands up and down her back, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. She’s so soft now, so full, so beautifully round with our daughter.
