Page 113 of Conception
I groan. Just the thought of caressing her breasts turns me on. I bite back my arousal, pressing my face into her neck, allowing my warm breath to graze along her skin. She tenses beneath me, so instead of lingering, I bring my lips to her ear. “No one except for me willevertouch you again.”
Her breath hitches as the declaration hangs in the air between us. I want to see her, to read her expression. But I don’t act on it. I want Amelia to make the first move.
And fuck me. She does.
When she turns her face to me, liquid green eyes greet mine. She blinks slowly, as if each one helps her decipher exactly what I mean. The delicious blush on her cheeks lets me know she’s not as unaffected as she’s tried to pretend. “Knox.”
Her melodic whisper is music to my ears and thrilling to my cock. I cup her chin, my lips brushing against her forehead. She doesn’t fight me. Not this time. Masculine pride swells at the evident shiver running through her body.
We’ll call that a win.
I could stay in this moment forever. Amelia, soft and pliant, not pushing me away. Not telling me to go. But I don’t want her getting into her head and throwing me out.
Though my brain and my cock scream at me not to do it, I untangle myself from her.
I rise from the bed, and as I’m about to head towards the bassinet to check on our son, Amelia’s hand catches my wrist. Swallowing my surprise, I turn back to her.
She’s already shifted off the headboard, her mass of golden hair spread out along the pillow. Her soft eyes watch me, her lids fluttering as she struggles to keep them open. Poor girl. She’s been through so goddamn much the past two days. The past nine months.
“Get some sleep, Melia. I’ve got him.”
“I know you do,” she murmurs, a yawn consuming her. “I always knew you would.”
Thank fuck.
I don’t know if it’s the sleep or the delirium from lack of sleep. I don’t care. I’ll take it.
“I always will.”
A sleepy, dreamy smile spreads across her face. “I’m glad you’re here, Knox.”
“Yeah, Melia. So am I.”
As much as I wanted to ask about his last name, fucking beg or plead if I had to, that expression of contented happiness on Amelia’s face tells me now’s not the time.
Why poke the momma bear when it’s unnecessary?
My boy’s going to have my name.
I just have to win his mom over first.
AFTER THE NIGHT I, SLEEPYand susceptible, stupidly began to let Knox back in, he acted like nothing had happened. I’m not sure what I wanted. Heck, I was half asleep, my body ached in ways I’d never imagined were possible, and I was in love with the father of my child. I had no idea how he felt about me.
Okay, so maybe that’s a total lie. But who can a girl lie to if she can’t lie to herself? More like I didn’t want to examine how he felt because then I’d have to delve into my own emotions, and I’m just not ready for that.
He took Branson on as I imagine he takes everything on: with full measure, complete attention, and undeniable purpose.
I’d be lying if I said that having Knox around turned out to be a hardship. In fact, it’s anything but. I never imagined he’d be such a doting father—or partner—and it’s growing increasingly more challenging for me to resist him. I’m not even sure why I want to anymore.
Even though he could’ve slept in the guest bedroom or on the couch, he insisted on sleeping in my bedroom in case Branson needed him during the middle of the night. He didn’t even try sleeping in my bed. Instead, he set up a few blankets and pillows on the floor next to the bassinet. It couldn’t have been comfortable for anyone, let alone a guy as large as Knox. So, after a few hours of him tossing and turning and my own restlessness, I insisted he join me on the bed.
The whole time he slept beside me, he barely touched me. Oh sure, we’d wake up sometimes with his arm wrapped around my waist or my leg hitched up over his. But never, not once, did he make a move. Even when the doctor gave me the all clear—not that he knew that—he treated me like a delicate flower.
It’s driving me bonkers.
For nearly three months straight, I had my fill of Knox last summer. Now, it’s been two months of pent-up desperation and longing and I don’t know how much longer I can take his hesitation.
Last year, I waited in agonizing frustration for him to make the first move. Not this time. It’s my turn to pounce. I’m just not sure when.
