Page 22 of Fiend
“Baby doll,” I croak out, brushing my lips down her face to her mouth. They’re cold, but that’s not anything abnormal when it comes to her.
She’s always been so fucking cold. The ice that has always diffused the inferno inside of me. Except now? It’s nowhere to be found.
I don’t feel fucking hot. I’m content,comfortable.Sated.
“Baby doll, baby doll,” I chant, “open your eyes for me. Wake up and meet our baby.”
It takes a little while, but after talking with her over and over, never relenting, those long, dark lashes of hers flutter open. I’m met with bleary, green eyes, and my heart swells once more.
My fucking girl.
“Baby doll,” I breathe out, all of the oxygen escaping my lungs in a huge exhale. Seeing her awake is what I needed to finally accept that she’s okay.
Her eyes trail over my face before finally settling on my eyes. Hers well up, and I watch as tears trail down her face.
She’s always so fucking beautiful when she cries.
She opens her mouth, but before she says a word, I press my lips to hers. It’s not full of the usual lust and desire, but instead, of happiness. Relief. Fucking love.
When I finally pull away, her lips are pulled up into a smile. I return it, and her hand lifts, her fingers trailing over my stubbled covered face. “I missed seeing these.” Her fingertips dig into the creases of my dimples, and I roll my eyes. Of course, that would be the first thing she would say to me.
I press my face into her palm as she touches me, her skin cool and comforting. She feels like the only home I have ever known.
“Wanna meet our daughter?” I lift my gaze to hers, and her eyes widen, her hand dropping from my face to her now almost flat belly. She presses her palm to her stomach and then immediately cries out.
“Essa!” I growl and yank her hand away. “You can’t fucking do that.”
“O-our da-daughter?” she cries, and I nod, holding her hands between mine.
“Yes. Our daughter.” I look back at Charlotte, and she rolls the bassinet over to us wordlessly.
“I’ll be just outside if you need anything.” I nod and bring my attention back to Poppy. She’s sleeping soundlessly—well, almost. She makes these cute little grunting noises every time she’s sleeping, and I feel this weird, squeezing sensation in my chest.
I bend over and maneuver my fingers under her head and butt, then lift her into my arms. I twist back around to immediately place her in Essa’s arms. She rests perfectly against her, and I can’t fight the tears this time. Seeing my baby doll’s smile along with her unrelenting tears as she looks at our daughter for the first time?
It’s unlike anything I have ever felt in my life.
This.
This is fucking peace.
“Poppy,” I manage to whisper through the lump blocking my throat, and Essa’s gaze lifts from Poppy to me.
“Poppy,” she sighs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Poppy Nirvana Anthony; I love it.”
I quirk my brow at her. “Nirvana?”
“Yep.” She’s back to staring at our baby girl, her smile never diminishing. If anything, it only grows bigger. Brighter.
“Poppy Nirvana,” I try her name out for myself. “Of course, that’s the name you would choose,” I laugh, and she shoots me a look that’s meant to be annoyed, but I don’t think she could be anything other than absolutely fucking happy right now.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that it’s perfectly you, and she’s also perfectly you.”
“Who knew you could be agreeable?” She peers over at me out of the corner of her eyes, an evil lilt to her voice.
“Oh, don’t you fucking dare,” I grumble. “Using the baby to get your way is a low blow.”
