Page 132 of With A Little Luck
Ridge tugs me past all of it as he guides us somewhere.
“Do you have an office?”
“Hell no.” He chuckles. “I’m not here enough to need one, but we can use Keir’s. I’m barely in the office, and I still can’t count the number of times I’ve walked in on him and Briar fucking in some random place. The elevator rule came from those two not understanding appropriate places to have sex. Then they movedto Keir’s office, but I’ve walked in on some shit my virgin eyes should never see.”
“Maybe you should start knocking?” I suggest with a laugh.
“I finally smartened up and made a sign.” He stops at a door and flips over a piece of laminated copy paper before sticking it back in the clip.
The new side says,Probably fucking. Enter at your own risk,in what I assume is Ridge’s messy handwriting.
“Ridge,” I whisper, smiling.
He has so much personality.
I don’t know anyone else who would be so brazen as to put that on theirboss’sdoor. Okay, I don’t actually know if Keir is his boss, but I would assume so since he’s part of Easton’s family pack.
Wouldn’t that mean he also owns the place? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work in a pack?
Ridge pulls me inside the office and closes the door behind us.
A leather sofa takes up most of the wall to the left, and he guides us over to it before taking a seat on the middle cushion. His face contorts as he stretches back, and my stomach wobbles.
If I could take his pain away, I would.
“I have vague memories of asking you to sit on my face last night.” He laughs, almost managing to cover for the pain I know he must be experiencing. “You need a cuddle. Climb on.”
I’m overwhelmed, and everything in me says being as close to him as possible will help, but I’m so afraid of hurting him that I hesitate.
“I’m not going to break,” he says, reaching for my hand.
I scramble forward and fall into him when I have to pull my hand back to keep from resting it on his injured shoulder.
That gunshot wound is all I’ve thought about since it happened, so I have no idea how I momentarily forgot about it.
Before pregnancy, I would have been able to climb onto his lap without needing to hold onto something to keep myself balanced. Now that I’m a million months pregnant, that is not the case. “Oh no!”
Ridge’s face ends up buried in my breasts, and he cups my hips, guiding me to rest on his lap. “Damn, woman. You had killer tits before I knocked you up, but I think they’re bigger now.”
I glance down. “Yeah, a little. Sorry for assaulting you with them.”
My chest got a smidgen bigger during the first trimester, then I saw no change until I hit close to thirty weeks. They might be close to a full cup size bigger than the last time he saw them, but I keep that to myself. I’ll let him appreciate the difference firsthand—once he’s feeling more like himself.
“That was the highlight of my day so far.” He laughs a low and throaty sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “You sitting on my lap is a close second, but tits are always going to squeak into the first-place spot.”
Reaching up, I pull his glasses off and drop them on top of his head. Having my boobs shoved into his face couldn’t have felt great, but just like with everything else, Ridge is a good sport about it.
His massive hand smoothes up and down my back, and I sniffle.
What causes me to break down only with Ridge?
I had a similar meltdown when he showed me the room he planned to set up as a nursery.
Could it be guilt?
It must be.
I’ve been trying to work on not letting it eat me alive, but even if I want it to disappear, it’s reasonable to expect it to take some time.
