Page 282 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
“I did not faint, Everly.”
“You went two shades paler. I didn’t even think that was possible,” I sniggered.
He hadn’t appreciated my ribbing after we left the hospital.
But it didn’t stop him from holding me close all the way home. His hand stayed splayed over my stomach the entire drive, thumb brushing every few minutes like he needed the reassurance as much as I did.
He might not notice the difference in himself these past few months, but I did.
He cared about something other than business now.
No more overseas trips or obsessive late nights at the office.
He was… lighter.
Not softer—never that—but happier than the man I’d first met.
I cut into the soft piece of chicken and added the spiced vegetable mixture to my fork, the warmth rising in tiny curls of steam.
Sometimes you had to forge your own path, even if it started with vengeance.
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His palm rested possessively over our son. With only five weeks left until his arrival, we were both eager to meet him. He stirred behind me, shifting closer until I felt every inch of his warmth along my back.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, voice rough from sleep.
“I did, actually,” I sighed.
His hand moved in slow, gentle circles until he felt our son respond.
“Good morning to you too,” he murmured.
The man was crazy. He’d hired me a bodyguard disguised as a driver. When I complained, he told me he’d hire another one for the house once Rian was born. There was no reasoning with him, and it was easier to go along with his madness.
“Are you happy with the nursery?” he murmured, burying his face in my hair.
I placed my hand on his thigh.
“It is sheer perfection. I’m glad you hired someone to help me design it.”
His hand climbed higher to cup my breast with his fingers, teasing my nipple.
“Still sensitive?”
“You did a number on me last night,” I grumbled, recalling how he teased me to the point that I was cursing him.
“I’m here to serve my wife at all times. Day or night,” he said, dragging my hair away to kiss my neck.
“Wife, is it? I guess you can't call me yourlittletoy anymore,” I sighed.
He chuckled, his breath tickling my ear.
“You’ll always be my little fucktoy.”
He stopped talking and proceeded to show me. It never took much for him to demonstrate how much he loved my body, especially when I felt sorry for myself.
I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the moment. Five weeks left. Five weeks before I had to face a dry spell and pretend I wouldn’t miss this more than anything.
