And I wouldn’t. Despite what I said to Sabrina downstairs, the truth is the thought of making a baby with Nick only makes me fizzy, and hot, and hopeful in the very best way.
“Me, either,” he says, cupping my cheek. “But let’s try to get a few months of fucking in first. Because you are…the best.”
“The very best,” I agree, breath coming faster as I begin to rock on top of him. “So, so good.”
“Amazing,” he agrees. “Perfect.”
And it is. From that second time to the third to the fourth, late that night after dinner when he sneaks into my room, and we do it in my bathtub, sloshing water everywhere and giggling like teenagers, we make up for the time we’ve lost over the past six months.
And then we get up early in the morning, and I pounce my love again because a cock as hard and glorious as his is a terrible thing to waste, and I’m done putting off pleasure for another day.
I’m going to seize as much happiness as I can get—from this day to the last one I’m lucky enough to spend with this sweet man.
Epilogue
Nickolas
Six months after that…
The only thing more exciting than a baby’s first Christmas?
The twins’ first Christmas.
Alexander and Sabrina the second are barely five months old, the perfect age to squeal with delight at every present placed in front of them on the quilt Lizzy’s spread out on the floor. And then the toy/stuffed animal/wrapping paper/pair of new shoes/their dad’s mostly empty coffee cup promptly goes into their mouths.
“Look,” Zan whispers, nudging my knee with hers where we sit on the couch by the Christmas tree. “They take turns. See?”
I watch the two delightful drool monsters for a moment, and sure enough, after giving their new bath toys a good gnaw, they swap out the Loch Ness Monster and Great White Shark and resume chewing, seeming to enjoy the added flavor of their sibling’s saliva.
“Disgusting,” I say with affection.
“So gross,” Zan agrees with a fond sigh.
I glance over to see her beaming at our nephew and niece, and I add in a teasing whisper, “Control yourself, woman. Or I’ll feel obligated to try to knock you up in the closet by the refreshment table the next time we go for a coffee refill.”
She shoots me a hard look and squeezes my thigh. “Hush. We’ve kept our secret for six months, jerk. Don’t ruin it now.”
“But knowing your IUD is out and I could actually fuck my baby into you is driving me crazy.”
“Hush. Seriously,” she insists, her eyes wide.
“They’re going to find out sooner or later,” I remind her behind the rim of my mug. Taking a sip, I add, “Probably sooner if you keep feeling me up every time you get the chance.”
“I’m not feeling you up; I’m bullying you.” She squeezes my leg hard enough to make me yelp. “There’s a difference, Dimples.”
“You’re a savage,” I say, laughing as I bat her hand away. “Keep that up, and I’ll challenge you to a wrestling match after brunch.”
“Oh, please do,” she murmurs behind the rim of her own cup, blinking innocent eyes at Sabrina when her sister casts a curious glance at us from the couch on the other side of the tree.
Lifting my own coffee again for cover, I ask, “You’d like me to pin you to the mat, princess?”
“Yes, I would.” She rubs the side of her slipper against mine. “Pin me hard, and don’t let me up until you reach ten.”
“Ten orgasms?” I hum. “That’s a lot.”
“I have faith in you. Complete and utter faith.”
I cut a glance her way, our eyes meet over our mugs, and we smile matching, goofy, couple smiles that would give our secret away in a heartbeat if anyone could see them.
But we’re good at hiding in plain sight.
We’re spies, after all.
Or we were.
Now, I’m the head of a non-profit I love, and Zan is a spy boss. She doesn’t get out in the field much anymore, but she insists she doesn’t miss it. I would doubt her—I know she relished the rush of going undercover—if I didn’t know that she enjoys bossing people around even more than pretending to be someone she’s not.
She’s terribly bossy.
And I love it.
I love the way she challenges me, gives as good as she gets, and never backs down from a fight. Not that we fight often, but when we do, neither of us gives an inch until we’re certain we’ve been heard.
Thankfully, we’re both good at listening, too. And we’re madly in love.
Hard to stay angry when you can’t wait to kiss and make up.
Speaking of…
“Maybe we can skip brunch?” I muse, arching a brow. “They probably won’t miss us. Not with all the excitement of the twins tossing food from their high chairs, and Andrew on the verge of declaring war.”