Snorting, I tilt my head back and grant King a healthy serving of side-eye.
“Please. You might’velet,” I lift my hands from the gravy I’m stirring on the stove and curl my fingers in air quotes, “me out of the bed but not without a couple of orgasms.”
“You’re complaining?” he scoffs, his teeth grazing the curve of my ear.
“Do I look like a fool?” A shudder trips down my spine, and I can’t stop my hips grinding against him. What can I say? My ass has a mind of its own. “You hoped to wear me out so I wouldn’t climb out of that bed. I’m on to your tricks.”
“I happen to know you love my tricks. Without them, we wouldn’t have lil’ Prince here.”
His hand slides over my baby bump, cradling it. Warmth, like liquid sunshine, pours streams through me, and I tilt my head back again, kissing the underside of his jaw, his chin.
I’m happy.
That warmth is happiness. Contentment. Peace.
Love.
I’ve never been so loved in my life, and the evidence of it sleeps beneath his hand. A baby, a life created by our passion, our devotion, our commitment to one another. Sometimes, it doesn’t seem…real that this is my life.
Over a year ago, I’d been lonely in a dead-end relationship, in an emotional tug-of-war with my father, seeking his approval. And there’d been this emptiness that had resided inside me for ten years.
Now, I’m married to the love of my life, a proud mom to a beautiful, brilliant son with another on the way. While my father and I remain estranged, I have a big family bound by love if not DNA. And I’m no longer empty; I’m so full there are days I wake up in the middle of the night and stroke my hands over the strong chest under my cheek just to make sure this isn’t a dream.
“I already told you we’re not naming our baby Prince.” I turn back to the stove, pick up the spoon and return to stirring the thickening gravy. “That would be a really odd choice for her.”
“How do you figure? Prince was the great—wait.” His voice hitches, stumbling to a halt. He stiffens behind me. A moment later, he reaches around me, removing the spoon from my hand and twisting the knob to turn off the flames beneath the pan. He turns me around to face him, his hands cupping my face, tilting my head back. “Her?” he rasps. “Did you say ‘her’?”
I nod, unable to contain my smile or my joy.
“I found out yesterday at my doctor’s appointment." The only appointment he's missed. "I’ve been trying to find the right moment to tell you. But after you got in yesterday…” I poke him in the side. “That was your fault.”
King had arrived home late last night from L.A. where he, Kade, Gideon and Mac had played at a benefit concert. He’d arranged for a private jet to bring them back home so he could wake up next to her on their first Thanksgiving as a married couple. Just as he’d promised.
That’s one thing King has been proving to me over and over this past year. He’s kept his promises. He’s shown up. He’s consistent. And even though this coming year will bring more out-of-town trips for concerts and promotional appearances for their new album, I have zero doubts he’ll always return home to us.
I don’t just love him. I trust him.
He huffs out a soft laugh. “And I’m not at all sorry.” And since he woke me up to bury his face between my legs, I wasn’t sorry either. He lowers his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling. “Baby, we’re having a little girl?”
I cup one of his hands and lower it to my stomach. “I think princess would be a better name,” I whisper.
His eyes close and he shakes his head, another one of those soft chuckles escaping him. This one is a bit more ragged, shaky.
“King?” I ask, stroking my thumb over his cheek. “You okay?”
Once again, he shakes his head. “Fuck,” he breathes. “I could really use a drink right now.”
Since I’ve been with him this past year and witnessed how much he values and protects his sobriety, I laugh because I know he’s joking. Or not. I’m just certain he won’t take that drink.
I grin. “Payback is going to be a bitch.”
He groans and then his mouth is covering mine, his kiss a hot brand that resonates in my sex and my soul. He claims me all over again with his tongue, lips and whispered words of praise.
“I fucking love you, Lennon Sullivan.” He buries his fingers in my hair, tipping my head back. His blue gaze burns into mine, stealing my breath. “For giving me a second chance I in no way deserve. For being a selfless, loving mother to my son. For giving me the opportunity to experience fatherhood from the beginning—to experience everything I missed with Gunner—with our daughter. I love you, Lennon, for you.”
I rise on tip toe and press my mouth to his.
“I have a twenty-six pound turkey in the oven and twelve guests coming over for dinner in two hours. How many orgasms do you think you can give me in twenty minutes?” I murmur against his lips.
“I don’t like to put limitations on myself.” He bends, sweeping an arm under my thighs and the other around my back. In the next second, I’m cradled against his chest and he’s striding out of the kitchen toward the stairs. “Only my best efforts for you.”
I laugh. And moments later when he lays me down on our bed, covering me with his mouth and body, I’m still laughing. And he takes it.
Takes it and me.
Takes my everything.