His filthy, dirty, breeding-kink plans that sent shivers down my spine.
Then to tonight—his mouth pressed to my ear, his voice low and rough as he shoved his cum back into me and whispered promises aboutpractice, aboutfilling me up again and again, like we’ve been together for years.
Not months. Not weeks. Not a single weekend that cracked open my chest and shoved everything familiar aside.
The problem is, I liked it. Probably too much. I love kids, always have. Always wanted a whole house full of them, but after a while, I just figured it wouldn't happen for me. That I’m too broken—too scared to reach out and take what I want for fear of eventually losing it.
But Kade…
Kade is feral about making babies, and it’s fucking with my phobias.
I shake the thought off before I combust, dragging myself back to the present as Bea pushes open a swinging door into the kitchen.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, and I mean it.
The space is soft and golden, full of warmth and the scent of cinnamon and smoke—the latter from an open window Clem quickly closes.
Wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, and the farmhouse table in the center looks big enough to seat a small army. Cabinets are painted a muted sage green, and the counters are cluttered with both cooking essentials and well-loved extras—a stand mixer, three coffee pots, and a stack of well-used baking sheets leaning against the backsplash.
“Holy shit, this is huge,” I choke out.
Colby snorts. “That’s what she said.”
Clementine offers her a fist bump as she crosses to the fridge and starts pulling out eggs, butter, and what looks like enough supplies to feed a battalion.
“How many guys do you think are out there, Mom?” she asks, rolling up her sleeves.
Bea glances toward a large wall of windows over the sink, her brows pulling together. “Maybe thirty? If all the hands are back, and Dallas’s crew showed up.”
Clem nods, completely unfazed, and starts washing her hands. I can only gape, watching her move through the kitchen like she’s done this a thousand times.
Colby elbows me and grins. “She wants to be a chef. Practically lives for this shit.” Her expression softens as she watches her twin crack eggs into a giant bowl. “This is basically her Kentucky Derby.”
I smile, tightening my arms around Aurora as her breath puffs soft and warm against my collarbone.
I don’t want to put her down—not yet. Maybe never.
Swallowing hard, I bury the fear that rises along with the love in my chest.
“If she fusses,” Bea says gently, nodding toward the living room, “the bag Kade packed is by the portable crib near the couch. Should have everything she needs.”
I nod, glancing down at Aurora’s peaceful face.
She’s completely out—little lips puckered, lashes fluttering, hands tucked under her chin. My heart clenches. I missed her more than I realized. And I already dread the thought of going back to work Monday. I don’t want to leave her. I don’t want to leave either of them.
It’s a problem.
A big, huge freaking problem.
I need to call Abby, ASAP. This is a code-red.
“How have you been, Georgia?” Bea calls across the kitchen, peeling potatoes while looking at me like it’s second nature. It makes my whole body flinch. “Last time we talked, you weren’t feeling too well. Kade said you had another flare-up.”
She gives me a look that’s full of honest sympathy, not pity or questions. Like she believes my illness is real.
I shift Aurora in my arms and lean my hip against the counter across from her. “I’m doing better,” I say, cheeks warming. “Thank you so much for everything you sent over with Kade. I really appreciate it.”
Bea waves me off. “Least I could do.”
