"Pink," he says, his voice rough. "I am never, ever leaving you or our son. Not by choice. The only way you're getting rid of me is if you kick me out yourself, and even then I'd probably camp on the lawn like a stubborn asshole."
I let out a watery laugh. "You would, too."
"Damn right." He pulls me closer, his forehead resting against mine. "I meant what I said this morning. I love you. All of you. The stubborn, competitive, brilliant, infuriating parts. The soft parts you try to hide. All of it."
I take a shaky breath. "I think I might love you, too."
He gives me one of his handsome smiles. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I nod, the admission unlocking something inside me. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I do. Which is ridiculous and terrifying and completely unexpected, but?—"
He cuts me off with a kiss, his lips capturing mine with a gentleness that makes my heart ache. It's nothing like our usual frantic, desperate kisses, but something deeper, more profound. A promise of so much more to come.
When we break apart, I'm trembling. "This is insane," I whisper.
"Then get me a straitjacket, baby," he murmurs against my lips.
Something shifts between us, the energy changing, getting intense. My hands slide up his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him under his shirt.
"I want you," I tell him, leaving no room in my tone for him to argue. Not that he would. "Now."
He sucks in a breath, but he hesitates. "You sure? After everything today, you must be exhausted."
"I am," I admit. "But I still want you."
The look he gives me is hungry, almost reverent. "Whatever you want, Pink. You know I can't say no to you."
I stand, pulling him up with me. "Good. Because right now, I want you naked and in our bed."
His eyebrows shoot up at my directness, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Our bed?"
"Do I look like I'm going back to sleeping alone?" I’m already tugging him toward the hallway. "Besides, your mattress is better."
He laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. "Whatever you say."
In the bedroom—our bedroom, I guess, since I've officially abandoned the guest room—I turn to face him. Something switches in my brain as I look at him standing there, expectant and turned on. My body is changing daily, getting rounder, stretch marks appearing in places I never had them before. But he still looks at me like I'm the hottest thing he's ever seen, and for once, I actually feel it.
I shove him down onto the bed and I’m not gentle. The surprise on his face is gratifying as hell.
"Tonight," I tell him, yanking my top over my head, "I'm in charge."
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Yes, ma'am."
I strip for him, not rushing it. His eyes track every move, and that look, the starving one, gives me a rush of power I've never felt before. When I'm naked, I don't cover up or rush to the bed. I stand there, letting him look.
"You are fucking gorgeous," he breathes, reaching for me like he can't help himself.
I step back, just out of reach. "Clothes off, James."
He practically tears them off. It would be funny if it wasn't so hot watching those muscles flex and twist as he strips. His tattoos are everywhere—arms, chest, abs, back. I’m still learning them with my fingers and mouth.
When he's naked, cock hard and ready, I climb onto the bed and straddle his thighs. His hands immediately grab for my hips, but I catch his wrists and pin them beside his head.
"No touching," I order. The flash of frustration in his eyes sends a thrill straight between my legs. "Not until I say so."
"Pink," he groans, his hips bucking while his cock slides against me. "You're fucking killing me here."
"That's the point." I grind against him, letting him feel how wet I am. The sound he makes is half-groan, half-whimper, andgod.
