For the love of God. He’d blamed my hormones for kicking him out some nights, but more often than not, the underlying cause was his insistence that our firstborn son be a junior. And I wasn’t having it. Our child deserved their own name.
Lucky for me, I still had one ace I hadn’t played yet in that argument.
“Baby?” I toyed with the hair curled around the nape of his neck.
“Hmm?” His eyes had returned to the house plans laid out on the coffee table.
“Are you really going to saddle our son with the future trauma of someday hearing his mother screaming his name at the top of her lungs during sex?”
I expected shock—for him to immediately backtrack and wipe Tripp Junior off the table in our baby name discussions—so I was caught completely off guard when he turned to me with a smile so wide it reached the corners of his eyes.
Frowning, I circled a hand in front of his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Without looking, he tapped a finger on the table, explaining, “Already took care of that. Master suite’s gonna be soundproofed.”
A sound of disbelief came from the back of my throat.
Smug, he pressed a kiss to my mouth. Before he could make it too far, I snaked a hand around his neck, sinking my teeth into the plump flesh of his lower lip. He hissed at the bite of pain, and I relished the sound.
“Don’t get too cocky, baby,” I murmured. Dropping my free palm to his lap, I gave his dick a gentle squeeze, and he grunted. “Or maybe you should. I’d love nothing more than to cuff your hands and feet to the bedposts again, teasing you with my hands, my mouth, my pussy until you’re a whimpering, trembling mess, begging me to let you come.”
Tripp’s harsh swallow reached my ears, and I gave his crotch a little pat before easing back.
“So, you gonna tell me more about this house?”
Adjusting himself in his pants, my husband cleared his throat a few times. “Uh, yeah.” Leaning forward, he moved his finger through the floor plans of each level, pointing out the kitchen, living spaces, bedrooms, and bathrooms. “I had Aspen map out four bedrooms. If that turns out not to be enough, we can always build on an addition down the road. We’ll have plenty of space for it.”
My insides warmed that he was already thinking ahead to how large we wanted to grow our family.
“Is it too late to expand the porch to make it large enough for a swing?”
Tripp waved me off. “Don’t need one.”
“Of course, we don’tneedone. Just thought it might be nice to have somewhere to sit at the end of the day when it’s just the two of us or a shaded spot to watch from as the kids play in the yard.”
He shifted his stance on the couch, pulling one knee onto the cushions so he was facing me. “If you want a porch swing, I’ll install it for you myself, but that’s not what I meant when I said we didn’t need it.”
I cocked my head to the side. I still didn’t understand.
Reaching across the coffee table, he picked up his phone, which had the edge of the house plans curling toward the other end. Tapping on the screen, he handed it to me. “Aspen did the paper rendering because she’s old school, but Mac insisted we have a digital one in 3D as well.”
Using two fingers, he spun to the back of the house, and my breath caught in my throat.
“That’swhy.”
The house—our house—had our tree with the tire swing set behind it. He was going to build us a home in our special spot. The place where we’d always found comfort in each other would now become the place where we would raise our family, where we would grow old together.
Vision blurring, I whispered, “It’s perfect.”
“Thought you might like that.” I could hear the pride in his voice.
“I love it.” Tears broke free, sliding down my face. “Thank you.”
Cupping my cheek, Tripp thumbed the wetness away. “I should be the one who’s thanking you. You’ve given me everything, Penny. Your life, your love, your future.”
“And you’ve given me yours right back.”
He lowered his forehead to mine and nuzzled my nose. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
