Page 59 of Better Daddy

He holds my gaze as he cradles my cheek. “We’re still us, sweetheart. You’re still the love of my life, and I’ll do anything to prove that to you.”

The truth in those words bleeds out of him. They wrap around me like a heavy blanket. Warming me. Thawing my frozen heart.

Could it be this easy? Could Ichooseto believe him? To trust us? To try?

“I never gave you your present,” I say, my voice barely audible. I can’t take my eyes off him.

Sully shakes his head. “Having you here, pregnant with my child, even just talking to me, is the best present you could ever give me.” He brushes his thumb against my cheek.

I let out a long sigh. God, I need so much more than that little touch. I need so much more than these small moments. And if I don’t act, I’ll never know whether I can have them.

I place my hand over his and brush my lips against his palm. “But what if I want to give you more? What if Ineedto give you more?”

His eyes flare, the blue of his irises igniting. “A thousand todays with you wouldn’t be enough, sweetheart.”

The familiar words settle around me. A promise. A vow.

Breath catching, I nod. “Then let’s make today something to remember.”

As I lean across the couch, my husband’s expression turns to one of surprise, but when I press my lips to his, he doesn’t hesitate to kiss me back.

Chapter 21

Sully

Ihave a second to consider whether she’s ready. A mere heartbeat to determine whether this is lust or a rekindling of our love. If I was asked to assess what my wife was thinking, whether she was ready and maybe whether I was, I’d say that the same look she wore the day I asked her to be my wife is the one she’s wearing now as I lean in for this kiss.

It’s hope. It’s need. It’s uncontrolled want.

Want for a future that lasts beyond just a few minutes. Want for pleasure that can’t be fulfilled through mere touch.

I don’t question whether we’re ready. In this moment, I know what my wife needs because our souls are finally aligned. Maybe it makes me selfish, but I absorb that feeling. I sink into it, slide down, and get comfortable. The deep ache that burrowed within my every nerve, that made simply existing painful when she was no longer mine, is soothed the moment her lips touch mine.

It’s not enough for her, though. Tiny fingers dig into my pajama top, and she tugs me closer. Her warm breath tickles my lips as she lets out the softest of sighs.

“I missed you.” The words are quick, muttered against my lips. “God, I fucking missed you,” she says again, like the sheer act of saying them is healing.

“Sweetheart.” I cup her cheeks and breathe her in, needing to ground myself just as much as she does. She’s my anecdote. The calm to my restless heart. I stare into her eyes and promise: “I’m not going anywhere.”

Like the words aren’t enough, she climbs onto my lap and wraps her arms around my neck. The quick intake of breath leaves me smiling. My wife just smelled me. Inhaled me.

She presses her lips to my neck, and the smile slips as my body shudders and a moan escapes me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say again.

Sloane shifts on my lap, and the slight movement, the friction, feels decadent.

“Fuck,” I rasp.

Stilling, she looks into my eyes, her lips parting. Then she does it again, rolling her hips forward.

Fuck. I grunt in satisfaction. In frustration. Inneed. “Sloane.”

She does it again.

Her blue eyes are dreamy in the glow of the Christmas lights. She’s a vision. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever set my sights on. And she wants me.

That knowledge encourages me to slide my hands across her arse and squeeze. Still holding her tight, I lean up and take her lips in another kiss. This one is longer. Slower. Our tongues mingle, and I loosen my grip and let my hands roam. I relish the ability to touch her. I reacquaint myself with the feel of her warmth on top of me, beneath my fingers, and against my tongue.