Page 43

H ours later, I lay sprawled across my husband's sexy, tattooed chest, my body still humming from everything he just did to me.

I’m wrecked, thoroughly sated, but still completely owned by the man beneath me.

His strong, calloused hands skim up and down my back, each slow, measured caress making my skin break out in goosebumps. My heartbeat has only just begun to slow, but the way he touches me, it’s like he’s already prepping me for more.

Christ, I love him.

I sigh, pressing a soft, lazy kiss to his warm, inked skin. “What are you thinking about?” I murmur, my voice still rasped and low from all the screaming I’ve done tonight.

His hands still for half a second. Then they start moving again, gentler this time, almost as if he’s trying to memorize every dip and curve of my body all over again.

“I’m thinking there’s no way I deserve a woman like you in my life, my sweet Pixie.”

I lift my head instantly, scowling at him, but he silences me with a slow, knowing smirk.

“Stop it. That’s not true?—”

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone calm, yet firm, his fingers tightening possessively on my waist. “There is absolutely no way I deserve you. But I got you now, and I intend to keep you, Wife.”

I shiver. God, the way he says that. Like I belong to him. Like I always have.

"Yeah? So, you, uh, like me or something?" I tease, knowing damn well what the answer is.

His smirk darkens, his hazel eyes flashing with something predatory as he flips me onto my back, caging me in beneath him.

“Oh yeah,” he growls, his voice pure sin and sex, dragging his mouth from mine, down to my neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone.

I barely have time to gasp before he’s descending lower, licking, nipping, sucking his way down my overheated skin.

His mouth closes around my nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak as he sucks me deep, hard.

I arch helplessly, my fingers digging into his hair, tugging, needing more, more, more.

And still, it’s not enough.

His big hands slide down my body, palming my hips, parting my thighs, and when I feel the first press of his fingers slipping inside me, I nearly shatter right then and there.

“Sammy,” I gasp, back bowing off the mattress.

"Fuck, Pixie," he groans, voice rough with worshipful hunger. “Always so wet for me. Always so perfect.”

He devours me then, his tongue and fingers working in perfect sync, knowing exactly how to unravel me, how to make me come so hard, I forget my own damn name.

The moment I shatter, I scream his name, my body shaking apart beneath him.

But he isn’t done.

He moves over me, into me, his hard, thick length pushing inside, stretching me wide in the only way I ever want to be stretched again.

Christ, he fills me so good.

And he knows it.

He growls against my lips as he sinks in to the hilt, his hands gripping my hips like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

And I know then—without a doubt—that this is what I was made for. To be his. To belong to this man, completely.

Happiness doesn’t always come to those who deserve it.

But now? Tonight?

Tonight, I claim it.

Because he is mine.

My protector. My unwavering supporter. My whole fucking universe.

I breathe him in, feel his heart pounding against mine, and in that moment, I know I have to tell him.

Not later.

Now.

“Sammy?” I whisper, my voice raw, spent.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, tucking me tight against him, his nose buried in my hair, inhaling me like I’m his oxygen.

I swallow, nerves twisting in my stomach, but I press forward.

“I was thinking, we should redo the room next door.”

“Yeah? For what?”

“Well,” I bite my lip, watching him carefully, “I’d like a connecting door with extra alarms, and of course, we need to childproof everything?—”

His body goes rigid.

He freezes.

Then, slowly, his head jerks up.

The way he looks at me burns.

Like he already knows. Like he just needs me to confirm it.

Holy fuck.

“Aella,” his voice drops, low and dangerous. “Are you saying?—?”

I nod, tears blurring my vision, my lips trembling as I whisper the words that will change everything.

“We’re going to have a baby.”

His grip on my shoulders tightens, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

“Really?” His voice is softer now, but his eyes shine—bright, wild, completely unhinged with emotion. “You’re serious?”

I nod again, smiling through my tears.

That’s when he breaks.

Sammy clutches me to him, his entire massive body shaking as he buries his face in my neck.

“Goddamn it, Aella,” he rasps, voice breaking. “You are so good. So fucking perfect. My wife. Mother of my baby. My whole goddamn life. I love you.”

I can’t stop crying now.

I press my hands against his gorgeous, strong face, my thumbs brushing over the wetness in his eyes.

“I love you too.”

A beat passes.

“Oh, fuck. And he was just starting to like me!”

I frown. “What?”

Sammy groans, dropping his forehead to mine, laughing hoarsely.

“Your father.”

I blink. Then I start laughing too.

Because oh, fuck .

Sammy chuckles darkly, shaking his head.

“He’s gonna kill me.”

I grin, wickedly, my fingers tightening in his hair.

“Well,” I whisper, dragging my lips over his, slow and teasing.

“He can try.”

And then we’re both laughing.

Wrapped up together.

In love.

In each other.

In forever.