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Indi

F inn and Ambrose couldn’t have been more different. Finn was outgoing and gregarious, charismatic, funny, and generous. Ambrose was prickly, snobby, intense, took everything way too seriously, was pretty bad at both yoga and meditation, and was overall a pain the ass.

Who in the world would choose him over a literal rock star?

So why did I hear my mouth forming the words?

“Finn,” I said, taking a deep breath. “You would make a perfect husband.”

I paused, searching for the right words, but I heard him groan.

“Shit. I know what that means.”

“But—I’m not in love with you. And I don’t think you’re in love with me, either.”

“I am ,” he said earnestly. “If you accepted me, I would love you forever, Indi.”

“I know,” I said. “You’d be loyal, generous, and loving. I’d never have to worry about you being unfaithful or unkind.”

There was silence over the line.

“ But ?” he asked grimly. “I know there’s a but coming.”

“I just—,” I began, feeling like an asshole, “I can’t help feeling like there’s a specific reason you take such care to be a good man. Like there’s a woman out there. . . not Astrid. . .maybe someone from a long time ago. . . and she's the reason you take such care not to be an asshole now.”

There was silence over the line again.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I hope I wasn’t overstepping. You can tell me to fuck off. But I just feel like there’s a one that got away out there for you.”

More silence, then I heard Finn’s heavy sigh.

“You’re clever as shit, Indi. Just another reason I want to marry you. Drop-dead gorgeous, sweet, and smart.”

But I knew I was right, so I shut up.

“There is a reason I don't drink anymore,” he said, with that deep gravelly voice. “That I don’t just fuck every groupie around. But what I did, there’s no coming back from.”

I couldn’t think of anything to add, and I thought I heard him mutter, “not that I can find her anyways.”

Then louder, he said, “All right, mama. I understand, even though it sucks. All the same, I’m going to kick Ambrose’s ass when I get there.”

Well, I guessed that was to be expected. . .

I looked over and Julian had woken up from his nap, so Ambrose was taking down the supplies for my gourmet hot chocolate with one hand and cradling Julian with the other, his fuzzy baby head nuzzling at Ambrose’s neck.

My insides began to melt into a freaking puddle.

Goddamn Ambrose. Why did he have to make everything so fucking complicated?

He was doggedly, stubbornly trying to be a better man. And sometimes it really fucking pissed me off.

Because the way my skin felt watching him was absolutely sinful.

The things I wanted him to do to me were fucking nasty .

I wanted his fingers so tight on me that I gasped, I wanted his hand on my ass until it stung, I wanted a lot of things I shouldn’t.

And then after a restlesss night tossing and turning to get into a comfortable position with my bump, I still hadn’t gone into labor at 41 weeks and 0 days.

And nothing was working.

My lower back aching, I walked down the hallway and sat down with my laptop at the table. I should decorate for Christmas, but I had absolutely zero energy to.

What methods had I not tried yet?

“Can I get you anything?” Ambrose asked, pushing his glasses up his nose as he walked into the room wearing Julian in a sling and a dish cloth in his hand.

Oh my god

“How about stop arousing me with your domestic competence?!” I wanted to scream at him, but I didn’t.

“No,” I said. “I’m going to the store for some dates. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“I’ve had an STD test,” he said. “It came back negative. In case you want to try that method of jump-starting labor.”

“I don’t know to what you refer,” I said. “Goodbye.”

When I was back I ate three dates in a row and, while it was a very pleasant experience, I didn’t feel any contractions.

Grrrr

“There’s one method you haven’t tried,” Ambrose said, shutting the door to the bedroom where Julian would be napping.

Oh shit

“Nipple stimulation.”

“I don’t know if that one would be very helpful,” I stalled, trying not to look at my ex-husband.

He stood at the entrance to the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a button undone at his throat.

Ambrose nodded. Didn’t try to lecture at me. Didn’t try to come back with studies on the subject.

“OK. If you ever want to try it, just ask,” he said.

Fuck it

“All right,” I said, leaning back against the counter before I lost my courage. “Do it fast before I change my mind.”

I thought he might try to take his time, but he obeyed me, taking two quick steps closer and putting both hands on my shirt. My skin began to heat up when I felt his fingers on my breasts and he yanked at the fabric, spraying buttons everywhere. My shirt tore open with a violent rip.

“God, yes,” I couldn’t help moaning as my head fell back.

Why had no one else ever fucked me like this? This raw, untamed, can’t-live-another-second-without-you kind of fuck?

My breasts were heavy, swollen, spilling out of my maternity bra, and he unclasped it with two deft fingers.

My nipples felt so hard and tight with arousal that they could have cut glass and something pulled deep inside me, a low dirty desperate need.

Ambrose took another step closer and held my heavy breasts in each hand, moving his thumbs so they began to circle my nipples.

It was absolute agony, an arousal so fast and consuming that it was white-hot pain.

“Goddamn, you’re beautiful, Indi.”

His eyes were a blaze of blue at me. “I wanted you as soon as I saw you. The first damn minute I saw you there in that skirt with your arms folded over your tits and your fuck-me lips, defying that bulldozer. I wanted you so badly.”

“I thought it was your passion for conservation,” I gasped, trying to keep my hips from jerking forward, needing more contact with him.

His mouth twisted up as he pulled my nipples, just a tiny pinch of a pain, just a tiny bit too hard for comfort.

Just how I liked it

“I’m afraid it was just you. I would have stepped in front of anything you told me to.”

Coiled anger at how he had fucked it all up flared through me.

“Well, no one told you to fall in love with another woman,” I shot at him, the words bubbling out of me.

His eyes narrowed at me and he dropped hands to my hips, dragging me closer until I felt his cock pressing against the thin fabric of my pants.

“I never loved anyone else but you,” he gritted out, his fingers digging into my hips. “No matter how I fucked up.”

The tension pulled between us as I saw that muscle move in his tight jaw.

“Fuck it, just fuck me, Ambrose,” I hissed at him, feeling unbearably hot and achy between my thighs. My pussy lips were so swollen my panties were tight and biting into my skin.

“ What? ”

“I said, fuck me! It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just fuck me so I can go into labor.”

"Of course it means something,” my ex almost snarled as he ripped at the buttons on his shirt, then at his belt buckle. “It’s always meant something with you. It could never be just a fuck. This is a marry me fuck.”

And all that tightly-wound propriety began to unspool as my ex-husband gripped me by the hair and kissed me. With the other hand he ripped down my yoga pants and panties until they pooled at my ankles.

The tips of my nipples stung and I looked down to see two little drops of milk as I gasped with relief.

Ambrose flipped me around and positioned me carefully against the counter as I felt my thighs slick with arousal.

“On your elbows,” he said, kicking the kitchen stool closer.

Then he lifted me up on the stool and tipped up my hips so he could have easy access to my aching wet pussy.