Page 151 of The Surrender

“Your arse looks fucking amazing, baby.”

I groan, rocking some more, my head swinging. “I need to move again.” I’m restless, constantly anticipating and dreading the next wave of pain.

“Where to?”

“I don’t know.” I cling to him as he helps my upper body lift until I’m on my knees. “Like this,” I say, flexing my neck as Jude gets in front of me, mirroring me. I blink my tired eyes and take a moment to look at him. All of him. His eyes, his nose, his gorgeous mouth, his wide shoulders, his perfectly formed chest and stomach. And I feel him, dragging my fingertips across his flesh, from his lower tummy, up to his nose.

“Are you trying to turn me on?” he asks softly, holding my waist.

“Are you turned on?”

“You always turn me on.” Lowering his mouth to mine, he kisses me gently, and I sigh around it, content amid my pain.

“Does your leg hurt?”

He blinks twice.

“I love you,” I mumble, feeling another coming. He must too, perhaps because I become rigid.

“Love you more,” he whispers. “Are you happy here?”

I shake my head, and somehow he translates that to me telling him I want to be on my back. He clenches my hand, his eyes on my belly as it undulates. His wonder is such a sight.

“It’s coming,” I gasp, tensing, taking in air, getting ready for a push. My wide eyes meet Jude’s, and he nods his encouragement. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, and with that it hits me, and I yell at the ceiling, feeling everything in my body push down. “Come on, Amelia,” he says, calm but loud. “Push, baby, push.”

The heat, the pressure. It feels like my head is going to pop off my shoulders.

Jude moves to between my spread legs, his arms extended so I can still hold his hands. “Go on, Amelia,” he cheers. “Keep going. I can see a head.”

“What?”

“Push!”

I listen and keep going, pushing so hard, every muscle yelling. And I push more, and some more, all the while watching as Jude cheers me on, my breathing laboured, my shouts loud. But I keep going. And suddenly the pressure subsides, my lungs scream, and I drag in air. And then there’s silence.

I gasp.

“Fuck, she’s here,” Jude whispers, moving calmly and efficiently, handling our baby like he’s done this a million times.

“She?” I breathe, all pain gone and complete wonder finding me.

“She.” He brushes his hand over her face, prompting the crying to start. “Oh, my darling girl,” he whispers, dipping and kissing her forehead. And I’m a fucking goner, emotion joining my wonder, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Go to Mummy,” he says, putting her on my chest before reaching for a towel and laying it over her back.

She settles, and I stare down at her. Amazed. And instantly in love. “Well, hi,” I whisper, stroking the top of her head softly with a fingertip as Jude comes and sits next to me, hooking an arm around my shoulder, kissing my temple.

“Well done, baby,” he says, his other hand across her back. “You did great.”

He’s a laugh. I don’t know what I expected, but he just breezed through that like a bloody pro. Another milder wave of pain travels through me, and I hold my breath, feeling the placenta come away. “Oh God,” I whisper, grimacing. “I can’t believe you’re in here with me.”

He hushes me and sighs, and we both just sit in silence for a time, staring at her.

The three of us.

“It’s a girl,” I say, looking up at him. “We agreed if it was a boy, I’d name him. If it’s a girl, you would.”

Jude nods, eyes still on our baby. But he doesn’t speak, not for a while.

So I do instead.