Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Beau
The second I kick open the front door, I know what’s in store for us. Abigail wants more and… well, I’ve never been the kind of man to leave my girl wanting.
Seems like she’s waited enough.
I set Abigail down, and when she turns to face us, I’m taken aback for a moment with how beautiful she looks.
The afternoon sunlight spilling through the big windows makes her look like something out of my dreams. Her cheeks are flushed from sitting outside under the sun, her strawberry hair a little windswept, and her lips swollen from me kissing her.
And her eyes.
Fuck.
Those hazel-green eyes are bright and wicked and full of trouble.
Lawson shuts the door behind us with a quiet click, and the sound echoes through the house.
The three of us make a quick detour to the sink to wash the day off our hands before turning back to our girl.
Abigail crosses her arms over her chest as she looks between the three of us like she owns the place.
Well—not yet. But she’s about to. Part of it at least. But that’s for a different day.
“Well?”
Lincoln arches a brow. “Well, what, Sweetheart?”
Her smile turns slow and dangerous as she takes her time raking her eyes over each of our bare torsos. “What’s taken you guys so long?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Law beats me to it. “Patience, Honey.”
Then, he walks past us, slow and steady, shrugging off his work boots. His eyes never leave Abigail as he crosses the main living area and moves toward the hallway and to the new room at the end.
His room.
He pushes open the door and steps inside before turning and nodding in our direction. “Inside.”
There’s something about the authority in his tone that settles straight into my bones. And I’ll be damned if it doesn’t send a slow pulse of heat through my chest that I didn’t expect.
Lincoln exhales a quiet laugh beside me and mutters under his breath. “Guess we know what kind of mood he’s gonna be in.”
Abigail—my eager, eager girl—walks past us and into Lawson’s new room. The space still smells faintly like fresh lumber and new paint, and the large windows are cracked open to allow the warm April air to drift through.
Lawson walks deeper into the room and drops into the heavy armchair in the corner that sits opposite his new king-size bed.
He looks like a king settling onto his throne.
Legs spread wide, arms rested casually on the chair’s sides.
Watching.
Waiting.
My pulse kicks.
Abigail stands in the middle of the room, turning slowly so her skirt sways around her legs. She narrows her eyes playfully as she looks between us. “Care to explain, now?”
Lincoln leans against the door frame, arms crossed, eyes dark. “You’re pregnant, Sweetheart.”
“And?”
Lawson’s gaze sharpens. “And… we wanted to make sure you were comfortable. We didn’t want to pressure you into it again if you didn’t want to.”
The room goes quiet. Abigail studies him for a moment. Then, she smiles. But it’s not her soft and sweet smile. Nah, it’s one that lets me know she’s about to make us look like the fucking fools we are.
“Shame.”
My brows lift. “Yeah?”
She reaches for the waistband of her skirt. “Because this”—the fabric slides slowly down her hips—“is what you’ve been missing out on.”
The skirt pools around her boots, then her hands find the hem of her sweater. Every movement is slow. Deliberate. And so damn sexy.
She pulls her sweater over her head, tossing it aside until she’s standing there in a light pink bra-and-panty set that has the power to make me forget my own name.
Christ.
Lincoln mutters something under his breath, and we all just stare at her.
Her stomach is just starting to round now. Not big—nothing that gets in the way—but enough that the curve is unmistakable.
Our baby.
Growing right there beneath her skin.
Her body looks softer somehow, glowing in a way that makes it impossible to look away from her.
And her breasts—
Shit.
They’re practically spilling out of that bra, begging me to free them and cover them with my mouth.
My throat goes dry the longer I look at her.
“Every day,” I hear myself say, voice rougher than it was when we walked in here, “I don’t think you can get more beautiful.”
Abigail tilts her head.
“And every day?” I step closer. “You prove me wrong.”
Lincoln moves behind her, hands settling on her hips—which are a little bit wider now, and all I want to do every time I see them is sink my teeth into them.
She inhales softly as my fingers slide along her arm as I close the distance between us, feeling the warmth of her skin against my palm. I’m close enough now that I can smell the faint scent of honey and sage and fresh air that’s clinging to her hair.
“Beau,” Lawson says quietly.
I glance toward him to find he still hasn’t moved from his chair. “Yeah?”
“Kiss her again.”
I don’t hesitate.
My hand slides to the back of Abigail’s neck as I pull her toward me. The moment our mouths meet, the world narrows. Her lips are soft and warm, already parting for me like she needs this more than she needs her next breath.
A quiet sound escapes her throat when my tongue slides against hers.
It’s sweet.
Breathless.
Addictive.
That’s what this woman is. An addiction I never want to break.
She tastes like the frozen berries she’s been snacking on for the last two weeks. She tastes like her.
Behind her, Lincoln’s hand starts sliding slowly up her bare thigh and beneath the hem of her panties. She gasps against my mouth as the tips of his fingers slide closer to her pussy.
My chest rumbles with a groan I can’t hold back.
“Easy,” Lawson orders from across the room.
The single word sends another unexpected shiver through me.
Not a command meant for us to stop.
Just to slow down.
To savor it.
To savor her.
Her hand threads through my hair as her breathing grows heavier. Slowly, I reach up, wrap my fingers around her wrist, and guide her hand down to my face. I press a kiss to the inside of her palm while Lincoln’s hand keeps slipping beneath her panties.
And Lawson?
Lawson’s just watching.
Eyes dark.
Voice calm.
His hands are gripping the chair so tightly that the leather creaks. A quiet reminder that he’s anything but as composed as he wants us to believe.
“You want it, Abbie?” Her eyes lock with his, and she nods eagerly. “Then let us hear you say it, Honey. Tell us what you want.”
My girl’s eyes burn with a mix of mischief, desperation, and a kind of raw, electric desire I’m not sure I’ve ever seen from her before.
She glances at Lawson in his chair, then at where she stands between Lincoln and me, before looking back at him again.
I watch as she studies his posture, then lifts her chin with quiet, unshakable confidence.
Her gaze locks onto his. “I want you to sit there and watch while I fuck your brother and your best friend,” she says, her voice rough with lust. “I know how much you like to watch.”
A slow smile spreads across Lawson’s face as he readjusts himself slightly in his chair. Despite the jeans he’s wearing, I can tell he’s as excited for this as Lincoln and I are. “Go ahead, boys. Make our wife desperate for it.”
Abigail raises a brow at him. “Wife, huh? A bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”
I half expect the word wife to catch me by surprise, but it doesn’t. Not even for a second. In fact, I could get real used to calling her that.
“I don’t think. It’s best you get used to it anyway.”
“Oh, I should, should I? Last I checked”—she holds her left hand in the air and wiggles her fingers—“I wasn’t even a fiancée.”
Lincoln leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. I can feel her tense in anticipation in my hold. “You want the ring? For us to all get down on one knee? For us to ask you to be ours forever?”
“I think I do, yeah.” Her voice is nothing more than a shaky whisper now.
“We can give that to you, Sweetheart. But you should just know… you’re the love of our lives…”
“The mother of our child…” I add, running my hand over her growing stomach.
“The object of all our desires,” Lawson says roughly.
Linc nips at the skin just below her ear, and she lets out a small moan. “You will be our wife. And we will be yours. Now and forever, Abigail. Best you get used to the way it sounds.”
I expect another sassy remark. For the fire she walked in here with to come out full force. But one look at her face lets me know that that word did exactly what Lawson wanted it to. Turned her into putty in our damn hands.
“Okay,” is all she replies—practically breathless now.
All eyes are on Lawson, now. Even Lincoln, someone who usually thrives on being in control. Releasing his hold on the chair, he reaches to the waistband of his jeans and undoes the button. “Strip.”