FIFTEEN
SAM
Trying to cook and not burn even something as simple as pasta while the person you’ve been longing for has just said he loves you and doesn’t stop touching you is a damn challenge.
One, however, I gladly accept because I don’t want Devon to ever stop touching me. Or kissing me. Or telling me he loves me.
Oh God, am I too old to squeal? Is there a cut-off age for these things? Because if not, I’m seconds away from throwing myself on my bed, and burying my face in my pillow while I kick my feet in the air.
I’m sure my child would appreciate it immensely. Right before he’d start screaming his head off because I woke him up.
But what am I supposed to do when Devon kisses my neck every time he passes by me, all while wearing that black T-shirt that looks painted on him, and those dark blue jeans that made me stupid the moment I saw them?
I’m only one person. One very weak person.
And my weakness is in my home with me and Eli, holding Eli’s tiny, little hand, along with mine, calling him perfect, and making me wish time could stop.
We take our plates to the living room, and I sit cross-legged next to him on the couch, sneaking glances at him as he digs in, wanting to make sure he likes the food.
The low, contented rumble at the back of his throat makes me stupidly happy as I devour my own pasta. With everything that’s happened today, I don’t think either of us has eaten anything all day.
“You know, you are very distracting in the kitchen,” I tell him after we’ve both set our plates down on the coffee table, shaking my head at him like I don’t love how damn distracting he is.
He snorts. “No, I’m not.”
I blink at him in disbelief. “Uh, yes, you are. Extremely.”
Devon simply looks at me, his gaze piercing and silver in the warm light coming from the floor lamp.
A small gasp slips out when he reaches over to me, almost lifting me off the couch as he pulls me close enough that my legs lay over his thighs, and his arm curls around my waist.
“No, Sammy. I wasn’t. Want me to tell you why I wasn’t?”
His voice drags over my skin, and a pleasant shiver wracks my body as I nod.
The smile he gives me is lethal.
“I wasn’t distracting because I didn’t peel your adorable plaid pants off you.
I didn’t spread you flat on your back on your cute-as-fuck tablecloth, and I didn’t eat you out until you drowned me in your slick and came all over your perfect belly.
” He tilts my chin up, leaning in to leave a soft kiss on the corner of my lips that is so different from his burning words, it makes my eyes flutter.
“Which was exactly what I wanted to do while I watched you cook dinner for us.”
“Devon…” I sigh, chasing his touch as he runs his knuckles across my jaw and down my neck.
“So, you see, if you think about it, I wasn’t distracting at all.” He grins playfully, his dimple digging into his cheek. “I could have been much, much worse.”
“I wouldn’t call it worse,” I mumble under my breath, and a soft growl vibrates in his chest.
“That’s good to know, beautiful. That’s fucking good to know.”
The pet name makes me bury my face in his shoulder.
God, the ridiculous things it does to me.
I feel him scenting me, nuzzling my hair as his own woodsy, citrusy scent gently falls on my skin. Delicate. Protective. Marking.
It feels so damn nice.
There is a warm smile on his face when I lift my head, and look at him.
“Do you want to watch a movie with me?” I ask, and his eyes twinkle.
“Sounds good. What movies do you like?”
“The romantic ones.” I sink further into his embrace, the food and the wine making me pleasantly relaxed, and a tiny bit drowsy.
The weight of Devon’s hand on my thigh as he rubs soothing circles with his thumb doesn’t hurt either.
“I’m not that much of a romantic comedy fan, but I don’t want the story to make me too sad either.
A happily ever after is a must, and absolutely no dogs dying. ”
His light chuckle feels like fizzy bubbles in my stomach.
“Do you have any favorites?”
I nod, resting my cheek on the back of the couch as I keep looking at him.
“I like those with love stories that feel inevitable. People who are brought together by chance, but it doesn’t feel like chance. It feels like it’s meant to be, like fate. Like they were always meant to find each other, you know?”
My heart beats a little harder at the way his gaze bores into mine.
“Yeah, Sam. I know.” His rough whisper makes me tremble.
“What movies do you like?”
“A little action, a little suspense, a little romance. I’m fairly easy to please.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” I shoot back, and he flashes me a grin. “That means there’s still time to bring you fully over to my side.”
“I can be persuaded.”
“And the means of persuasion?”
“More chocolate chip muffins.”
“Just that?” I ask, my smile impossible to be contained.
“Told you I’m easy to please.”
He’s closer now, his teasing words brushing against my face. I bring my hand up, sliding my fingers into his hair, and arching my neck.
“Can I throw in a little added incentive?” I murmur.
“Please do,” he grates out.
My eyes slip shut as our mouths meet. My body relaxes completely, the tension of everything that has happened today leaving me until there’s nothing left but the feel of his lips on mine, until I can hear nothing but our combined breathing. Our combined heartbeats.
I hum against him, and a purr thrums in his chest.
What a lovely sound.
I sink so deep into his kiss, it’s almost too hard to open my eyes again.
“Come on, my sweet,” he whispers. “Let’s go to bed.”
My sweet. Devon loves sweet things. I love it when he calls me that.
But wait, we’re supposed to watch a movie together. I want to watch a movie with him.
A small sound of protest escapes me, and my eyes finally crack open.
“We didn’t watch the movie,” I mutter.
His soft expression makes me feel so warm.
“We’ll watch it tomorrow, or the day after. We’ll watch it any day you want.”
Yes, we can watch it tomorrow because he’ll be here.
He’ll be here with us.
“Okay then.” I smile at him, and I keep smiling as his arm slips under my knees, as his grip on my waist tightens, as he stands with me in his arms, and carries me to my bedroom.
I change into a large T-shirt, and he changes into nothing but his black boxer-briefs.
I’m pretty sure he notices I stare a few seconds too long when I come back from brushing my teeth.
But I notice he stares a few seconds too long as well.
Just like I notice when his steps halt next to Eli’s crib on his way back from the bathroom, when he leans over to check on him. When he smiles.
My heart is still aching when he plunges the room in darkness, and gathers me close under the duvet, nothing but the faint, pearly-white nightlight by the crib illuminating the bedroom.
“Hey, Devon?” I whisper into his collarbone.
“Yeah?”
Are you okay? Are you feeling better since the afternoon?
Please, feel better. I’ll do anything. Anything to keep the terror and regret out of your eyes, out of your heart.
I can still feel his earlier panic, the way his body shivered against mine, the way he clung to me for dear life.
“You have a dimple when you smile,” I say against his warm skin.
His exhale ruffles my hair.
“Is that so?”
There’s amusement in his voice, because he’s probably noticed he has a dimple in his almost forty years of life.
“Mhm. It’s not always there, but when you smile a bit harder, or when you’re happy, it’s there.” I snuggle deeper into him. “I really like it. I know you’re happy when I see it.”
His breathing changes, his pulse quickening as his hand cups the back of my neck and his lips brush my forehead.
“I bet you see it all the time when I’m with you,” he whispers hoarsely.
I tilt my head, searching for him in the darkness, my mouth grazing his when I find him.
“Yes, it’s quite frequent. I wonder why.”
His soft huff of laughter makes me smile even though he can’t see it. But his tone is serious and gentle when he speaks again.
“You know why.”
I bridge the final inch then, and kiss him. Because yes, I know. He told me.
And if he’s half as happy as I am when I’m with him, then there’s a chance that dimple is never going away.
I’ll make sure of it.
The kiss is brief, but it leaves my lips tingling, and my heart full, long after it’s over.
“Night, Devon,” I mumble, my eyelids already heavy.
“Night, Sam,” he whispers back. “Sweet dreams.”
And I fall asleep just like that—in Devon’s arms, surrounded by cedarwood and bergamot, our baby sleeping peacefully in his crib.
My whole world within the walls of this room.
***
DEVON
Idon’t immediately realize what pulls me out of sleep.
But as awareness slowly trickles in, a soft, restless whimper reaches me, and all my senses snap into attention.
Eli.
Sam sleeps deeply next to me, his body warm under the duvet. It must be extremely early, well before dawn, but the barest of light slips through the shutters, allowing me to see him perfectly clear—curled against my side, his expression smooth and calm, his breathing easy and even.
The low whimper comes again, and Sam doesn’t even stir.
Fuck, he must be so tired, trying to juggle so many things.
I lean in to press a light kiss to his hair, and quietly slide out of bed, making sure I don’t jostle him, and wake him up.
Eli looks so small in his crib, wiggling in place, his eyes scrunched shut as more fussing sounds slip out.
My hands are reaching for him before I’ve even realized I’m doing it, the urge to do something, to check he’s alright, to soothe him, superseding everything else.
He fits perfectly in the cradle of my arm when I pick him up, his head lolling against my shoulder as I cup it gently. I can barely hear the sound of my own voice over the beat of my heart.
“Come, little one,” I whisper, taking him to the living room. “Let’s see if we can manage not to wake your daddy.”
I hold him while I pace the quiet room, trying desperately to remember the few things I’d learnt when Angel was this small.
Eli doesn’t seem to be hungry, or he would have started crying by now, and hopefully he doesn’t need his diaper changed because I don’t know where anything is, and that would mean waking Sam for sure.
In fact, I think… I think he’s calmer now, so I sure as fuck won’t be stopping whatever it is that’s made his restlessness go away.
I rock him slowly, humming to him, feeling his little heart racing, fluttering like a little bird’s. He’s fully asleep again by the time I sit on the couch and I carefully adjust him so he’s lying comfortably on my chest.
The sky has streaks of pink in it, too early for sunrise. The same pink falls on Eli—on his now-relaxed features, the tuft of dark hair all mussed from sleep, his tiny fingers clinging to me.
He’s so beautiful, it aches to look at him.
Just like his daddy.
I hold him close, dipping my head to brush my lips against his forehead.
And his scent makes my throat tighten painfully.
He smells like roses and wood on a warm day of spring. Like the first rays of sunshine after a long time of cloudy skies. Like a forgotten memory that begs to be remembered.
He smells like Sam’s, like my mate’s.
He smells like home.
Like everything.
I swallow thickly as I watch him sleep, running my palm across his back, feeling him breathe in and out.
Violent waves of protectiveness crash into me, the need to keep him safe and comfortable staggering in its intensity.
He looks fast asleep again. I could probably get him back into his crib without him waking, but I don’t want to risk it.
Besides, we’re fine like this. I can hold him like this while he sleeps all he needs.
I can hold him like this forever.
“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” I murmur softly.
We stay like this until the sky is fully pink.