Chapter 1
Chapter One
Scott – One Month Later
O ne advantage of being your own boss is staying in bed with your wife on a weekday morning. Wynter used to sleep on her stomach but now that she’s pregnant, she can’t get comfortable, so we sleep in a spoon most of the night. She likes me to put my forearm between her breasts and her baby bump. But this morning, her pajama top has inched up over the bump, leaving her smooth and stretched skin exposed. When I graze her stomach with my fingers, a soft hum vibrates from her throat. God, I love that sound. It’s like sitting on the back porch, drinking a glass of tea, and listening to the trees rustle while the sunshine peeks through branches—an almost silent symphony of sounds.
I kiss her shoulder to wake her up, then her neck, but it’s under the ear that gets her attention. She flips her head, opening her eyes lazily.
“Good morning,” I say in a raspy tone.
“Is someone feeling frisky?” she asks with a hoarse voice, giving me a saucy smile. “Because the back door is n ot available. Closed for business.”
“I’m just touching my gorgeous wife’s body.” Wynter raises a brow. “What?” I ask.
“Scotty Wilson, we’ve known each other our whole lives. Do you really think I don’t know what you want?”
Want?
“Babe, I don’t want you. I need you. Always have.” I trail my hand over her bump and down to her center.
Wynter and I have been friends since we were kids. We were always those two people who weren’t a couple in our friend group. Beau and Vanessa “went together” all through middle and high school. Mark and Jessica dated for five years starting in high school. And Wynter and I were best friends with benefits—sometimes. Depending on how the wind was blowing that day.
We never told each other how we truly felt back then because it’s terrifying to put yourself out there and not know if your feelings are reciprocated. But that’s all in the past. I’m holding my present, my future—my wife.
Her fingers roam down my arm until her hand is on top of mine, and we move in tandem[ES1] , pressing and circling her bundle of nerves. I whisper, “I love how your body responds to me. How can you get more beautiful each day?”
I receive a purr for an answer, which means she’s here for all of it. In the first trimester, she was nauseous, and smells that she normally loves, like vanilla, turned her stomach, but this second trimester has been a treat for both of us—having some form of sex all the time.
Her arm lifts from mine, and she hooks it around my neck, stretching and giving me as much access as she can. Sloppily, I kiss the corner of her mouth as she lets o ut a mewl of pleasure.
“I love you, Scotty,” she says with ragged breaths.
I chuckle because she only calls me Scotty during sex or when she’s making a point. She lost the “y” when we were in our early twenties. “I love you, babe. So damn much.”
Rolling her over with her back partially on my chest, I adjust myself to make her feel even better. As I dip two fingers into her soaked core, I can’t help but pull them out to taste. It’s sweet and savory at the same time. Then I slip my fingers between her light-pink lips, making me want to push my erection through them.
She smiles with her eyes closed and hums in appreciation, but she also uses her tongue to push my fingers out, wanting me to continue the loving assault on her center. I lift onto my elbow and spread her folds apart. And although her body is changing, her flesh invites me into her glimmering, drenched with arousal, core.
My thumb presses firmly against her clit while I insert two fingers as I drive in and out. The sound of my fingers slipping and sloshing through her wetness has my dick aching. Her fingers dig into my neck until she explodes, arching off my chest for minutes, before Wynter’s body floats back down to mine a minute or so later, producing a satisfied moan.
She maneuvers her body to where she’s on top of me and tugs off her tank top, throwing it onto the floor. Full breasts. Pebbled nipples. Damn, she’s everything. With one hand on her hip and one on her breast, I slide through her folds.
“Yes. Umm. Yes.”
My tip hits her nerves. Knowing she loves this, I keep her moving steady, wanting her to have another orgasm in c ase she tires out. Wynter’s body shakes, and I angle myself just enough so I can enter her. And damn, she sucks me right into heaven. Muscles made of velvet but with the strength of Hercules, they clamp around my shaft.
I rise and take her nipple into my mouth—sucking and biting like there’s no tomorrow as she rides me.
Ravenous for her body.
Captivated by her beauty.
Entranced by her spirit.
Wynter Wilson has always been my anchor. Whether as friends, as a date, or as my wife, she’s the axis my life spins around, and I can’t imagine it any other way.
She bounces up and down, and her legs shake so much, I know they’re about ready to give out, so I lift her off, and her brows pinch together. Wynter is used to getting her way, and she can’t conceal the look of disappointment on her face.
“It’s okay, babe. I’m going to do the work. You just enjoy.”
“But… I want to make you feel good too.”
With a chuckle, I put her on her back and lift her ankles onto my shoulders and say, “Every single minute I’m touching you, or when I’m inside you is pure happiness. “
Pressing my tip against her hole, I push, and her mouth makes an “O,” but words don’t come out. She just closes her eyes and holds the back of my thighs. “Go slow.”
I go slow.
“Go fast.”
I go fast.
“Go…”
She’s at the point where she doesn’t know what she wants, and I love the lopsided grin on her face and th e lines stretching across her forehead like she’s confused. I caress her legs, kissing her calves as I piston my hips at a steady pace while going all the way into where our skin slaps together.
“That sound… such a happy… sound. You make me feel so loved… so…”
“Wanted.” I finish her sentence. “Desired. You make me feel the same way.”
An orgasm licks up my spine, and I try like hell to keep from coming until she climaxes. “Babe, I… tell me what you need before I…” It’s not easy to think of anything but her hot freaking body when it’s been months.
She grabs my shoulders, and we stare into each other’s eyes. “You. Only you.”
We rock slowly in and out, and the moment is almost unbearable. The air is thick with lust and love. I reach down, circling her nub. Her eyes glaze over, and her hands glide down my arms, finding the back of my thighs. She bursts out, “You’re the best,” and other similar words of praise until she detonates.
My dick is coated in her warmth and love. Within a second, my orgasm erupts to the surface. Every muscle tenses. Every ounce pours into her. And I let out a deep growl of appreciation. My eyes are so tightly pinched, and I’m so over the edge, I can’t remember my name.
When I open them, and our bodies relax, I let her legs down and hover over her body in a push-up position.
“I love you, wife,” I say, laying a soft peck to her scrumptious lips.
“I love you too, husband and baby maker.”
Another kiss that’s tender and sensual.
“I’ll make babies with you every year if it makes you happy.”
She giggles and says, “We’re both aroused all the time. Wonder why?”
“Because you’re gorgeous when you’re not pregnant, but something about you having our baby inside you makes me insane. Like I need to claim you over and over.”
“Claim me anytime you need, but I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”
We lie in bed with the sheets destroyed, partially because she can’t get comfortable, but she’s never been a good sleeper, tossing and turning all night long. I’m convinced she has restless leg syndrome, but she’s stubborn. If she doesn’t want to do something, she won’t do it.
So, like any husband worth his salt, I do whatever I can to comfort her.
“Shower together?”
“Yeah, you go ahead, and I’ll be there in a minute. I want to enjoy the post-sex euphoria. In a few months, we won’t be able to do this as much.” Her voice trails off.
I sit up as my hand wanders over her round belly. “I’ll please you whenever you need and not having sex for six or eight weeks is worth having a little Wynter. I can’t wait until she can call me Daddy.”
Her lips open, and it looks like sunlight beaming through the trees—absolutely breathtaking.
“Me too. But I hope she says Mama first.” She pinches and twists my nipple. Wynter is the definition of playful, and it has always been what drew me to being her best friend, being her hookup, and being her husband. It may have taken us years to get here, but I wouldn’t trade our journ ey for anything in the world because it’s ours.
As I’m showering, she opens the glass door and steps in with me. I wash her back, and she washes mine. When I’m done, I drop a kiss on her forehead. “What do you want for breakfast?”
Her lips twitch, and I know it’s going to be a big ask.
“Can you go to Magee’s and get me a bear claw and a cinnamon roll?”
“How about a bear claw and a slice of her Quiche Florentine.”
She brings her hands to my cheeks, holding me firm. “How about a bear claw and a cinnamon roll?” It’s a question but more of a demand.
“Whatever you want.”
When I return from the bakery with her cravings in hand, she saunters up beside me and lays her towel-dried hair on my bicep. “Thank you. It’s nice to feel attractive.”
“Are you kidding? You’re more beautiful now than ever.”
Wynter throws her head back, laughing like she used to when we were teenagers. Once she made me try a batch of her brownies. Knowing I love brownies, she tells me I can have as many as I want—Little did I know they had weed in them. And even though I was high, the roar of her laugh filled me with happiness.
She taps my arm. “You’re supposed to be a truth teller.”
“I am. Your skin glows as you grow my baby inside you, making me frisky, as you call it. Now, let me feed you.”
“You did.”
I set the bag of baked goods on the counter, and she digs into the bag like she hasn’t eaten in weeks.
Cravings .
I glance at her. She’s smiling as she pulls out the cinnamon roll, looking at her phone in one hand and waving the pastry while she scrolls. I try to take a bite, and she jerks it away.
“Mine.”
As she moves around the island, I grab her wrist and take a bite. Then we kiss with cream cheese icing on our lips. “Perfect,” I mumble.
I feed her the rest, and she licks my fingers. “I need to get to work. I have to go to Lexington today for a surgery.”
“What time will you be home?”
“It’s a six or seven-hour surgery, so probably late. I’ll call you on my way home. What’re you doing today?”
“Just writing. I may take some photographs today since I feel so good.” She pauses and places my hand on her stomach. “She’s kicking.”
A fluttering kick presses against my hand. It’s hard to describe how it makes me feel—a combination of amazement and fear, hoping we can give this little baby the life she deserves. I place my ear by my hand on her belly and whisper, “It’s your daddy. Do you like cinnamon rolls too?”