Epilogue
Kathryn
Almost 2 years later…
I hold up the enormous super bowl ring my husband just received. “Are you actually supposed to wear this on your hand? I think it weighs a ton.”
“I do not think I’ll wear it, but some guys do.” He takes the ring I’m offering back to him and sets it in the top drawer of his dresser.
“You could always get a tattoo of it somewhere. I think I heard one of the guys mention that.”
Donovan comes over to the bed and sits, then pulls me down to straddle his lap.
“Wait, that reminds me, you never did tell me why you don’t have any ink. I think you distracted me the last time I asked.”
“I might have done that. Any chance I could distract you now?” He leans forward and nibbles on my collarbone.
Arousal, hot and damp, pulses through me. “You can keep doing that, but you still have to tell me.”
He blows out a breath, then buries his face in my neck. “I’m afraid of needles.”
“Did you just say you’re afraid of needles?”
“Maybe. It’s a legitimate phobia. Trypanophobia, to be precise. I can’t even donate blood,” he says like he’s confessing something truly awful.
“Baby, three-hundred-plus-pound men run into you on a nearly daily basis. You obviously can tolerate pain.”
He squirms a little. “Just not needles. Can’t do it. I tried to go with a buddy one time in college and I had to run out of the place to go vomit in the alley.”
I hold his beautiful face in my hands. “Then no tattoos. It’s not a big deal.”
“But what happens if you need something from a needle when you go into labor?”
“First of all, we’re months away from that. Secondly, you don’t have to watch. In fact, I’d prefer it if you just stayed up by my head the whole time, looking at my face. No reason to watch the horror show that will be going on between my legs. Trust me, I watched with Kelli’s first and never again.” It’s my turn to shudder.
Donovan’s hands find their way beneath my shirt, and before I know it, he’s unhooked my bra. Since I got pregnant, he’s been addicted to my boobs. Next he pulls my shirt over my head, and then his mouth is on one nipple, his hand on the other.
“I love your tits,” he murmurs from somewhere between them.
That makes me laugh. “I’ve noticed. You know they’re not going to stay like this forever.”
“Don’t care. I loved them before. I’ll love them in between and after.” He sucks hard on one nipple.
My back arches. “Are you sure you want to retire?”
He releases me with a pop and looks at my face. “Yes, I’m sure. I want to be with you and whatever kiddos we have. I played for years. I won a Super Bowl. But you’re my real prize, and I just want to quit while I’m still healthy. Even if your helmet design has made things safer for quarterbacks. I want to be by your side when you come up with your next brilliant innovation.”
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I love you. Now do you want to chat more about my retirement, or can I lick you until you come all over my face?”
“That hardly seems like a real question,” I say.
“Then take off your pants. Mrs. Jewel, I’m starving.”
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