Chapter 26 Stuart #2
The waiting room is designed for comfort—soft chairs, calming colors, magazines no one reads, a coffee machine that spits out sludge.
Jonathan gets coffee for everyone. Dane pulls out his laptop, probably to work on his novel but really just to have something to occupy his hands.
Claire sits beside me, her hand in mine.
Twenty minutes feels like hours. When the OR nurse calls with an update—"Everything going well, Dr. Wells has opened and is reducing the hernia now"—the relief is physical.
"See?" Claire says. "It’s all good."
Forty-three minutes after Rowan disappeared into the OR, Patty emerges in scrubs, pulling her surgical cap off.
"Perfect," she announces. "Textbook repair. She's already waking up in recovery."
I can feel my cortisol spike start to abate. Oh, thank God.
"Can we see her?" I manage to say.
"Give them a few minutes to make sure she's stable, then yes."
When they finally let us back to recovery, Rowan is crying—angry, confused cries that are the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. She's awake. She's breathing. She's pissed off about the entire situation.
"Hey, baby girl," I say, moving to her bedside. "I know. I know you're mad. But you're okay."
She immediately reaches both arms up, demanding to be held. The recovery nurse nods permission, and I lift her carefully, mindful of her fresh surgical site, feeling her solid weight against my chest.
"You're so brave," I tell her. "So incredibly brave. And it's over now. All done."
Rowan burrows into my shoulder, still crying but less frantically. Behind me, I sense Jonathan and Dane, both wanting to be close but giving me this moment first.
"Your turn," I say, passing her to Jonathan.
"Hey, warrior princess," he murmurs. "You showed that surgery who's boss, didn't you?"
Dane goes next, his voice soft as he tells her a story about a brave heroine who overcomes adversity and emerges stronger.
Claire just holds her quietly, breathing her baby scent in and trying not to cry.
We take her home that afternoon. She's clingy and more irritable than usual. But she's home, and more importantly, she's safe.
That evening, after Rowan has finally fallen asleep in her crib, monitor showing her breathing steady and strong, we collapse in our bedroom.
"That was the worst day of my life," I admit. "And nothing even went wrong."
"Welcome to parenting," Claire says. "Every day is the worst day until it isn't."
"I’ve done most of this before, but it was long enough ago that I have zero recollection of it at this point."
"I need—" I stop, not sure how to articulate what I need. Control, maybe. Connection. Proof that we survived this day and came out intact on the other side.
"We know what you need," Jonathan says quietly.
"Do you?" I ask, my voice rougher than I intend. It's not doubt—it's exhaustion, the kind that makes everything feel raw.
Claire turns to me, her eyes soft but knowing.
She cups my face, her thumb brushing my jaw.
"We do, Stuart. Let me take care of you.
" Her lips press to mine, light at first, a promise rather than a demand.
The kiss deepens as she leans in, her body molding against mine, and I feel the tension in my body start to dissipate.
Jonathan steps closer, his presence steady as always.
He kisses Claire's shoulder, exposed by the loose neck of her shirt.
There's no rush, no urgency beyond the shared need to reconnect, to affirm that we're whole.
Claire pulls back from me just enough to glance at the others, a silent invitation passing between them.
Clothes come off piece by piece—Claire's shirt slips over her head, revealing the soft curve of her breasts. I help her with her jeans, my hands lingering on the smooth skin of her hips. Dane sheds his own shirt, and Jonathan follows.
Claire reaches for me, unbuttoning my shirt with deliberate slowness, her fingers grazing my chest hair, sending sparks down my spine.
"You've been so strong today," she whispers, her voice a caress.
"Let go now." I nod, surrendering to her touch as she pushes the fabric from my shoulders.
My pants follow, pooling at my feet, and I step out of them, my cock stirring to life under her gaze.
She sinks to her knees, her hands on my thighs, guiding me closer.
Her mouth finds me first—warm, wet, enveloping the head of my cock with a slow, teasing suck.
I groan, my fingers threading into her hair, not pulling but holding, anchoring myself.
Dane kneels beside her, his lips brushing her neck, then lower, kissing along her collarbone while his hand cups one breast, thumb circling the nipple until she moans around me.
Jonathan watches for a moment, his eyes dark with desire.
We all move onto the bed and Jonathan positions himself behind Claire, his hands spreading her thighs gently.
She arches into him, her ass lifting as he kisses down her spine.
I feel the vibration of her hum as his fingers part her folds, exploring her wetness.
"So ready for us," he murmurs, his voice low and appreciative.
Claire still has my cock in her mouth, but she releases it now with a soft pop.
Her lips are glistening, and she turns her head to take Dane into her mouth.
He inhales sharply, his hand steady on her shoulder.
I watch, mesmerized, as she works him with the same tender focus, her tongue swirling while her hand strokes the base.
It's intoxicating, the way she gives herself to us.
I drop to my knees behind her now, taking Jonathan's place momentarily.
My hands roam her back, tracing the dip of her waist, before sliding between her legs.
She's drenched, her pussy welcoming my fingers as I slide two inside, curling them to find that spot that makes her gasp.
Jonathan moves to her side, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing her sounds as I pump slowly, building the rhythm.
"Stuart," she breathes when Jonathan lets her up for air, her body trembling under my touch. "Please..."
I don't make her wait. Positioning myself, I enter her from behind, the tightness of her enveloping me inch by inch.
She pushes back, meeting my thrust, and we find a synchronized pace—slow at first, savoring the connection.
Dane threads his fingers through her hair, guiding her back to him, and she takes him deeper, her moans muffled.
Jonathan shifts to lie beneath her. Claire leans forward, her breasts brushing his chest as he guides her down onto his cock.
She gasps at the fullness, her body adjusting, and I pause, letting her settle.
The sight of her like this—impaled on him, her face flushed with pleasure—stirs something primal in me.
We move together now, a careful dance. I thrust into her ass, the angle tight and exquisite, while Jonathan fills her pussy from below.
Claire's cries grow sharper, her body rocking between us.
Dane kneels in front, offering himself again, and she latches on, sucking his cock, her hands gripping his thighs.
The room fills with the sounds of us—skin meeting skin, ragged breaths, the wet slide of bodies joining. Sweat beads on my skin, mixing with Claire's as I lean over her, kissing her shoulder. "You're ours," I whisper. She clenches around me in response, pulling me deeper.
Tension builds, coiling tight in my core.
Jonathan's hands grip her hips, his thrusts matching mine, and Dane's fingers tighten in her hair as he nears the edge.
Claire comes first, her body shuddering, walls fluttering around us both.
The sensation tips me over—I bury myself deep, spilling inside her with a groan.
Jonathan follows seconds later, his release muffled by a kiss to her throat, and Dane pulses in her mouth, her swallows drawing out his pleasure.
We collapse on the bed, breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison. Claire nestles between us. The day's fears feel distant now, replaced by this quiet moment between us.