Epilogue Tinsley
My center of gravity is currently somewhere over Georgia.
I haven't seen my feet since the middle of my third trimester, and at thirty-nine weeks, I’m abso-freaking-lutely miserable.
I shift in our bed; the cotton sheets are cool against my overheated skin.
At this point, trying to find a comfortable position is a lost cause.
The room smells like Hudson--expensive sandalwood, sun-warmed leather, and that crisp, clean Texas air that always seems to follow him inside.
It's a scent that has become my sanctuary over the last few months, a sensory anchor that tells me I'm safe, I'm loved, and I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
He is still asleep beside me, his breathing a steady, rhythmic anchor.
Even in sleep, he looks like a man ready to take on the world.
I watch him for a moment, my hand resting on my belly.
The baby kicks, a sharp, insistent jab right against my ribs.
It's the kind of movement that says, 'I'm done with the amenities here, let me out.
' I feel exactly the same way. My ribs feel like they've been rearranged by a tiny, very active interior decorator, and my bladder has the capacity of a thimble.
I reach over and trace the line of Hudson's jaw with my thumb. He doesn't stir at first, but his breathing hitches.
"Hudson," I whisper, leaning in until my hair brushes his shoulder. "Wake up. We have a project. A very important, very time-sensitive project."
His eyes flutter open, that sharp hazel instantly focusing on me. There is no morning grogginess for my husband. He goes from zero to high alert in a split second. He reaches out, his palm cupping the side of my face, his thumb grazing my cheekbone with a tenderness that still catches me off guard.
"Is it time?" he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates through the mattress and settles deep in my bones. "Are you in pain? Do I need to get the bag?"
"I wish. I'm in a state of profound impatience," I say, shifting closer despite the logistical nightmare of my stomach.
"But no, no contractions yet. That's the problem.
Your child is being stubborn. He's comfortable, and he has no intention of leaving.
I've read that there are certain holistic methods for encouraging a tenant to vacate.
Methods involving oxytocin and, well, you. "
Hudson's lips twitch, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face as he realizes exactly what kind of holistic medicine I'm prescribing.
He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes darkening with a familiar, hungry heat.
He looks at me like I'm the sexiest woman in the world, even now, when I feel like a parade float.
The way he looks at me hasn't changed since the night we met, except now it's tempered with a devotion that is almost frightening in its intensity.
"Holistic medicine," he repeats, his hand sliding down from my face to rest on the curve of my hip, his fingers splaying wide over my skin. "I've always been a fan of traditional remedies. You want me to fuck the baby out of you, Tinsley?"
"I want you to try," I breathe, my heart doing a little skip that has nothing to do with my increased blood volume. Man. Pregnancy hormones are no joke. "Because if I have to spend one more day having my internal organs pummeled by your child, I might actually lose my mind."
He laughs, a rich, dark sound that settles low in my belly, and then he's moving. He's slow, deliberate, mindful of the weight I'm carrying, but not treating me like I'm made of glass. Hudson knows better than that.
He pulls the sheets back, his eyes roaming over my body with an appreciation that makes me feel beautiful in spite of my current condition.
He leans down, his mouth pressing a hot, lingering kiss to the top of my belly, his breath warm against my skin.
The baby kicks again, right against his lips, and Hudson chuckles against my flesh, his hand coming up to soothe the spot.
"Easy, little man," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. "Your mother and I are busy."
He moves up, his mouth finding mine in a steamy kiss that causes my girly bits to tingle. His calloused and sure hands trace the lines of my body, waking up all my nerve endings.
He shifts me onto my side, his body curling around mine from behind, his thick cock pressing against my rear end.
He's rock-hard, straining with a need that he's been tempering for weeks out of a misguided sense of caution.
I reach back, my fingers finding him, sliding over the smooth, hot length of him until he groans into the crook of my neck, his breath hitching.
"Fuck, Tinsley," he hisses, his grip tightening on my hip. "You're so tight. So wet. I've been trying to be a gentleman, but you make it impossible."
"Then don't be a gentleman," I say, my voice breaking with a need that surprises me. "I've done enough waiting. I want my husband."
“Let me know if you need me to stop.” He lifts my leg over his and places his huge cock at my wet opening.
My eyes roll back in my head when he enters me from behind, a slow, agonizingly deep slide that fills me completely.
I gasp, my head falling back against his shoulder as he seats himself inside me, his cock stretching me, claiming me.
It's visceral and raw, the friction of him against my sensitized skin sending sparks through my nervous system.
Every thrust is a reminder of the life we've built, of the passion that hasn't dimmed even as we’ve blended our lives together.
He begins to move, a steady, rhythmic pounding that echoes the beat of my own heart.
He reaches around, gently rolling my nipples between his fingers until they’re tingling.
Then he slowly slides his hand down my body.
All my nerve endings fire as his fingers finds my clit, his thumb circling the swollen nub until I see stars.
"You're mine," he grunts, his pace quickening, his chest heaving against my back.
I'm climbing, the tension building into a tight, frantic coil in my chest. I push back, driving him deeper, wanting every inch of him.
I can feel the orgasm starting, a shimmering wave that begins at the point where we're joined and washes outward.
I cry out, my pussy clamping down on him in a series of rhythmic, demanding pulses that leave me breathless.
Hudson follows me over the edge, his body jarring against mine as he explodes inside me, his seed hot and thick.
He holds me tight, his face buried in my hair, his breath coming in ragged, exhausted gasps.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the thrum of our hearts and the distant, low mooing of cattle outside, signaling the start of another day on the ranch.
He pulls away and rolls me onto my other side. His lips cover mine, and he kisses me until I forget my own name. Then, it happens.
A sharp, wet pop echoes in the quiet air, followed immediately by a warm, heavy gush of fluid that soaks the expensive sheets. I freeze, my eyes wide, my hand clutching Hudson's forearm with a sudden, frantic strength.
"Hudson," I whisper, my voice trembling with a mix of shock and relief. "I think the tenant just gave notice."
"I know," he says, and he's already moving. He's out of bed in a second, grabbing his jeans from the chair in the corner and stepping into them with a grace that shouldn't be possible for a man his size.
"I guess the holistic method worked." His hazel eyes scan me for any sign of distress, his voice calm but layered with a sharp undercurrent of urgency.
"It definitely did," I say, a hysterical little laugh bubbling up in my throat.
"Let’s get you dressed," Hudson grunts, snapping his jeans shut.
He doesn't look panicked at all, which soothes my nerves.
He scoops me up in his arms, ignoring the mess on the bed, and sets me on my feet next to the closet.
He helps me into my maternity outfit and grabs my hospital bag. "It’s time to meet our son."
“I’m so ready,” I breathe as he carries me out to his truck. Thank God we prepared if for this weeks ago. It’s a little uncomfortable sitting on the thick black trash bags, but at least I know I’m not ruining his fancy leather seats.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” He lifts my hand to his mouth for a soft kiss.
“It’s starting to hurt.” I breathe through a contraction.
“Hold on. We’ll be there soon.”
By the time we reach the hospital in Silver Spoon Falls, the pain is actually pretty freaking bad.
The next few hours are a chaotic montage of antiseptic smells, bright lights, and the heavy, rhythmic thrum of the fetal monitor.
The nurses try to move Hudson out of the way, but he looms right next to the bed like a storm cloud, refusing to leave my side, his presence a silent challenge to anyone who suggests otherwise.
He’s my rock. When the pain gets so bad that I start to lose my focus, and the world begins to narrow down to nothing but agony and pressure, he's there.
His forehead is pressed against mine, his voice a low, constant murmur of encouragement.
He doesn't try to take over, or try to manage the doctors; he just stays present, a solid, immovable force that keeps me focused on what I’m doing.
It’s a long day, but Hudson Carrington Junior finally decides to make his appearance a little after six p.m.
It happens so fast and so slow at once, which is apparently the only way things work for me and Hudson.
A lot of screaming, a lot of sweat, and then suddenly there’s a commotion at the foot of the bed.
The doctor laughs and holds up a tiny, slippery, red-faced bundle who immediately announces his presence with a yell that fills the room.
Nobody warns you what it’s like, seeing your baby for the first time. For a solid ten seconds, my brain stalls out. All I can do is stare at him, absolutely and totally in love. They set him on my chest and holy hell, he’s perfect.
He’s got Hudson’s jaw, no question about it.
In fact, I might’ve carried him for nine months, but my genes seem to have been overwritten by the powerful Carrington genes.
There’s a wild tuft of sandy brown hair flopping over his forehead, sticking out in every direction just like his daddy’s.
His little eyelashes are criminally long and I’m honestly jealous.
He fists my gown with strong, tiny fingers, making my heart squeeze so tight I can’t breathe. I’m pretty sure he’s glaring at the world already. Just like his father.
"He's perfect," Hudson says, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much. Thank you for him, Tinsley. Thank you for everything."
My heart nearly explodes, then melts into a sticky mess.
Hudson’s still at my side, wrapping his strong arm around my shoulder and drawing us both close. His eyes are glassy and wild under the overhead lights. He’s crying, I realize as a single fat tear rolls right down his cheek.
I wrap my hand behind his neck and yank him down, so our foreheads touch.
"I love you, too," I whisper, the words barely threading the space between us. "Thank you for fighting for us."
He lets out this rough, broken laugh, part sigh and part something a little wild. "You gave me a run for my money, but I wouldn’t have it any other way."
Life settles around us like something new and bright; the exhaustion falls away, and in its place is just this thumping, almost giddy happiness. "Life is pretty great."
"It definitely is." He grins, then tilts in and catches my lips in a kiss that melts my insides.
The END