Forty-Three | Lyric
Forty-Three
Lyric
By the time we got back to the house, I was exhausted. It had been a long day, but one of the best ones I’d had in a while. It was amazing to see what they had done for me, creating a studio I loved. I still couldn’t get over the thought and effort that went into every detail of the design process.
I changed clothes, noticing that my favorite tank top, which I loved to sleep in, was getting uncomfortably tight around my growing belly. I pulled it off and tossed it aside as I walked into the walk-in closet, looking for something else.
Cole walked in and stopped after shutting the door behind him. I put my arm over my chest to hide my breasts, then laughed when he rolled his eyes and beelined straight for me.
“You act like I haven’t seen your tits a million times,” he said, standing behind me and cupping them in his hands. “In fact, I’m about to play with them in a few minutes, so finding a shirt would be pointless right now.”
I turned in his arms, linking my hands behind his head as he stared at my breasts that were already starting to swell.
“Fuck do I love these tits,” he murmured, dipping his head to try to lick one before I closed the gap between us and stopped him.
“Playtime can wait,” I teased, even as the heat spread between my thighs when I felt his erection growing against my thigh.
“I don’t think it can.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes.
“Thank you for everything you did for me with the studio,” I said, wanting to make sure I told him how grateful I was before we got sidetracked and I forgot.
“It was our pleasure. I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I love it.” I smiled up at him, meeting his gaze as long as I could, even though I knew he was struggling to look at my face and not my breasts. “I think I might move in and live there.”
That was enough to get his attention as his eyes snapped up to mine again.
“I don’t think so,” he said gruffly. “You’ll live here, in this house—in this room, to be specific. Right here in this bed where I can fuck you senseless and hold you through the night. This is where you’re meant to be.”
I felt my heart flutter at his words, but I didn’t try to stop it this time. I’d long given up the fight of trying not to fall for my husband again.
“Okay. I guess you have a point,” I teased, letting out a dramatic sigh. “But just so we’re clear, I’m only staying for the fucking me senseless part.”
“Well, then, I guess I should make good on that before you change your mind.”
He tickled my sides gently, making me giggle as he picked me up and carried me to the bed.
I laid down, resting on my elbows as I saw the emotions flicker across his face the moment he saw the tattoo he didn’t know I had until earlier. Kara had seen it one day when we were at the store trying on clothes, and I needed her help with a dress when the side zipper got stuck.
He looked cautiously at me before gently running his finger over the small butterflies.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know you had this,” he said quietly.
“I got it shortly after I moved to New York. I had been talking to a new co-worker of mine who had just had a miscarriage, and we bonded over the loss we experienced. She told me that butterflies can symbolize pregnancy loss. I looked it up and found that many people see a butterfly’s metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly as a soul’s journey through life after death.
It was the best way I could find to honor the babies we lost.”
His eyes clouded with tears as he nodded and continued to trace his finger over each butterfly separately.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you the way you needed me to be,” he said as he choked back a sob. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lyric.”
I sat up and cupped his face in my hands as I held it.
“You were there for me, Cole. I was the one who left you. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were always there for me, even when you had to sacrifice what you needed. I left because I didn’t want to keep doing that to you. I didn’t want you to always put your needs on the back burner.”
I pulled him into my arms and kissed him tenderly, hating how hurt and broken I had left him when I moved to New York.