Chapter twenty-eight #2
Violet chatters on about how amazing the experience of seeing our baby was, how she can’t wait to meet them.
She clutches a scan picture in her hand and every so often lifts it to look at it; a beaming smile appears on her face every time.
The second photo is safely stored inside my suit jacket pocket.
It is going on my desk next to the only remaining photo I have of my mother. We arrive at my car.
“I thought you were going back to work?” she says.
“I am, but I’ll take you to meet Samantha. The team will follow behind. I don’t want to leave you yet.” She squeezes my fingers, and I open her door for her. My new Range Rover means she needs to step up to get inside. She balances on my arm as she does.
“I miss the sports car,” she mumbles.
“You could have probably got into it but struggled to get out in your current condition.”
She swipes at my arm, and I pretend to dodge out of her way.
She turns to grab her seat belt. “I’ll get that.”
I lean over her and clip it into place. As I retreat, she kisses me fiercely, grabbing my face between her hands.
“Thank you,” she says, “for staying. For being here.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else. Wherever you need me, I’ll be there.”
“I’m getting fed up now of being pregnant,” she admits.
“There are only so many days of swollen ankles and morning sickness a girl can take. And I’m looking forward to wearing jeans again.”
I place my hand on her stomach, and our baby kicks hard.
“And I won’t miss my insides being treated like a football either.”
“I like you pregnant. It suits you,” I tell her. “I’m kind of hoping this won’t only be a one-time thing. That when the time is right, you and I will be able to create our own little bundle too. Maybe a few.”
“A few?” she repeats back to me, eyes wide. “How many did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking we could have four boys. Though I would like a daughter too.”
“They aren’t made to order,” she chides. “You get what you’re given.”
“It could be a lot of fun trying,” I say, brushing her lips with mine again. “There is something incredibly sexy about you, rounded and carrying a gift so special.”
“So basically, you want me either with child or nursing one for the foreseeable future,” she says, snarky. “Is this your kink, Mr. Waite? Pregnant women?” Her palm rises to my cheek.
“There is only one woman I want to carry my children, and I’m looking at her.”
“Children plural again,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Remember, I grew up in a house with two brothers. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I didn’t have anyone,” I reply honestly. “I never want my family to be left the way I was. Alone.” She holds my gaze with hers. Honesty passes between us, an understanding that we’ve both been broken in our own way. Our pasts are messy, but this is real, and always has been.
“Our children won’t be, and you won’t be,” she murmurs against my lips.
“We are here together now, Harry. You and me, the way it was meant to be. I’ll give you a bloody football team if it makes you happy. Hopefully, we will be blessed with some multiples to save time.”
I laugh and kiss her, deeply and meaningfully.
My tongue invades her mouth, wanting, needing to consume every part of her.
“If you weren’t already cooking number one, I’d suggest we make a start. What a place to have a conversation about family planning—the hospital parking lot is quite apt,” I point out, and she laughs.
“Nothing about us is conventional. But as long as we are together, I don’t care.”
***
Samantha is waiting for us as she said she would be.
As we approach her, I see she is flirting shamelessly with the two security staff I assigned her.
They’re sitting at a table in the coffee shop, all with a tall latte between their hands.
The two men hang on her every word. Samantha leans forward, giving them full view of her bosom. Violet chuckles, and I glance at her.
“You saw that too?” I say, and she nods.
“Samantha is suffering from some sexual frustration,” she explains. “She needs a good ride to get it out of her system. I think she has her sights set on a man in a suit with an earpiece. She has an ongoing fantasy about it.”
“Are there no boundaries in women’s conversation?”
She snorts, shaking her head, then lifts a hand to push a strand of hair out of her face. “Don’t worry, I always give you a good review. A solid four stars every time.”
I stop dead, turning to face her. “Four stars?”
I step forward and wrap my arm around her back.
“You’ve combusted under my touch every fucking time,” I growl, dropping my mouth to hers.
“And that’s only with my fingers and my mouth. Imagine what it will feel like when I have you pinned to the mattress and filled with my cock.”
Her breathing hitches. “Plus, I know those orgasms are real. You leave enough evidence on my bedsheets to prove it.”
“I very rarely give anything five stars,” she replies with a smirk. “There is always room for improvement.”
“Fuck’s sake,” I hiss, “don’t push me. I’ll drop your panties and make you come here in the middle of this café. Give the patrons a blow-by-blow account of how I’ve made you scream my name every night you’ve stayed in my bed.”
Her cheeks color. “I especially liked the sound you made last night as you came on my tongue. It was an all-encompassing experience. Taste, touch, sound, and smell. You were fucking perfect.”
“Harry,” she whispers, breathless. Her eyes are round, pupils dilated. She’s turned on. I harden against her hip.
“I’ll promise you this.” She peeks up, curious. “Tonight, I’m getting those bloody five stars.”