Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“Protective, not controlling,” Tank corrects, making me arch a brow his way.
“Oh yeah? You really think so?”
He shrugs, pausing beside my car as I dig for my keys. “I mean, I wouldn’t want a pro athlete messing with my daughter. Not even one as nice as Stone.”
“Um, babe, you’re a pro athlete,” I remind him as I hit the unlock button. “In case you forgot.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the norm,” he says, tossing his gear bag into the back before reaching for my duffle. “I never partied. Not even when I was younger. I numbed out with pills and made my share of mistakes, but I never took a puck bunny home or dated a bunch of girls at once.” He shuts the door and turns back to me. “I’m a weirdo.”
I move into his arms, looping my wrists behind his neck. “You sure are. My weirdo.”
He grins as he hugs me closer. “Damn straight. Forever, Teach.” He presses a kiss to my forehead before murmuring against my skin, “My baby mama. Fuck, that’s still hot.”
“It is,” I agree, tingling for him all over again. “Should we skip dinner out tonight and stay home? We could order food in and then…hang out in our bedroom?”
“Yes,” Tank rumbles without a beat of hesitation. “Fuck yes. I’ll order quinoa bowls to arrive at five thirty while you drive.”
Back home, we’re greeted by enthusiastic snorting and wiggling from Mr. Sniffles and Piggie, both of whom have clearly missed us desperately.
Tank scoops them up, one in each arm, letting them cover his face with pug kisses while I laugh.
“I’ll get our hungry boys some early dinner before I hop in the shower,” I say, heading for the kitchen to prepare their bowls.
“I’m going to grab a snack, too,” Tank says, following me with the dogs still in his arms. “I can’t wait for dinner to be delivered later. I’m fucking starving. I think I’m having sympathy pregnancy hunger pangs.”
I roll my eyes affectionately as I fetch the dog bowls from their mat on the floor. “As if you aren’t always hungry.”
“Valid,” he says, setting the pups down with a grin. “But now I have an excuse.” He claps his hands together. “Fuck! You’re pregnant, woman. It keeps hitting me all over again. I still can’t totally believe it’s real.”
“Me, either,” I say, squeezing the last of the gourmet puppy food from its pouch into Piggie’s bowl. “Oh, that reminds me, I should call and make an OBGYN appointment before the office closes for the weekend.”
I do—silently cheering as I learn they’re able to get me in next week—and then head into the bathroom to find Tank already naked and in the shower, waiting for me under the spray.
I grin at him, propping a hand on my hip. “Oh, yeah? It’s like that, is it?”
He smiles, wide and shameless. “Yeah, it’s like that. But if you’re tired of my dick, I promise to leave you alone.”
“You’d better not,” I say, my voice husky as I strip off my tank top.
A few minutes later, I’m pressed up against the tile as my man takes me from behind, making me come so hard I see stars before giving me a scalp massage with my conditioning cream that has me sagging against him in the warm spray.
“Man, I love hair washing day,” I murmur, my eyes sliding closed. “You’re getting so good at that, baby.”
“I just wish I got to do it more than once a week,” he says, his fingers pausing at the base of my scalp. “Speaking of washing things, I was going to take Piggie to get his first bath and nail clip tomorrow morning while you’re teaching class. Is that okay? Or did you want to be there to take pictures of baby’s first visit to the torture chamber?”
Eyes still closed as I say, “Maybe he won’t hate it as much as Mr. Sniffles does.” Tank grunts, and I smile as I add, “But just in case, let’s take him together tomorrow afternoon. That way, you’ll have backup, and I can take pictures.”
“Sounds like a win, win,” he says, finishing his massage. “Ready to rinse.”
“Thank you,” I say with a happy sigh. I rinse just enough of the conditioner away before swiping the water from my eyes and turning to find Tank watching me, a tender look in his eyes that makes me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.
He’s such a secret softie, such a sweetheart, and the only man I ever want to take a shower with, from this day until my last day.
Several hours later, after we’ve taken the boys out for a walk, eaten our delicious dinner delivery, and locked ourselves away in our bedroom without the dogs, we make love again, slower this time. Tank holds my gaze as he fills me, and it’s perfect—steamy and connected and wild and safe, just like it always is with him.