Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Then she pulls away and breaks into a fresh sob. She puts her head on my chest again and weeps deep, wracking sobs that shake her shoulders.
“Ruthie,” I say softly. “Shh. This is going to work out. Do you want the baby? Is that what you’re afraid of? Do you—”
“It’s not that.” She sniffs. “I just— How do I— This isn’t right, Vadka.” Her voice breaks, and she wails. “I took my sister’s life, and it’s not fair. This shouldn’t be me having your baby. This should be her. Mariah. I came in after she wasn’t here, and I… I took her life, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
“God, Ruthie. No, baby. No. C’mere.”
I bend, scoop her up in my arms, and walk to the small leather loveseat nestled in the corner of the living room.
I sit on the loveseat and tuck her against me. I let her cry it out. I hold her to my chest and rock her gently, and when I blink, my own damn tears follow hers. I shake my head and try to put into words what my heart already knows.
“You didn’t take anything that wasn’t yours, Ruthie. Nothing. Let me ask you a question. If Mariah knew you were loved, so deeply, so fully, unconditionally? What would she say, baby?”
She sniffs. I run my hands through her hair.
“She would want me to be happy. She would want someone who… loved me.”
“And I do, Ruthie. I love you so damn much. And this baby? Unexpected, yeah. But unwanted? Never, baby. Never.” I kiss her fiercely. “This little baby brings new life.”
She sighs. “It might take time for me to wrap my brain around this…”
I shrug. “Seems like you have, at least, what? Eight, eight and a half months?”
She smiles. “Yeah. We do.” She straightens her shoulders.
“You better?” I ask, now that the sobbing’s stopped and she looks lighter. Freer.
She nods. “I think so?”
“Good,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss her. I’ve never wanted her so much in my life. She’s carrying my baby. My woman, carrying my child. And I want her so fucking bad.
Then, as if we’ve been waiting for this moment for too long, I lean in and kiss her, slow at first, tasting the sweetness of her lips, the way she sighs into me, and it feels like everything falls away. It’s not just the kiss—it’s the promise. It’s our baby. Our future. And it hits me harder than I ever expected.
And in that moment, the threats beyond the security of this place slip away. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a vow, a promise, our future. And it crashes over me with a wave I never saw coming.
Maybe we would’ve taken our time. Maybe we would’ve been slow and deliberate. Maybe we would’ve allowed our grief and fears to ebb away like sand on a shore until we found each other whole. But now we have a baby knit between us, an irrevocable tie to one another that makes who we are and what we mean together immediate.
We’ll make this work. We have to.
She presses closer, her hands sliding to my chest, slow and certain, fingers splaying like she’s trying to memorize the steady beating of my heart. I deepen the kiss, hungry for more, knowing that she’s carrying my child. Her body melts into mine. Heat rises, and my cock aches to fill her, claim her, remind her who she is and who she belongs to.
I break away just enough to breathe, the words raw, my voice hoarse.
“God, I want you so fucking bad, Ruthie. So goddamn bad.”
Her lips hint at a tease, curving upward, but her eyes are dark, her pupils wide with need and want, her fingers near desperate when she reaches for me again. “Then take me, please. All of me. I want you too.”
She holds my hand, and I tug her toward the bedroom. There’s nothing frantic in the way we move, no rush or desperation, just a quiet, simmering need that pulses between us.
I lower her onto the sheets. Pulse pounding. Cock throbbing. Spurred on by the knowledge that she needs this as badly as I do. For a second, I just look at her, laid out before me, her chest rising, her lips swollen from our kissing.
And she’s fucking breathtaking. Mine.
I lower myself to her, gentle but certain, aware that her nerves are probably heightened, her body sensitive. I skim the curve of her waist, the fullness of her thighs, the swell of her hips. Her skin is fever-warm and rosy, and I trace every curve as if to memorize her. Her breath catches when my thumb grazes a hardened nipple covered in my soft tee. I lift it wordlessly and remove it so she’s bared to me.
Her back arches into me as I take my time kissing, licking, sucking. Her shoulders and breasts, nipples and navel. Her body responds to every touch as if she’s made for this, made for me. I take my time teasing and testing, savoring the connection and need.