I gripped her hips and worked her up and down my hard length, my eyes practically coming out of my head at the sight of her bouncing on my cock in that cheerleader getup. “Oh fuck, I’m not going to last,” I growled. I knew it would help if I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t do it—she was so fucking hot, it was mesmerizing.
“It’s okay,” she said breathlessly. Then she leaned down and whispered against my lips, “And we have the whole night together. You can make me come as many times as you want.”
That nearly sent me over the edge, but I willed myself to hang on a little longer. I moved one hand between her legs and rubbed my thumb over her clit the way she liked, and her mouth dropped open, her eyes closing. She made soft little sounds as she circled her hips and dug her fingers into my shoulders. When her cries rose to a fever pitch and I felt her leg muscles tense and her body still, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I grabbed her hips and thrust into her again and again, my orgasm thundering throughout my body as she came undone above me.
And as I poured into her, I held her close and felt my heart surging with love for her, and I wondered how I ever thought I could give her up.
“Never,” I heard myself whispering fiercely into her ear. “I will never let you go.”
Her arms tightened around me, and she laid her head on my shoulder. Our hearts beat hard and fast against one another’s. “This is right where I want to be, Henry. In your arms. Always.”
A little while later, she got up to use the bathroom, and when she returned, she was carrying a plate. Reaching into the box of Krispy Kremes, she set a donut on the plate and handed it to me. “Okay, now you have to let me do the thing I planned.”
“Does it involve eating this donut while you jump around in that outfit with no underwear on? Because count me in.” I picked up the Krispy Kreme and bit into it.
She laughed. “No, it’s even better.” Sitting next to me on her knees, she leaned over and picked up the Restoration Hardware catalog and opened it up. “I am going to read you a bedtime story in my sexiest voice.”
I burst out laughing and took another bite. “Do it.”
She opened the book to a random page, inhaled, and looked at me with sultry eyes. “The reclaimed rustic oak collection.”
“Mmmmm,” I moaned. “Tell me more.”
Posing seductively, she spoke in a breathy, sex kitten voice. Whenever she got to words related to wood, she’d look me in the eye and arch her brows. “Celebrating the organic beauty of salvaged wood, our table is handcrafted of solid oak timbers reclaimed from decades-old buildings.”
“God, you’re making me hard.” Groaning, I shoved the rest of the donut in my mouth. “Can I jerk off while you read?”
She was trying to stay serious, but a smile was creeping onto her lips. “Rough-hewn planks define a simple parsons style, allowing the oak’s rustic character to take center stage. Each one-of-a-kind table displays the nicks, knots, and imperfections that speak to the wood’s former life.”
“You’re killing me. This is so hot.” I reached for the book and set it aside. “But the imperfections of the wood’s former life don’t matter.”
She laughed. “No?”
“No.” I pulled her across my lap, cradling her in my arms. “What matters is here and now, and you know what? Here and now is pretty fucking perfect.”
Smiling, she looped her arms around my neck. “I agree.”
I pressed my lips to hers. “I love you, Sylvia Sawyer. And I might never be able to give you fancy things, but I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
“I believe you with my whole heart.” She gave me that smile, the one that would melt my insides for the rest of my life. “And I don’t want fancy things, Henry. I’ll take your time and attention over expensive gifts any day. I just want to belong to you.”
“You do. And I belong to you.” I kissed her once more, and knew in my heart that with these words, we were putting down roots that would be forever intertwined. “We belong together.”
Epilogue: Sylvia
“I’m sorry. Could you say that again?” I asked Dr. Kelson, a dark-skinned woman with kind eyes and a soft voice.
“The test is positive. You’re pregnant,” she said firmly.
“I can’t be. I’m infertile.”
She looked at the results again. “Not according to this.”
“But my eggs.” I shook my head, feeling dizzy and disoriented and sick to my stomach, which was why I was here in the first place. “My eggs aren’t good. They’re past their due date.”
She smiled gingerly and opened a paper calendar on the counter. “The only due date you have to think about is probably sometime this fall. When was your last period?”
“Uh . . .” I tried to think. “Maybe early December?”
She looked up from the calendar. “So did you miss one in January too?”
My brain was reeling. Had I? I must have. “I guess it’s possible. My life has been sort of upside down since the move. And my periods have been irregular for the last year, probably because I lost quite a bit of weight.”
She nodded. “That can happen. Your weight is in the healthy range now, but let’s see if we can pinpoint when you might have conceived.”
Conceived.
Oh my God.
“So today is March twelfth. You know for sure you missed one in February, and you think maybe you missed January.”
“I’m pretty sure I did,” I said, reality sinking in. “And my best guess is that I conceived somewhere between Christmas and New Year’s.” Tears filled my eyes.
Dr. Kelson plucked a tissue from the box on the counter and handed it to me. “I take it this baby is a surprise?”
“Yes.” To say the least.
“You mentioned you’re divorced on your intake forms. Is the baby’s father—”
“Not my ex,” I said, trying to gain control. “It’s someone else.”
“Is he part of your life? Would he be supportive?”
I nodded and dabbed at my eyes with the tissue. “Yes, he is part of my life, and he’s wonderful. He’ll be supportive.”
“Good. And you have . . .” She checked my paperwork. “Two other children?”
“Yes.” A chasm of dread opened in my stomach. How would Whitney and Keaton take the news? “And I’m a little worried about telling them.”
“Well, give yourself some time to adjust,” she suggested, patting my arm. “And let’s get you scheduled for an ultrasound.”
An hour later, I pulled into the lot at Cloverleigh Farms and sat behind the wheel of my car, staring out the windshield but seeing nothing.
September eighteenth. That was my due date.
I was nearly twelve weeks along.
I’d scheduled an ultrasound for the following week, at which I’d be able to see and probably even hear the baby’s heartbeat.
Oh my God. I put both hands on my belly. There was a heart beating inside me. A heartbeat that Henry and I had created.