Getting Real (Getting Some #3)(81)

I moan long and low, because these days him going down on my feet feels almost as sublime as him going down on me.

“Think about it,” he whispers like a seductive devil. “You can stay home, put your feet up anytime you want. You can snack and take naps in the middle of the day.”

“You’re a bad person,” I moan. “So manipulative. But don’t stop doing that.”

A chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“I just want to take care of you, baby. That’s why I’m here. Let me take care of you, Violet.”

A thought occurs to me and I brace up on my elbows, meeting my husband’s dark eyes across the mammoth expanse of my body.

“Am I bigger than Stacey was with the boys at six months?”

I realize that Stacey never carried twins—but pregnancy is not exactly conducive to rational thinking.

Connor’s fingers pause for just a moment.

“I’m not touching that question with a ten-foot fucking pole.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not an idiot.”

I inhale sharply, my lips forming a shocked O.

Connor stares at my lips—probably imagining sliding something between them—because he’s a filthy, fabulous, dirty man.

“That’s a yes! That means I am bigger than Stacey was! If I wasn’t, you’d say so!”

And yes, wetness surges to my eyeballs. Stupid frigging hormones.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Connor says simply. “Because then you’d ask why I can picture what my ex-wife’s body looked like over a decade ago.”

He moves to the other foot.

And I pout.

“I look like Mount Vesuvius in human form. Like a sperm whale on the beach. A giant weeble-wobble . . . ”

“All right, that’s it.” Connor sets my foot on the bed and leans over me, his eyes glinting and his gorgeous corded arms caging me in in a stern, sexy way that makes my heart race.

“I happen to think you look hot pregnant. You’re having my kids—two of them—that’s a huge turn-on. I would spend all day fucking you if I could.”

I snort with disbelief.

“You doubt me? If my patients wouldn’t find it off-putting, I would literally walk around with you on my dick from dawn till dusk.”

Then I laugh.

But I admit, his words make me feel good. Desired. Wanted.

Horny.

I don’t mind that part of the hormones so much . . . and neither does Connor.

“You need a demonstration? Come here.” Connor shifts back up the bed, pushing my pink cotton maternity nightie out of the way and gripping my bare hips, swinging me up and over onto his lap.

Because he’s strong like that.

My knees dig into the bed on either side of his hips—his thick, prominent erection wedged perfectly between my legs. I rock my hips forward and back across his hardness, a bolt of sweet pleasure spiking through me.

“See?” he leans forward and nuzzles my neck, kissing a wet trail down my collarbone to my breasts. “Light as a feather, soft as silk.”

I thread my fingers through his hair.

“I think the line you’re looking for is stiff as a board.”

He growls against my lips.

“I’ll give you something that’s stiff as a board.”

I start to laugh, but it turns into a gasp when he thrusts his hips up. Sliding inside where I’m already slick and hot for him.

I cup his jaw with both hands, groaning as he fills me.

“I love your cock.”

Connor smirks.

“It’s got a major thing for you too.”

And then he makes love to me—worships me, gentle and slow—drawing it out. Making me feel beautiful and lithe and always, wonderfully . . . his.


*

Connor

Three months later



“I think you should take the morphine, Vi.”

My wife spins around from her trek across the hospital room, her pretty face shocked, her hands cradling her stomach over the floral hospital gown that she somehow manages to make alluring.

Her round eyes bounce between me and Effie, Vi’s friend and one of our labor and delivery nurses.

Because it’s go time. The babies are coming.

Eventually.

“Are you both insane? I haven’t taken a freaking Tylenol in nine months and now the two of you want to shoot me up with morphine like it’s no big deal?”

It’s been difficult to see Violet struggle these last few months. Everything’s hard on her—walking and eating, sleeping and . . . breathing. Nature’s a douche for putting it all on the woman. The toughest part for the guy—for me—is having to stand here and watch her suffer, see her in pain.

Anything that makes this easier for her I’m a hundred percent on board with.

“It’s perfectly safe for the babies,” I explain. “The only concern is if it’s still in their system when they’re born and it delays their ability to cry.”

“Which it won’t, honey,” Effie adds. “You’re only two centimeters dilated—these little ones are not making their debut until tomorrow.”

Violet’s water broke around 7 p.m., three hours ago, right after she got out of the shower. She’s been having contractions ever since, but they’re sporadic and irregular. We’re two weeks to the day before her due date, but it’s normal for twins to come a little early, so I’m not worried. Their lungs are fully developed, their measurements are right on target, and their heartbeats are steady and strong.