Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(82)

“Thank you,” he whispers simply. “Thank you.”

We stay like that… for minutes, for hours… I have no clue. All I know is that this very moment, I’ve wiped the slate clean and I’m not going to think another moment on the hurt he caused me. I’m only going to think about our future together and building it strong.

Gripping me by the back of the hair, Gavin pulls my head away from his shoulder and stares at me. “I love you, Sweet. So f*cking much it hurts.” His other hand comes to rest over my stomach. “And I love our daughter, too. With the last breath in my body, I love her and I can’t wait to meet her. And I’m scared, Sweet. You know that’s why I ran, right? Because of Charlie… I’m just so scared.”

“It’s okay, baby,” I croon to him as I lay my own hand over his while he strokes our baby through my skin. “It will all be fine. I promise.”

“I believe you,” he says, leaning forward to kiss me. It’s a tentative kiss and utterly lacking Gavin’s confidence. He’s hesitant, not sure of where the boundaries lay.

I open my mouth to him… I slip my tongue inside his, and that tells him it’s okay. That I want him the way I know that he wants me. The way that he craves me, as I crave him.

Pulling me in tighter and tighter still, his mouth angles and he delves for a better connection. His tongue is so warm, and sweet, and I’ve missed it so much. His mouth moves from mine, skims my cheek, my jaw… he whispers in my ear how much he loves me, and then he kisses me again.

His hands stroke my belly, up to my breasts, which are sensitive. My nipples pucker hard between his hand and the silk of my bra. Magically… smoothly… with only the way that Gavin can do, he removes all of my clothes and pushes me down onto the living room rug. Kneeling between my legs, he places his hands on my stomach and gently rubs the swell there. He watches his hands, mesmerized, as he cradles his daughter for the very first time.

Lifting his eyes to mine, he says, “You know she’s going to be spoiled rotten.”

I smile at him, a true smile for the first time in weeks, and it causes his breath to hitch.

“Oh, Sweet,” he says reverently, returning a grateful smile to me. “I missed that smile.”

“That smile missed you,” I tell him. “I missed you, but you’re back now.”

His hands slide up my stomach and cup my breasts, but his eyes never leave mine. “Do you love me, Sweet?”

“I love you, Filthy,” I assure him. “No matter what… I never stopped.”

“I missed hearing you call me that,” he admits, plucking at my nipples and finally letting his gaze drop to my breasts. “I missed a lot of things.”

“Time to make up for it, don’t you think?” I ask boldly.

He turns his hot gaze back to me. “What did you have in mind?”

“I want you to dirty me up a bit,” I tell him honestly, and I’m rewarded by his hand going between my legs.

Oh, yes… I missed this a lot.

“Something like this?” he says as he pushes a finger inside of me, groaning at the ease with which he slides in.

“A lot like that,” I breathe out harshly.

His eyes burn into me. “Or maybe you want my tongue here?” he asks as he pushes and pulls his finger against me.

“Filthy,” I pant with burning need. “No more words. Just show me.”

Gavin scoots backward and brings his face between my legs. He takes a hand and strokes it over my stomach while he lowers his mouth to me.

“I love you, Savannah,” he says softly just before he covers me.

“I love you, Gavin,” I gasp, and then I’m lost to the man I love.





“Seriously, Gavin… is a blindfold really necessary?” I ask, trying to figure out where he’s driving me by the turns that he’s making. I’m completely lost.

“You don’t seem to mind when I make you wear one in bed,” he says smartly… with that crisp, British accent that is just one of the many things I adore about him.

I blush at the reminder, because yes… I do love when he blindfolds me so I can’t see what he’s doing to my body. It removes that precious sense of sight, and only lets me hear and feel. It heightens everything.

My legs squeeze together in yearning.

I feel his hand on my stomach, rubbing it lightly. He calls it my baby bump, but I call it my baby boulder. I feel like a whale. Look like one too, I imagine.

My life is still measured in weeks, but they are infinitely better than what they used to be.

At seventeen weeks, Gavin insisted I move in with him permanently and carted all of my stuff over himself. Casey was okay with it, because she made a shit pile full of money when she sold Gavin the house and didn’t have to depend on splitting the rent with me anymore.

At nineteen weeks, my parents came to visit so they could meet Gavin. They loved him and while quietly making love to me so they wouldn’t hear us in the next room over, he said, “I adore your parents. I have a new family now.”

At twenty weeks, we had my next prenatal visit. We both cried when we saw the ultrasound and Gavin kissed my belly, despite the gel they had squirted all over it. “You’re a beauty, little Clare,” he had said with a thick voice. I cried again.