ONE YEAR LATER
I TRACED THE OUTLINE of the sun tattooed on the inside of Claire’s wrist, then lifted it to press a kiss to the filled-in crescent moon.
“Still can’t believe you and Rodrigo have matching tattoos.” I bit into her tiny sun until she yelped, swatting me away. “When are we getting our matching tattoos?”
Claire laughed, tossing her head back on her pillow. “I think that’s considered bad luck for married couples.”
“That’s only if we get each other’s names.”
She pulled her head back, studying me. “Are you serious?”
I grinned, stroking her freckled cheek with my thumb. “No. Not really. I’m pretty content with you wearing my ring every day.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Content, huh?”
Gripping her jaw, I tipped her face up to mine. “Aggressively happy. Madly in love with my wife. Deliriously into you, baby.”
“That’s the spirit, sir.” She giggled and kissed me hard.
We’d been married for six months now, living mostly in New York, but around Claire’s work schedule, we’d found time to spend long weekends and some holidays in Georgia too. I was taking a hiatus from touring for a while. The road and my career had been my sole focus for two decades, I figured I was due for an extended leave.
“It’s just as well you don’t want my name tattooed on you.” I splayed my hand on Claire’s abdomen. She hummed, laying her hand on top of mine.
“Mmm…yeah. They frown upon pregnant women getting inked.”
When my hand inched up beneath her T-shirt, itching to touch her swollen tits, she swatted me away again. “We have to get out of bed today. We have guests—and you have baking to do.”
I lowered my head, kissing her stomach. She was halfway through the second trimester, only really beginning to show. But goddamn was she sexy like this, carrying our little girl.
Claire squirmed beneath me, reaching for me even though she’d been protesting a minute ago. We did have plans, but that would never stop me from fucking my wife—not when she wanted it as much as I did.
I sank into her from behind, spooning her body with mine. We went slow, gentle, touching and kissing while I slid in and out of her. It wasn’t always like that. Claire still wore my marks on her thighs and tits, and her ass was too tempting not to smack. But sometimes, like lazy Sundays in bed, we made love because that’s what we both needed.
The truth was, I’d been extra needy lately. The baby in Claire’s belly had been planned and was very much wanted, but I couldn’t say I wasn’t terrified. The reality of having another child nearly sent me into a fresh grief spiral. But I had my level-headed girl by my side and a therapist who walked me through my emotions. We weren’t replacing Dylan. That was impossible.
We were creating someone entirely new, and she’d be Dylan’s sister. She’d know about him, we’d tell her all about him. This baby wouldn’t look like him, but maybe she would be like him. She might demand music always be playing, or love the feel of mud between her toes. Or maybe she’d be her own little person.
I might have still been terrified. This probably wouldn’t ever go away. But a big part of me couldn’t fucking wait to breathe this little girl in and hold her little body on my chest while she slept.
Claire and I came together, shuddering, moaning, holding each other. And when she turned her head and smiled at me, I fell in love with her all over again.
Eventually, we got up, got dressed, made coffee and toast and ate on our terrace. Then Claire cracked the whip and put me to work.
“You have a pie to bake, love.” She perched on one of the stools at our kitchen counter with her laptop open in front of her. “And I’m going to watch you in between sending emails.”
Claire still worked at the nonprofit for battered women, technically part-time, but she put in full-time hours. Since her salary wasn’t an issue anymore, she insisted on not receiving a raise. She really loved her job, though, and they depended on her. She made me proud, but most importantly, she made herself proud.
I’d been honing my baking skills over the last year. I wasn’t anywhere near my grandmother’s level, but I was getting there. I found rolling dough to be a hit of serotonin straight to my brain. My therapist and my wife wholeheartedly supported my hobby.
After I slid my pie into the oven, Claire joined me in the kitchen, helping me clean up. I didn’t bother telling her not to help anymore. I’d come to realize cleaning was her serotonin hit.
Once it was sparkling, I pinned her to the counter, covering her mouth with mine. I kissed her breathless, then moved down her neck to sink my teeth into my favorite spot. She moaned and rocked her hips into mine, pushing at my chest at the same time.
“Annaliese and Marta will be here any minute.” Her protests were weak, but I listened. Her sister had seen my bare ass once, and that was enough for both of us.
“Fine. I’ll let you go.” I gave her butt a smack as she ran away from me, grinning wide at the way she screeched and bounced.
My wife, forever drawing me into her lush, vibrant garden of Eden. She was still the tempting serpent and the vital, fresh apple, luring me, but also giving me life. Instead of casting me out, Claire held me closer.
Looking back now, I didn’t know why I ever tried to fight against this. When it came to Claire, my life, my paradise, there had never been a chance I wasn’t going to fall.
