Page 110 of Fighting Fate

“Of course you checked on your princess as soon as you got home.”

“I check on the princess so I can have the queen all to myself.”

“Good save,” I chuckle, sticking my tongue out at him.

I’m pulling our dinner out of the oven when he rests his chin on my shoulder and hugs me from behind.

It’s all it takes for my heart to run away with itself. The heat of his body pressed to mine and his powerful arms wrapped around me never gets old. It’s an unbeatable feeling.

“You cooked?”

“Well, I tried to. My mum walked me through it step-by-step on FaceTime.”

We both know that I’m the biggest liability in the kitchen and that anyone with any sense would be better off avoiding my cooking, but today is special.

“So…” I turn to him once I’ve put the dish down on the kitchen counter. “How are we celebrating?”

It’s the same question I asked five years ago when he was soaking in an ice bath and I was sitting beside the tub with our one-month-old baby sleeping in my arms. He’d just won his eleventh title, and it was the start of his retirement.

A deep rumble vibrates from him as his forehead touches mine, and he tells me, “That question starts trouble.”

“Don’t I know it?”

Picking me up, Rory deposits me on the counter. He has that grin on his face that makes my mouth dry with anticipation of what he wants to do to me.

“How hungry are you?” Lowering his mouth to my ear, he nips at my lobe, causing me to shudder into him.

“I-I…” Oh fuck.

His open-mouthed kisses down to the crook of my neck make it impossible for me to get my words out. My pulse is pounding so hard that I can’t hear myself think. All I can do is feel as his rough hands trace up the outside of my thighs to my arse, squeezing while he kisses and sucks a fiery trail over the top of my breasts.

I’m breathless. Putty in his hands. Ready for him to fuck me and love me until we’re both completely spent. Lifting me into his arms, he carries me to the bedroom, stopping only for me to grab the baby monitor on the coffee table. The instant I put it down on our chest of drawers, he throws me down onto our bed.

Dark eyes peruse over me. The light from the en suite is casting a golden glow into the room, and as I stare up at him, Rory rakes his nails over my ankles.

“Take it all off.” The demand is short, leaving no room for argument as I swallow down my anxiety of stripping down like this.

Evie is eight weeks old. My body is still settling down from the pregnancy. It’s still soft. Still, I pull off my cashmere top and wriggle out of my jeans, using my feet to kick them off.

I’m left in my underwear. My first instinct is to grab the first thing I can and cover myself. At thirty-nine years old, it’s taking a lot longer for everything to shrink back to what it was. Meanwhile, Rory’s hit forty, and he looks…incredible. His body is as magnificent as the first time I laid eyes on it.

With a lick of his lips, Rory clasps his hands around my ankles and tugs me to him until my arse hits the edge of the mattress, butting his legs. Unrestrained desire blazes in his eyes as he lowers himself over me, his hard body pressing into mine. The halo of his arms circles around my head while we lie in silence with his eyes tracing every line of my face.

There’s nothing but me and him, my heart hammering into his chest wildly as he strokes over my profile with the tip of his nose.

“I still remember the first time I watched you undress for me,” he murmurs into my gaping mouth as I drag in a breath. “You stole my breath, beautiful girl. And my body was coiled so damn tight with the need to have every last inch of you that I hardly knew where to start or what to do…”

Bracing himself on his elbows, he pulls back just enough to look down at me.

“You were beautiful then,” he whispers with his fingers combing through my hair. “But now…now you’re something entirely glorious. You’re out of this fucking world, sweetheart.”

Shakily, my hands grasp the hem of his Henley, pulling it up his body until Rory takes over and tugs it off. My pulse picks up at the sight of his tattooed brawn. On instinct, my finger traces over the names of our children scripted around the crown of the lion over his heart. The date of our Vegas wedding is etched below it, and every time I see it, I can’t help but smile. It was small and impromptu, but it was the best day of my life—Rory’s reply to my question in the bathroom of our suite.

“In lieu of sex, how are we celebrating?” I asked, laying my head over his hand curled on the edge of the bath.

“You’re marrying me.”

“You’re funny.”

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