Page 76 of Flynn

His eyes lifted to hers, and words were not needed. His emotions were stark on his face, and what she saw there overwhelmed her.

‘Flynn-”

“Do you know how much I love you?” His voice was thick, heavy with emotions, his face harsh and taut. “What wouldn’t I do for you?”

“Like threatened Maurice Daley?”

His eyes flared at that. The subject had not come up, and he had not revealed what he had done to her, but she was smart enough to figure it out.

“I would kill him if he hurt one hair on your head.”

Her heart bumped against her ribs as she realized he was stating a fact.

“I am an officer of the court-”

“And I am your husband, the father of the child you are carrying. You are the love of my life; my life revolves around you.” his hand slid down to cup her sex and had her arching against his palm. “I cannot breathe when I am with you.” he slipped a finger into the wet warmth of her and slid in a little at a time, his eyes intent on her face.

Her lips were parted, her bottom lifting off the chaise to desperately meet his finger. She almost went mad when he withdrew it altogether. “Do you understand?” His breath was soughing through his chest, his body hot.

“Yes. Please.” Gripping his hand, she tried to force his fingers back inside her. He did, slipping in two, driving deep into her until her back bowed in reaction. When he removed them again, she clawed at him, but he simply slid down until his face was mashed against the soft, downy hairs covering her flesh.

Ryleigh did not care about anyone seeing them. It did not matter to her one bit. Nothing mattered except the man driving her to madness. He inhaled her musky scent, tongue touching the swollen flesh.

When he started toying with it, she knew she could not bear any more. Her cry echoed around the stillness, sending birds screeching into the air when he plunged his tongue deep into her. She came violently, the climax slamming into her body with the suddenness of a volcano.

Before her trembling subsided, he was on top of her, driving into her and sending her flying again.

He came shortly after, flooding the mouth of her womb with his seed, his head buried at the side of her neck. Sliding off her when he could, he wrapped his arms around her and cradled her against his chest, where his heart was thundering like a trip hammer.

Her tears were soaking his chest, her body quivering. Shifting slightly, he tilted her chin up, his chest clogged by the emotions shuddering through his body.

“I love you.” She whispered achingly.

“I know,” he whispered back shakily. “My love.”

*****

Eight months and two weeks. Thirty-four weeks, as the doctors termed it. Their son was two weeks early. One day, she was going about her business, tying up some final things at the DA’s office to take her maternity leave, and the next, she was in pain, awful, excruciating pain that had sent her flying from the bed and waking him in the process.

He had wasted no time asking her what was wrong but had simply helped her with her clothing and grabbed her bag while calling the doctor.

The labor had taken a hell of a long time, enough to drive him clear out of his mind.

But finally, their son - Michael Anthony, was here, and both mother and baby were cleared to return home in a day. Their son was three days old, and neither Flynn nor his mother could stop hovering around the baby.

Her best friend Michael had become emotional and highly honored to have the baby named after him and even more grateful that he was the baby’s godfather.

Now, they were alone in the quiet of the night. Their son was finally sleeping, but his parents were still standing by the side of his cot, staring at the miracle they had created.

He was sleeping on his back, one tiny fist bunched up next to the left side of his head. His hair was ink black, and his complexion creamy. His eyes were a light golden brown, and he had inherited his father’s chin and nose.

“He is so beautiful,” she whispered in a hushed tone. His sleep pattern was erratic, as predicted by the doctor. “Sleep when he does,” Dr. Whyte had instructed her. She was still trying to get the hang of breastfeeding him but had been given lessons by the nurse.

Wrapping her hands around her waist, Flynn drew her against him, his head buried in her hair. “Thank you.” He told her hoarsely.

The wait for their baby was the longest and scariest. He had felt his heart weakening as he held her hand and supported her throughout the ordeal.

Turning her head, she smiled at him. “You are most welcome.”

---