Page 42 of Secret Bump

Fuck.

I hold her trusting gaze as I thrust balls deep again. “Mine.”

“Yours,” she pants, nodding.

I drop my attention to her swollen belly. A little secret bump I can still cover with one big hand, but the consequences of our first time are unmistakable. “Mine,” I repeat, more reverently now.

She cries out a sob, nodding again. “Yours, he’s yours.”

And I don’t think she can know it’s our son, not yet, but I lose it. Never thought I’d have a family, and this girl might give me a son. Or a daughter. Fucking don’t care, but the specificity breaks me in a whole new way.

I shift my weight, curling over her, rutting into her.

“I’m yours, too,” I grunt. “Take me. I’m yours.”

She screams and wraps herself around me, pulling my release from me with a roar. She comes, too, her body clamping down on my cock, and I fill her with the seed that made our baby.

I clutch her thighs in my hands, holding myself deep inside her as we ride out our orgasms.

She exhales happily as the fever releases its hold on us. “What were you saying about not just wanting me for my breeding potential?”

“Lies, all lies,” I manage to get out. “I’m going to put a dozen babies in you, my little fiancée.”

“Mmm.” She breathes in slowly. “A dozen?”

“At least.”

“Good. I can’t wait.”

Chapter 21

Isabelle

Six monthslater

I wakeup in the middle of the night, and at first, I think it’s just the usual every two hour pee break I need now that I’m stuffed so full of baby there’s no room for my bladder.

But I don’t feel like I have to pee. I actually feel…great.

I’ve been blessed with this pregnancy. Mack has taken great care of me, insisting I stop working two weeks ago, when I started napping in the middle of the day. Still, this last stretch of my third trimester has been a challenge. Carrying Mack’s enormous baby was always going to be a lot for my little body.

Right now, though, I feel like a million bucks. A last-minute to-do list starts to form in my mind. I could re-wash the baby’s newborn sleepers. And maybe vacuum the nursery again.

“Where are you going?” Mack mumbles as soon as I start to slide out from under his heavy arm.

“Go back to sleep,” I whisper.

He sits straight up. “Is it time?”

“What?” I laugh. “No. I just want to do some laundry. And maybe make some waffles?”

“At two in the morning?”

“It’s almost three.”

“That doesn’t make the laundry and sudden interest in cooking less suspicious.” He flicks on the bedside lamp and pulls on a t-shirt. “Any cramps?”

I roll my eyes. “Zero cramps, Mr. Emerson.”

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