Page 102 of Things We Burn

He resumed rubbing my stomach, slowly, unhurriedly, impossibly gentle.

I felt the kick at the same time he did, from someone who had been suspiciously quiet this evening. Or maybe I’d been too overwhelmed to notice the movements.

Kane froze as a little foot kicked against his palm. Hard.

And again.

Despite the situation and my overall emotional state, I smiled. It had taken me a while to get used to the movements inside of me. I hadn’t liked them at first. It felt strange and foreign and a far too real reminder that my body was not my own and that I would be a mother soon. A single mother.

But as the baby grew, as I watched her kick in ultrasounds, I felt reassured by my constant company, for a responsibility that forced me to keep going.

Kane still hadn’t spoken, I realized. It had been at least a minute of kicking.

“We’ve got a night owl on our hands,” I said, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. “Which isn’t surprising, considering our nocturnal habits.”

It sounded immensely lame, but I had no idea what else to say. I’d never in a million years thought I’d be lying in bed with Kane again, let alone with his hand on my pregnant belly as our child kicked.

Still, Kane didn’t speak.

I held my breath.

“I had a lot in my life,” he whispered. “Or I thought I had a lot. But after feeling this, I now know I hadnothing.” He tenderly rubbed his hand against my stomach.

I bit my lip so I didn’t cry. I couldn’t respond. I just let us lay there quietly until the baby decided it was time to rest. After, Kane kept his hand there for at least another five minutes. I didn’t dare move.

“Chef,” he rasped, a chill zipping through me at his rough stubble on my ear. Making me shiver despite the scalding warmth of his body.

“Your doctor clear you?” he asked, palm flat on my stomach in a possessive gesture.

“Clear me?” I asked, breathing heavily. He hadn’t touched me anywhere intimate yet … but with Kane, everything was intimate.

“For this.”

His hand dipped down, slipping into my panties where I was soaking for him.

I gasped, but he didn’t go inside. He lingered, hesitant.

I tried to find sense. Reason. He was asking if I was cleared. For this. For him.

For sex.

My body erupted with need, excitement.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I’m clear for … this.” My doctor had indeed said that I was having a healthy pregnancy without complications. Despite being classed as a ‘geriatric’ pregnancy, I didn’t have any restrictions including sex.

Why she specifically mentioned sex when I was so obviously single was anyone’s guess, but the information was welcome now.

“It won’t hurt the baby?” His voice was rough, concern and desire mingling. He rubbed my clit lightly, and my entire body jerked, impossibly sensitive.

“No,” I breathed, already panting heavily. “It definitely won’t hurt the baby.”

My need was all-encompassing. My body was alive again, taut and aching for release. For Kane.

His mouth went to my neck. “Gonna have to get creative with positions,” he murmured, still rubbing.

I gyrated my hips, reflexively moving for him, already seconds away from orgasm. Kane had always gotten me there easily, but this was unheard of even for him. Then again, I hadn’t orgasmed in months. That part of me had felt dead.

Clearly, it was not dead. No, I was alive in a way I hadn’t thought would ever be possible again.

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