Page 3 of Midnight and Mine

“I’ll make babies with you every year if it makes you happy.”

She giggles and says, “We’re both aroused all the time. Wonder why?”

“Because you’re gorgeous when you’re not pregnant, but something about you having our baby inside you makes me insane. Like I need to claim you over and over.”

“Claim me anytime you need, but I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

We lie in bed with the sheets destroyed, partially because she can’t get comfortable, but she’s never been a good sleeper, tossing and turning all night long. I’m convinced she has restless leg syndrome, but she’s stubborn. If she doesn’t want to do something, she won’t do it.

So, like any husband worth his salt, I do whatever I can to comfort her.

“Shower together?”

“Yeah, you go ahead, and I’ll be there in a minute. I want to enjoy the post-sex euphoria. In a few months, we won’t be able to do this as much.” Her voice trails off.

I sit up as my hand wanders over her round belly. “I’ll please you whenever you need and not having sex for six or eight weeks is worth having a little Wynter. I can’t wait until she can call me Daddy.”

Her lips open, and it looks like sunlight beaming through the trees—absolutely breathtaking.

“Me too. But I hope she says Mama first.” She pinches and twists my nipple. Wynter is the definition of playful, and it has always been what drew me to being her best friend, being her hookup, and being her husband. It may have taken us years to get here, but I wouldn’t trade our journey for anything in the world because it’s ours.

As I’m showering, she opens the glass door and steps in with me. I wash her back, and she washes mine. When I’m done, I drop a kiss on her forehead. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Her lips twitch, and I know it’s going to be a big ask.

“Can you go to Magee’s and get me a bear claw and a cinnamon roll?”

“How about a bear claw and a slice of her Quiche Florentine.”

She brings her hands to my cheeks, holding me firm. “How about a bear claw and a cinnamon roll?” It’s a question but more of a demand.

“Whatever you want.”

When I return from the bakery with her cravings in hand, she saunters up beside me and lays her towel-dried hair on my bicep. “Thank you. It’s nice to feel attractive.”

“Are you kidding? You’re more beautiful now than ever.”

Wynter throws her head back, laughing like she used to when we were teenagers. Once she made me try a batch of her brownies. Knowing I love brownies, she tells me I can have as many as I want—Little did I know they had weed in them. And even though I was high, the roar of her laugh filled me with happiness.

She taps my arm. “You’re supposed to be a truth teller.”

“I am. Your skin glows as you grow my baby inside you, making me frisky, as you call it. Now, let me feed you.”

“You did.”

I set the bag of baked goods on the counter, and she digs into the bag like she hasn’t eaten in weeks.

Cravings.

I glance at her. She’s smiling as she pulls out the cinnamon roll, looking at her phone in one hand and waving the pastry while she scrolls. I try to take a bite, and she jerks it away.

“Mine.”

As she moves around the island, I grab her wrist and take a bite. Then we kiss with cream cheese icing on our lips. “Perfect,” I mumble.

I feed her the rest, and she licks my fingers. “I need to get to work. I have to go to Lexington today for a surgery.”

“What time will you be home?”

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