Page 68 of Huge Pucking Play

At the mention of our child, her hand moves instinctively to her stomach. The gesture sends a surge of protectiveness through me so strong it's almost painful.

"I just feel so out of control," she admits.

"I know. But you're not alone in this." I cover her hand with mine, both of us touching the place where our baby is growing. "You're so strong, Cyn. But even the strongest people need backup sometimes."

She buries her face in my chest. "When did you get so wise?"

"Years of listening to my coaches," I say, feeling her laugh against me. "Some of it was bound to stick."

We sit quietly for a moment, the air around us lighter.

"Thank you," she finally says.

"For what?"

"For being someone I can depend on." She looks up at me, her eyes clearer now, filled with resolve. "Even though I'm still going to insist on paying my own way."

I laugh. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Our fingers interlace, and despite the situation, despite the challenges ahead, I feel grounded. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.

Chapter 20

Cyn

Iwake to the gentle press of Garrett's body against mine, his arm a heavy comfort across my waist. Morning light filters through his blinds, casting thin stripes across the rumpled sheets. His bedroom smells like him—clean soap and his woodsy cologne. My body feels deliciously languid, satisfied in ways that make me want to stretch like a cat in a sunbeam.

Garrett's breath tickles the back of my neck in slow, steady rhythms. I carefully turn in his arms, not wanting to wake him yet. His face is softer in sleep, the lines around his eyes relaxed. I trace the outline of his jaw with my gaze, a small smile playing at my lips.

I hadn't planned on staying over. But after dinner and a movie at his place, followed by his talented hands massaging my perpetually aching feet, one thing led to another. It feels different now. Not just the sex—which is fantastic—but this morning-after closeness. No awkwardness. No urge to grab my clothes and rush out. Just comfort.

His eyes flutter open, those chocolate browns focusing slowly, until they find me.

"Morning," he says, voice gravelly with sleep.

"Morning yourself." I can't help but smile.

"Sleep okay?" His hand drifts up to smooth my hair back from my face.

"Better than okay." I stretch my arms over my head. "Your bed is dangerously comfortable. I might never leave."

"That's the plan." His smile is slow and deliberate, sending warmth cascading through me.

His hand drifts down to rest on my stomach, a gentle question in his touch. I nod, and he leans in to kiss me. The kiss deepens slowly, his hands exploring carefully, as if mapping territories that have shifted overnight.

"Is this okay?" he asks, fingers tracing the curve of my breast through my t-shirt.

"Very okay," I breathe.

His kisses trail down my neck, hands gently tugging at the shirt I borrowed from him to sleep in. He moves with patient deliberation, as if we have all the time in the world. And maybe we do.

"Tell me if anything's uncomfortable," he says, moving down my body.

"I'm pregnant, not breakable," I reply, but the care he takes makes my heart flutter.

He grins up at me. "Noted. But I still want to take my time."

And he does. He takes his sweet time peeling away my clothes, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin. His hands cradle my hips as he settles between my thighs, looking up at me with a hunger in his eyes.

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