Page 59 of Dirty Grovel

Which is true.

Except I’m leaving out the part where I walked into her bedroom last night to comfort her and ended up fucking her with my fingers.

And my tongue.

And I wasthisclose to doing all the rest of it, too, before I stopped myself and got the hell out of there.

Things are complicated enough without adding sex to the mix. It’s not like I hadn’t walked into her room with that very thought in my head.

In fact, I’d been determined to avoid it.

But one look at her in her sweat-drenched tank, her tiny black panties hugging the curve of her ass, and my head nearly exploded.

Everything I didn’t feel at that yacht party with young, blonde, desperate Roxy was suddenly rushing through my veins with all the strength of an ocean tide. There was no way I could stop myself as I pulled her into my arms and relieved her of her clothes.

And when she begged me to stay…

Fuck, I’m only human.

“She’s carrying your child and you haven’t talked to her?” Faye squeaks.

“I’ve been… busy.”

She looks utterly disgusted with me. “You know what I think? You have serious feelings for this woman and instead of admitting it, you’re avoiding her because that’s easier than dealing with your feelings.” The disgust transitions into a smug smile. “But you still can’t help but make little gestures for her—like surprising her with us.”

Scowling, I pull out my phone and tap in a quick text. “There,” I snap. “Now, she knows you guys are coming.”

She matches my scowl with one of her own. “Will you really go that far to prove a point?”

“I’ll go further.”

Faye shakes her head, her mouth opening, probably to give me a lecture. But I’m saved by the baby’s cry.

As Faye tries to soothe her youngest child, Artem smirks at me. “Saved by the baby. But knowing Faye, she’ll corner you sooner or later.”

I shrug. “She underestimates me. I can be hard to pin down.”

“No offense, brother,” Artem snorts. “But I’m betting on my wife, every single time.”

We both have it wrong.

Suttonis the one to bet on.

I gave her a thirty-five-minute heads-up and she still manages to pull out all the stops.

There’s a full meal on the dining room table when we arrive—including chocolate chip cookies for the kids and cannoli for the adults.

There’s also a little present pile set up in the corner for all three kids. A cloth doll for Lily. A wooden train for Noah. And an elaborate rattle and some onesies for the baby.

While Noah and Lily play with their new toys, Sutton coos over baby Aria. Faye provides a steady diet of pointed scowls from across the table.

Grabbing a beer, I excuse myself to the garden, trying not to look back every five seconds to see what magic Sutton is weaving now.

“What are you looking so sour about?” Artem asks, joining me under the dappled sunlight.

“I’m not sour,” I huff. “Just… coordinating in my head. That’s all.”

For the first time in my life, that couldn’t be further away from the truth.

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