Page 65 of Reed

“I don’t even remember him,” Bryce whispers, and points toward the photo.

My pulse rushes, and my mouth goes dry, because fuck, that’s awful.

“You don’t?” I choke out, trying to disguise the way my tone is laced in disappointment for him and Gia.

I can’t think of anything worse than my son not knowing me, remembering me. My gut twists, and I consider the consequences of my actions, but I’m quick to banish the feeling.

He shakes his head. “My mom thought I’d like it in here.” He lifts a shoulder.

“Do you? Like it in here, I mean.”

“I’d rather have a photo with you and my mom and Bubbles.” His words cause a tightening in my chest, and I’m grateful I had the foresight to dump the tie. “And the baby. All of us together, like a family.”

“You can still keep the one with your dad,” I add, not wanting to appear like I’m pushing Jaxon out of the picture completely, but internally, my bloodstream is filled with elation. He wants me. He wants me to be a part of this family.

“Yeah. I’ll keep it. But I want a bigger one with us all on. The old photos make my mom sad, but the new ones will be when she’s happy.”

How the hell do I argue that. “I get you.” I clear my throat and lean forward and ruffle his hair to lighten the mood. “Now, come on, it’s way past your bedtime.” Reluctantly, I stand from his bed. “Night, buddy.”

He groans his displeasure as I head toward the door. “Reed?”

My hand stops on the door handle, and I look over my shoulder, locking eyes with Bryce. “You wet my bed.” He points to the comforter, and I grimace.

“It’s only a small patch, buddy. It’ll dry by morning.” And if not, I’ll blame it on the wolfhound.

“I’m pleased my mom chose you for my brother’s dad.” He smiles and pulls the covers up to his eyes.

Clearly, that’s not quite how it happened, but still, there could be no one happier about the fact than me despite my earlier reservations.

“Me too,” I whisper, and he closes his eyes, and I head out of his room.

I’m already unbuttoning my shirt as I slip into our bedroom, thankful Gia has left the bathroom light on for it to filter into the room, so I don’t trip as I tug off my socks and soaked pants.

Her soft snooze fills the room, and a sense of warmth encompasses me, and when I slip between the sheets and pull her onto my chest, I can’t help but share how I feel, to release my vulnerability and fears.

I place a kiss on top of her head, slide my cock into her warm cunt, and tell her how I feel. “You’re my home, Gia. Wherever you are is where I want to be. Never leave me, baby.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN

REED

“So letme get this straight. You don’t want huge tits?” Tate asks Mase and scrunches his nose. Just hearing the words has my eyes darting over to my girl.

It’s Eleanor’s birthday party today, and when the little ones fell asleep in the nursery, us guys gathered in the living room to discuss Mase’s first booking with an Indulgence girl while the women chat about pregnancy experiences around the kitchen island.

Watching Gia in the kitchen with the other women has pride washing over me. It’s been one hell of a month, and I’ve not spent one night away from her—even Bubbles, the fucking rat-bastard, has joined me. Mainly because Shaw refuses to dog watch any longer. Turns out, Bubbles has a thing for soft furnishings. Thankfully, Bryce has taken a liking to her, and Gia was okay with her sleeping in his room so it doesn’t disturb us in the night. So I’m pretty damn grateful even though the thought of the pet hair all over my son has me wanting to scrub him clean each time he leaves his room.

“You don’t like big tits?” I glance back at my friend in utter shock, because every time I look at my girl’s rack, I blink in disbelief. The size and thought of the weight alone make my cock rock hard, not to mention the softness of her nipples and the way small drops of milk leak from her, and it’s all entirely for me at this stage. It’s like she’s producing milk for her baby’s daddy while she finishes keeping our baby safe.

Providing for us both.

I rearrange my cock; grateful the infants aren’t around. It’s not something I’ve ever had to consider before now, mainly because I’ve never been in the vicinity of children long enough to have an issue to care.

Mase’s cheeks heat, and he drags a hand over his shaved head. The tattoos on his neck contract, another giveaway of his discomfort. “It’s not that I don’t like them.”

“Tara had big tits, right? You want different.” Tate surmises.

Mase’s shoulders sag. “Exactly, and not anything fake either.” We all share a knowing glance. Tara was fake through and through, every part of her, and I grimace at the fact I ever found that stereotype attractive, not when there’re natural beauties out there like Gia.

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