Page 84 of The Heart We Guard
Her touch is all I need for the involuntary tremors of my orgasm to hammer down my spine.
I push hard into her, burying myself so fucking deep, it’s hard to separate where I end and she starts. She starts to shake.
“Oh, God,” she cries. There’s a thread of shock in her tone. “I’m coming.”
“Greer,” I gasp when I finally follow her over the edge.
25
GREER
It’s a miracle.
At least on a scale of one to pregnancy-can-be-a-horror-show.
I don’t feel sick.
My stomach isn’t roiling. I don’t have a flood of spit in my mouth. And I certainly don’t feel the need to swallow repeatedly to keep anything down.
I joyously sit up in bed and realize that, for the first time in weeks, I’m hungry for proper breakfast food.
Butcher is sitting at the kitchen table, his brow furrowed in concentration, and rather endearingly, he runs his fingertip beneath the lines of something on his laptop as he reads.
“Good morning,” I say.
He tugs his glasses off and puts them down on the table.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He pushes the chair out from beneath the table, then reaches for me. I let him take my hand and pull me to his lap. I shouldn’t encourage him. I shouldn’t encourage this. I’ve never been one to waver. I knew I was going to be a surgeon the day my brother died and haven’t had second thoughts once.
But when it comes to Butcher, waver is all I seem to do.
I agreed to this. I mean, how could I not with a man like Butcher persuading me to stay.
His lips brush over mine, and it’s hard to not sink into how this could be between us. But the gun next to his laptop is a harsh reminder of the reality of what I’m getting into, despite all the right things he said last night.
True to his word, he tucked me into bed, and I fell asleep in his arms. This morning, I’m reminded about his world.
“You sleep okay?” he asks.
“Like a log. All the fresh air.”
Butcher smiles. “That’s why living out here is so great. There’s nowhere on this earth with air like this.”
“I need breakfast,” I say.
Butcher puts his palm on my lower stomach. “Pooks is hungry?”
It’s sweet he’s remembered and adopted my nickname for the baby. “No, I am. It’s the first time since I can remember that I’ve woken up without wanting to vomit, and now, I want the biggest breakfast platter you can imagine. Pancakes, waffles, bacon, breakfast sausage, toast…no, make it a bagel. Cream cheese.”
Butcher looks at me, a little stunned. “You can’t fit all that inside you. You’re tiny.”
I laugh. “I’m not going to eat it all. I just want some of all of it. I love breakfast, and I’ve missed it.”
Butcher stands and lifts me with him before placing me on my feet. “Then I have the perfect place to take you.”
It takes about ten minutes for us to drive into town, and Butcher pulls the truck into a space outside the pretty diner I stopped at for directions.
“Stay there,” he says. He steps out of the truck and comes around to open my door before helping me out. “Best breakfast place in town.”
