Page 93 of With A Little Luck
Sighing, I pop back into the nursery, taking in all the progress they’ve made as I give them a thirty-second replay of the day. Boredom, death, cleanup, blah blah blah. “As such, Knox is no longer here, but I was able to talk the jewelry store owner into staying an extra thirty minutes, meaning the day wasn’t a complete waste.”
I ignore Hart with his mouth hanging open and dart back to my bedroom to prevent Quincy from needing to wait any longer.
The little omega pouts adorably as I help her into Ridge’s T-shirt and sweatpants.
I’m not sure why she’s suddenly huffing and puffing, but I believe she’ll tell me what I’ve done wrong when she’s ready. I dress quickly and pull on my glasses before offering her my hands.
She gives a look I can’t decipher but allows me to help her up off the edge of the bed before guiding her from the room.
I wrap my arm around her lower back, holding on to her hip as we hit the top of the stairs. Perhaps I should carry her up and down them from here on out? It would be less physically taxing on her body and probably safer too.
Quincy continues to frown.
“Is everything okay?” I mentally scan through every second of our encounter, trying to understand where I went wrong.
“I’m fine,” she says, and there’s not an ounce of vitriol to be found in her tone. “I wasn’t planning to head right back downstairs to eat, but it’s fine.”
My forehead wrinkles.
The plan was always to rinse off any murder residue, then return to the kitchen.
Oh…
I believe she may have hoped to continue our interlude outside of the shower.
Possibly in my bed.
My chest puffs, and I pull my shoulders back as I guide her down the stairs.
Only…
Jesus Christ.
I forgot to make her come.
I got too focused on feeding her and the baby. I’m going to make a terrible husband—at first—but I will adapt and learn from every mistake.
We head down the hallway, and I keep my hand on Quincy’s hip as I get close to her ear. “I will do my best to make you come…many times. As long as you eat a decent meal.”
There.
Maybe that helped me look less like an incompetent fool who has no idea what’s happening and more like a concerned soon-to-be father.
Ridge and Hart come down while Quincy and I are eating. We nearly ate at the bar, but I quickly relocated everything to the dining room table when I realized how uncomfortable she looked trying to get up onto the barstool.
I fed her breakfast in the living room to combat the need for her to sit on one of those stools, so I have no idea why it didn’t cross my mind sooner. Apparently, orgasms are not good for my brain functioning.
The two sweaty alphas take seats close by, and my nose wrinkles.
Well, Quincy will be pleased to pick up their stench with how potent their pheromones are from a day of physical labor assembling furniture.
I pat Quincy’s thigh to catch her attention and offer her a bite of the chicken club she selected from the food options. Perhaps I should feel guilty for stealing the food Knox procured. I failed to ask if one of the containers was meant for him, but he’s more than capable of making another stop before heading to Sutton’s.
Quincy takes the bite and grabs the bottle of soda from the table, twisting off the lid and taking a sip.
I was under the impression pregnant women should limit their caffeine intake, but I only see her drink a small amount at meals. I’ll do a little research before bringing up that concern.
She turns to me, and I offer her another bite before placing the sandwich back in the container.
