Page 46 of Cipher's Baby Girl
One Year Later
The music from the clubhouse pulses through the compound, a steady beat that carries on the night air. I watch from our bedroom window as brothers and their old ladies mingle in the courtyard below, celebrating the club's annual anniversary party. Lights strung across the yard cast a warm glow over leather cuts and raised beer bottles.
My reflection in the glass shows a woman I barely recognize from a year ago. Hair shining, cheeks full, eyes bright with happiness. The simple yellow dress I'm wearing hugs curves that weren't there before—showcasing my healthy weight gained since finding my place here.
Behind me, I hear our son's soft coo through the baby monitor. Lucas Walsh is three months old now, with his father's dark hair and my hazel eyes.
"He's still sleeping?" Cipher's deep voice washes over me as his arms encircle my waist from behind.
I lean back against his solid chest, smiling at our reflection. "For now. Abuela wore him out today with all that bouncing on her knee."
His large hands come to rest on my hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of my dress. "She spoils him."
"We all do," I laugh softly. "Even you, Mr. I-Installed-Six-Security-Cameras-In-The-Nursery-Alone.”
“Seven,” he corrects with no hint of shame. "I added one more last week."
I turn in his arms, reaching up to trace the scar along his jaw—a mark I once found intimidating that now feels as familiar and beloved as the man himself. "Our son is the most protected baby in the entire state."
His usually hard eyes soft as they meet mine. "And so is his mother."
I love my man’s possessiveness. It’s nothing like my stepfather’s stifling control. Cipher's protection isn't a cage—it's a shield. It’s safety and protection, allowing me the freedom to grow into the woman I was always meant to be.
"We should make an appearance," I say, though I make no move toward the door. "It's rude to miss the party entirely."
Cipher's hands slide lower, cupping my ass through my dress. "They won't miss us." His voice drops to that low, rough register that still makes my knees weak. "Besides, we're celebrating something else tonight."
My pulse quickens as his lips find my neck, pressing soft kisses against the sensitive skin below my ear. "What's that?"
"One year since you agreed to be my ol’ lady," he murmurs against my skin.
"One year since you finally got your head out of your ass and stopped fighting what we both wanted."
He throws back his head and laughs. “That too.”
I smile, remembering that night in the hospital after he'd rescued me from Richard. How he'd stayed by my side, refusing to leave even when the nurses tried to enforce visiting hours. How he'd told me, in halting, awkward words, that he wanted to try to be the man I deserved.
He hasn't always been perfect—his social skills are still a work in progress, but so are mine. And sometimes his overprotectiveness flares up. But every day, he tries. Every day, he chooses me, chooses us, over the darkness of his past.
“That was the right decision,” I tease, tilting my head to give him better access as his lips move along my collarbone.
“Best decision I ever made," he corrects, hands now sliding up my sides to cup my breasts through my dress. "Having you. Having our son. Having our family. I never knew true happiness like this existed.”
His touch ignites that familiar fire inside me, made stronger by six weeks of doctor-mandated abstinence after Lucas's birth and the natural exhaustion of new parenthood. It's been too long since we've had time for just us, for this connection that grounds us both.
I reach up to pull the band from his hair, letting the dark strands fall loose around his shoulders. "I love you," I whisper the words still new enough to feel sacred. "All of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between."
Something fierce and tender flashes in his eyes. "I don't deserve you."
"Yes, you do," I counter firmly, standing on tiptoe to brush my lips against his. "You deserve good things. Including me."
His control snaps at my words, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that steals my breath. My man knows exactly what I want, what I need, and isn't afraid to give it to me.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming, possessing, as his hands grip my hips hard enough to leave faint red marks.I welcome the slight edge of pain, the reminder of his strength and his constant fight to keep it in check for me.
"Need you," he growls against my lips, walking me backward until my legs hit the edge of our bed. "Need to be inside you, Baby Girl."
The nickname still makes me melt, still turns my insides to mush.
