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He yanked a condom from his pocket before tossing his pants to the floor on the steadily building pile of clothes. My eyes were torn between the sight of his hand as he stroked his hardened length and the taut muscles of his chest, covered in dark ink. Then the battle for my attention ended when he rolled a condom into place and wrapped his hands around my waist to lift me up until I hovered over his erection.
My palms went to his chest for balance, and I enjoyed the feel of his smooth skin, my fingers tracing over the tattoos beneath them. Leaning down, I kissed him softly before making a plea. “Go slow. It’s been a long time.” A really, really long time, since the awkward night I’d lost my virginity to a fumbling teenager in the backseat of a limo after prom.
With one hand wrapped around his cock, he guided himself into me, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside.
“You’re so damn tight, beautiful. Your pussy feels like it was fucking made for me.”
He was all the way in, my pelvis flush against his, and I felt every inch of him. I reveled in the sensation for one brief moment, and it got even better when I swiveled my hips and rocked into him. He tilted his head back, his heated eyes locked on mine, and power rushed through my veins. He was already close to the edge, and I’d taken him there. Bending lower, I nibbled a trail up his neck to his ear.
“That’s because it’s yours.”
“Fuck!” he yelled, losing control. He flipped us over, my heels digging into the mattress as he hammered into me until his name was ripped from my lips. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he moaned, his hips pumping a few more times before he found his pleasure.
We’d spent the rest of the weekend together, somehow managing to top the best sex of my life many times over. But my favorite moments were those when we were cuddled in bed. I could have happily spent the rest of my life in that hotel bed with him, but reality too quickly intruded.
“I’m going to need you to start pushing on the next contraction,” the doctor instructed, pulling me from my memories.
“You can do this,” Macy encouraged, lending me her strength as she stared into my eyes.
My gaze drifted away from her and locked on the door. I was still staring at it when the next contraction hit and I started to push. My eyes remained glued to that damn door for the next two hours of labor as I pushed my baby boy into the world. It wasn’t until I heard his cry fill the room that I finally looked away.
Giving birth to our beautiful baby boy without Weston meant he’d broken his promise to me. I loved my best friend, and she’d done an amazing job as my birthing coach. But she wasn’t the person I’d needed with all my heart. She wasn’t Weston.
It was finally time for me to accept the reality of my situation and give up the hopes and dreams I’d weaved around him. He was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. I needed to look ahead to my future. I had a precious baby to raise—a treasured gift from the man who’d stolen my heart and smashed it to pieces.
