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Sophie shuddered, even more so when I traced a finger along the gusset of her panties. Her grip around my neck loosened, her arms falling slackly to her lap and then reaching back, her palms outstretched on the counter.
Sophie was perfect.
The way she opened herself for me, a silent beg to take her here and now, sent all the blood rushing down to my groin. Everything suddenly turned into hyperdrive. It was like a starter gun had gone off, and I was partaking in a sprint race. Sophie could feel it too. The way her fingers were back on my jeans, shaking as she tugged down the zip, told me she felt the same way.
We were desperate for each other.
Our lips collided, our tongues tangled, and before I could get my thumbs into the sides of her panties, Sophie had successfullyunzipped my pants. She pushed them down, inching them below my hips. And then, when I was bare-backed, my member hard, she leaned back and lifted her hips, just enough so I could pull her panties down to her ankles.
My mouth back on hers, I kissed her hard and fast—I couldn’t get enough of Sophie, would never get enough of her, but I had to at least try.
She tilted her hips up a little more and I slipped inside of her, loving how she closed her eyes and flicked them back open like she didn’t want to miss even a second of this.
While we moved together, my body rocking into hers, her nails tearing up my back, I caught a glimpse of the living room and imagined how it would look with furniture in it, how warm it would be with a family growing within these walls.
Sophie broke the kiss, her mouth moving to my shoulder, biting at the skin while I pushed in and out of her. She was moaning now. Soft growls emanated from her throat.
I gripped her thighs and she leaned back, bracing her hands on the counter as I pushed deeper into her, working harder than I’d ever worked before.
We were both sweating. I could feel it run down the nape of my neck, and I could see faint glistening beads on her chest. I chanced it and moved a hand from her hip to her breasts, making sure to massage lightly. She moaned, louder than I'd ever heard before, and then when my body was reaching that point where darkness met light, sound met silence, I gripped Sophie and moved her hips to roll with mine.
I didn’t want it to end, but I couldn’t stop it either, couldn’t stop the shudder running through my body. Sophie collapsed against me, her forehead resting on my shoulder. She was breathing hard. I was too.
“So, I take it you like the house?” I asked when I got my breath back.
“I love it.” She lifted her head and sat back, sliding her hands up my chest. “Just like I love you.”
CHAPTER 23
Sophie
When Alex told me he'd bought a house for us—the house I'd fallen in love with the very minute I had first driven past it many years ago—, I was stunned, gobsmacked to the point where my ears were ringing and my heart was flapping like bird wings in my chest.
It was a picture-perfect house that looked like something straight out ofCountry Living, with exposed beams, shiplap panels, an open floor plan, and exposed lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. A house I was madly in love with.
But then Alex mentioned the seller was in a hurry to close the deal because he was moving to the UK, and we could move a lot earlier than anticipated. That had brought up a wave of anxiety. There was just too much to do. Packing and moving and buying whatever was missing, considering the two of us didn’t exactly own a ton of furniture.
Moving while pregnant seemed like the worst idea. And on top of all that, I was still walking on eggshells with Vicki. Except the eggshells were a tightrope and I was ten stories up, waiting for that moment when I’d lose my balance and fall to my death, for that moment when
Vicki would come to her normal senses and take her anger out on me again.
I didn’t know what was worse, the silent treatment or the screaming.
But now, as the sunlight gushed through the window, bouncing off the freshly painted white walls of the nursery, it all felt worth it—the packing, the moving, the late evening unpacking. Every bit of time Alex and I spent together in our house was like a new conversation, a new adventure. We explored each room, spent hours deciding what shade of cream to paint the living room, even longer to decide if we wanted to convert the office into a library with an expansive built-in bookcase, and then playfully argued over the size of the dining room table.
Alex wanted a ten-seater, and I couldn’t imagine entertaining more than eight guests at a time.
Sitting down on the rocking chair, I gently pushed back and let it sway me back and forth. My eyes wandered to the framed pictures—one of a baby giraffe and the other of a baby elephant—hanging on the wall, the compactum and the wooden play gym supported over the changing mat, the cupboard with empty hangers, and then to Alex in the middle of the room.
He was tackling a crib. He had a deep crease on his forehead—though the expression on his face had changed drastically over the last hour, moving from “I got this” to “What the hell am I doing wrong?” Once I even heard him mutter, “Why are there so many screws?”
This Alex, kneeling on the hardwood floor, frowning deeply to make sense of the screws, was so different from the man I had met seven months ago, the man who had rear-ended my car and reluctantly offered to exchange information in that smug, arrogant way.
The Alex I knew now was anything but smug; he was everything I wanted in a man and more. Every day brought new discoveries, like the fact that Alex always started on his side of the bed, but somewhere in the night, I’d wake up to his limbs flung over my body. He refused to drink coffee before he brushed his teeth and he never, ever walked barefoot in the house—he wore either slippers or slops. He could also sense my mood the minute he walked through the door, and surprised me every Sunday morning with cinnamon buns.
He was a man who loved me, and I loved him.
“Pistachio or olive?” I said, holding up the two paint swatches I couldn’t choose between. Olive green was warm and earthy and gave that grounded feel to the room, whereas pistachio felt more lively, more cheerful. The decision was excruciating. Imagine if I got it wrong and spent the next year hating the nursery. “This is probably the most important decision of our lives, Alex. Choose wisely.”
