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“You bet your ass I was. You’re mine. They can stare all they want because I take it as a compliment but eye fucking you? Over my dead body.” And when everyone around me started staring open-mouthed at me, I raised my brow and then it hit me, my cheek had hit the speaker button.
“Whoops,” I said as I tapped the speaker button.
“Why are you saying whoops?” Gabriella asked as I took the change, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the store and to my bike.
“My cheek hit the speaker button.”
I could practically hear her nod as laughter followed. Shaking my head, I told her I loved her and then hung up the phone.
I barely made it in the door when I heard, “Gimmie. Gimmie. Gimmie.” She called out as she raced down the hall to meet me in nothing but my t-shirt and those knee-high socks she loves so much.
Snorting, I handed the bags over to her, and when she opened one and inhaled, I swear she made a sound that I didn’t even hear in the bedroom.
And before she turned to the bedroom to devour the contents, she stepped closer to me, got on her tiptoes, and puckered her lips.
Kissing her back, I laughed as she all but spun a one-eighty and headed straight to our bedroom.
That gorgeous ass was swaying even though she was waddling.
At first, I had felt terrible about getting her pregnant.
Only because of how tiny she is and how big I am.
So, there I lay with my head on my woman’s belly, talking softly to my baby while my woman chowed down on all of the goodies I had brought her.
Normally, I would have asked for a piece of fudge, but I learned in the early stages of this pregnancy never to take food from a pregnant woman.
Because she was going to flip the killer psycho switch that lived in all pregnant women.
Which was why not even a few minutes later there was a piece of the decadent fudge in my face.
Smiling, I grabbed it, pressed a kiss on her belly which told her thanks, and ate my piece of fudge.
***
“Honey, I can see it on your face. It’s practically green.” I told her as another smell of fish wafted towards us. Even at thirty-eight weeks, my woman still couldn’t handle the smell of fish. She fucking hated it.
However, she hadn’t gotten ill when we had that Cajun boil a few weeks ago at the clubhouse, so I had thought that this place would be okay. It obviously wasn’t.
“You want to eat here, Caiden. You’ve had enough of not being able to do what you want to do. I won't stand for it anymore.” She said as she spoke with her nose pinched closed.
I shook my head then, “Even at the expense of you puking your guts up. I’m one lucky motherfucker.” Then I looked at the hostess, and said, “The smells are making her sick. Please cancel our reservation.”
“Caiden!” She exclaimed as I did that, not giving a damn how it sounded to them.
Turning so my chest was pressed to hers, I bent slightly so I didn’t put any pressure on her protruding belly. Then I placed my hand on the side of her neck, lowered my head, and said, “You are the light of my life, darlin’. I’ll always put you first. Our children second, and the club third. I don’t care that I’ve been wanting to eat here. I care about you.”
Tears immediately welled in her eyes as she muttered, “Freaking hormones.”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out as I wiped a tear that escaped and ran down her cheek while saying, “Come on gorgeous, let’s go eat at that place over on Fourth Street.”
“We ate there last week.” She told me. I knew she felt bad, but she didn’t need to. I enjoyed hearing her moan more than I did the food, and that was A-okay in my book.
After we ate, we went by the clubhouse to see what was going on, where we stayed for an hour and then headed home.
We had just laid down when I felt my woman tense.
And then I felt it, the wetness around my knees.
