Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 125866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
He worshipped me like I was a goddess, like every inch of my skin must be touched and kissed and praised before he dared to slide inside me.
All the hell I’d been through, it was worth it.
Because I had firmly landed in heaven.
Kyle
There was something about seeing Madelyn in that hammock that put me in a wild state of being.
My eyes had laid upon many attractive women, but none so gorgeous as Madelyn James — because fuck if I was ever going to use that man’s last name on her again — right here, right now, in this moment.
Her bright copper hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, the edges of it sweaty and greasy from sunscreen. Those strands stuck to her forehead and neck in little swirls of metallic orange. I was particularly drawn to one strand that was clinging to her plump, pink bottom lip. Her skin was freshly bronzed and sporting new freckles — ones I took a lot of pleasure in peppering with welcome kisses each evening when we climbed into bed.
She wore an oversized pair of sunglasses and a black bikini, the triangle top of which struggled to contain her breasts, and the skimpy bottom of which was barely visible under her swollen belly.
And that was what turned me on the most.
How fucking cliché, I know.
I’d read it in a dozen baby books already, how expecting fathers have their own hormones running rampant — mostly when they looked at their partners and saw evidence that they’d impregnated them. It was so caveman, so fucking brute-like to think that I was being run by an archaic, natural instinct.
But fuck… I really was.
There was nothing sexier than Madelyn growing rounder each day. Any time she wore something tight-fitting or took her clothes off, I had to bite my knuckles and groan at the sight. I always made sure she was open to touching before I attempted — because I know if anyone tried to touch me while I was two seconds away from vomiting, I’d fucking deck them.
But the second trimester had been kinder to us, and now we were just entering the third, and Madelyn seemed to want my touches as much as I wanted to give them to her.
I relished every rub of her belly, every little kick I felt against my palm, every smile that graced Madelyn’s beautiful face when she saw me reacting to our daughter inside her.
I massaged her feet, her legs, her back, her neck — anything I could do to bring her relief. I even watched a fucking YouTube video on how to relieve some of the pressure from the baby. So, my new favorite thing was walking up behind Madelyn and wrapping my hands under her belly. I’d lift and hold the baby, the weight, while Madelyn moaned and sank into me like it was the best gift in the world.
This woman… this goddamn goddess. She was growing a human inside her, all while continuing to care for me, for Sebastian, for our home, for our lives.
She was fucking incredible.
I watched her from where I was situating a tray of fruit inside our private, over-the-water villa. The turquoise water of the Maldives spread out before us, making the sight of my pregnant, soon-to-be wife that much more picturesque. She had a notebook balanced on her knees, a pen scribbling lazily over the pages as she tapped her foot to the soft reggae music playing from the speaker I’d put out for her this morning.
This trip was for her.
In fact, I was pretty sure that sometime in the last several months, I’d silently decided that everything in my life was for her.
I’d pampered her with massages and facials and sound baths on this trip. I’d made sure she had any and all food she wanted — usually more at my insistence than hers. I’d waited on her as if I worked at this luxury fucking resort, and I didn’t care if it was the kind of behavior that would make my teammates call me a simp and rag on me endlessly.
She was literally carrying my daughter, making a human’s organs and body, creating a life.
It blew my fucking mind.
And, let’s be honest, I wasn’t immune to that part of a man who looked at his woman and thought fuck yeah, I put a baby in her.
Once the tray of fruit looked like something out of a goddamn food magazine, I carried it out onto our private wooden deck on one hand held high above my head, the other wrapped behind my back as if I were a butler.
“Madam, your afternoon snack,” I said, waving my free hand in a flourish before bowing and presenting the tray to her.
Madelyn smirked and sat up as much as she could in the sunken hammock, the netted one hanging just off the side of the wooden deck and over the water. She shut her notebook and slid the pen into the spiral that bound it as I sat the tray on the edge of the dock closest to her. I offered to take the notebook from her, and only once it was safely placed did I grab a chunk of pineapple and tumble into the hammock with her.