I place my hand on my belly. I know that I don’t look gigantic, but I feel it. Six months pregnant and I don’t honestly know how I’m going to make it until the end of my last trimester. I feel like I’m going to explode at any given moment.

“Hey Ging,” Free calls out as he walks into the bar.

It’s midday, which means this place will be full of Notorious Devils brothers for lunch. I lift my hand in a wave as I continue to wipe down the bar top. I’m cranky, and not just because I feel like a bloated whale, but because the girl running the night shift doesn’t do her fucking job.

Every morning the bar top is sticky, and the entire main room is full of empty bottles and trash. It’s completely disgusting. It’s twice the work for me, and I need to fire her ass. The problem is, I don’t want to work until three in the morning every morning. I’d rather enjoy my evenings alone with my man—not to mention my sleep.

I continue cleaning up, then when I’m finished, I take a beer over to Free and pop it down on the table in front of him. He lifts his eyes to me, arching a brow in question.

Unceremoniously, I plop myself down in the chair next to him. “Jacquie has to go,” I announce with a sigh.

“Didn’t want to tell you babe, but she fuckin’ sucks,” he murmurs, lifting his beer to his lips.

I almost, almost knock it out of his hand. “You’re just telling me now?” I ask.

He shakes his head once. “Babe, you knew she sucked. Gives great head, but really sucks at running a bar,” he chuckles.

“Oh gross, I’m going to puke on you,” I cringe.

He laughs and then the air shifts around me. I don’t even have to look to know who is walking into the bar. It’s Prescott. Tipping my head to the side, I watch him walk toward us. He doesn’t look anywhere but directly at me with each step he takes.

His long hair brushes his shoulders and his beard hides the expression on his lips, but I don’t need that because his eyes tell me everything I need to know.

He’s pissed.

“Free, go,” Prescott growls when he approaches.

“Yes, sir,” Free mumbles, picking up his glass and hurrying away from us.

I literally have zero clue why Prescott would be mad. I woke up this morning, got dressed, and came into the bar. The same thing I do every morning. I don’t question him though. I decide to wait him out, sometimes it’s just easier that way. He can be, a bit over-the-top, at times. He’d never admit it of course.

“Want to explain to me why you aren’t home, resting?” he asks, planting his fists on his hips.

My mouth forms a small O shape as I look up at him. “The doctor didn’t say it was mandatory,” I whisper.

Prescott’s gaze hardens and his jaw clenches. He doesn’t like my argument, but all I’ve done is state a fact. I’m not trying to be difficult, but I still have a business to run. I’ve only been back for a total of seven months, I’m still catching up.

Granted, the Notorious Devils’ men ran the bar while I was gone, and they did a decent job, but they didn’t do any paperwork or actual cleaning. They had whores, like Jacquie in here, and those bitches don’t clean for shit. This town isn’t heavily populated with people, so my choices for good help are slim pickins. Either I do it myself, or it won’t get done at this point.

“He said your blood pressure was on the high side, that you were obviously stressed, and needed to relax. Please tell me you were fucking paying attention to him when he spoke, Ginger,” he growls.

Oh, Ginger, he is pissed. Usually I’m peaches or Georgia peach, but Ginger—that’s never good. I sigh and lean back in the chair, tipping my face back a bit more. “I can’t leave the bar unattended. Jacquie is a shit employee, Pres. This place is a pigsty every single morning. I’m actually kind of afraid of what happens while I’m home at night. Until I have an employee I can trust, I need to be here, at least in the morning to clean up her disgusting mess,” I explain.

Prescott runs his hand over his face and through his hair, tugging on the long strands. “Woman,” he growls.

Without another word, he bends down and picks me up in his arms. I let out a cry, but he just shakes my body slightly. I honestly can’t believe he can pick my big ass up right now. He dips his chin and his deep green eyes focus directly on mine. “I’m taking your ass home, you’re resting. Don’t give me any fucking shit. This dive will do just fine without you breaking your back cleaning it,” he growls.

My heart begins to race in my chest, and not from excitement but from anger. I slap my hand down on his shoulder, but he doesn’t even flinch. I kick my legs, but he completely ignores my protests as he walks us toward his pickup truck.

He wrenches open the door and gently deposits me onto the seat, grabbing onto the seatbelt and locking it into place, and me, into the truck.

“If you make a move to get out of this truck, I’ll spank your ass right here in the middle of the parking lot,” he growls. Then his tongue gently slides along my neck. He traces the tattoo of his road name there—Snake.

Pressing my lips together, I cross my arms over my chest as he takes a step back. I hear him chuckle as he shuts the door. I watch him walk over to a small group of his brothers, Free, Crooner, and Motorhead who all turn to him when he arrives at their small circle.

Free’s eyes shift to me, and he gives me a smirk before he lifts his chin to Prescott. I narrow my own gaze at him, but it’s fruitless because he is completely focused on his president right now. All three of the men smile, and nod then they turn and walk into the bar.

Prescott doesn’t follow, he turns back toward me, and I watch him stomp in my direction. He looks no less pissed off than he did a few minutes ago, and inwardly I cringe.

I hate pissing him off, but Cash Bar is mine, my uncle’s only legacy and I spent almost an entire year away from it. I feel like I let my uncle down, and I need to get it back up and running, even better than it was before. To do that, I actually need to be there, and not on house arrest.

Prescott climbs into the driver’s seat and slams the door before starting the engine. I refuse to speak first, keeping my arms crossed over my chest like a pissed off toddler.

He may not like that I need to be at the bar, working, but that’s just the way it is. I’ll take today off, but tomorrow I’m going back down there and he won’t be able to stop me.

I glance over at my woman. She’s fucking infuriating. She’s also gorgeous when she’s pissed off. All I want to do is pull over and fuck her right here in the truck. Ignoring my hardening cock, I drive back to our place. My wife is stubborn as shit, and I have a feeling that I’ll need to be vigilant in keeping her home or she’s going to try and slip away from me.

Pulling into the driveway, she’s out of the pickup and marching up the walkway before I even have the fucker in park. Jogging up behind her, I slap my hand against the front door as she attempts to slam it shut.

“Ginger,” I growl.

She whirls around, her dark blonde hair flying in the air and gently floating down around her shoulders. Her brown eyes narrow and she places her hands on her hips as she glares at me. I almost laugh, because she’s nowhere near intimidating, but rather adorably sexy.

“What did you say to your cronies?” she demands.

I lift my hand and wrap it around the back of my neck, looking down at my boots as I smile. Cronies, the fuck, she’s hilarious sometimes. I shake my head once and attempt to wipe the smile off of my lips.

“I told them to work the bar today, and to find fucking decent staff to interview. You aren’t working there anymore. You can do the bookkeeping from home, but being down there, on your feet. No way in hell,” I state.

She stomps and makes a noise in the back of her throat. “You are so controlling, Prescott. Fuck, it drives me insane, you know that don’t you?” she hisses.

I close the distance between us, reaching out to wrap my hand around the side of her neck. My palm covers my brand on her skin. I swear to fuck it sends warmth through my entire body that it’s there, that I can see it, and touch it. That she’s mine in all ways possible.

“I’m not controlling, peaches. I fucking worry about you, I care about you,” I state.

I am controlling, I’m controlling as fuck, but it’s because I love her. I know what it’s like to live without her—I’m never doing it again. I fucking refuse. She drops her arms and rolls her eyes but a small smile tugs on her pretty pink lips.

“Yeah, okay,” she whispers. “I can compromise,” she mutters.

My eyes widen in surprise and disbelief. The woman can’t compromise, not in the slightest, but I bite the inside of my cheek instead of pointing that fact out to her. No need to piss her off any more than I already have.

“No more cleaning the bar or being on your feet,” I grumble, squeezing her neck gently.

She sighs heavily, and her brown eyes meet mine. “Fine, but I seriously need some good, trustworthy help, Pres. Also, I need to be able to go down there a few times a week just to pop in, make sure everything is running the way it should be,” she adds.

I grin. My woman. The fucking negotiator. “I’ll take you there, and you don’t work when you go. You do nothing but delegate.”

Her eyes brighten, and she lifts up on her toes, pushing her lips together. Leaning down, I press my lips against hers in a swift kiss. She doesn’t allow me to pull away immediately, her tongue sneaks out and traces the seam of my lips. I let out a grunt as my hand leaves her neck to find purchase against her plump ass.

Ginger’s mouth opens with a sigh and I slip my tongue inside of her. I taste her, swirling my tongue inside of her warm mouth, fucking her as I grab ahold of both of her ass cheeks, squeezing them hard. When she whimpers, I’m fucking done for.

“Prescott,” she moans. My lips move down her jaw. I find my favorite part of her neck, my mark, and I lick the scroll of her tattoo. “I need more,” she whispers against my ear. I need more too, my cock aches as it presses against my zipper.

I want nothing more than to throw her on the sofa and fuck her hard and fast, however the baby in her belly causes me to pause. I can’t be as rough as I want to be, and our positions are limited.

I lick my way back up to her earlobe and nip the skin there. “Upstairs, strip for me.” She shivers and then takes a step back from me.

Her eyelids are hooded, and I watch as she wets her lips before she turns and hurries up the staircase toward our bedroom. I give her just a few seconds head start before I follow behind her.

I start to undress as I go, hanging my cut on the bedroom doorknob before I pull my shirt off and throw it on the floor. Toeing my boots off, then shoving my jeans and boxers down before stepping out of them.

Ginger is already naked by the time I make it to the bed. She’s on her knees in the center of the mattress and her brown eyes are staring right at my cock. It jumps from the attention, which causes her breath to hitch and a small chuckle to escape my mouth.

She crooks her finger, and my legs automatically move toward the bed. Without a word, she lowers onto all fours and wraps her lips around the head of my dick. I let out a groan at the feel of her wet mouth as she envelops me. Her tongue slides over the seam of my head and I shudder.

She releases me only to slide her warm tongue along the underside of my cock, causing me to groan as my eyes slide shut.

I stay still, resisting the urge to fuck her throat. Flexing and balling my fists at my side, over and over, I try to take in and release calming breaths.

Suddenly, her mouth is gone, and I feel her lips press a kiss to the tip of my cock. My eyes fly open and I look down. “You need to lose some control, Pres,” she whispers.

I shake my head. “I don’t want to hurt you, peaches,” I explain.

The doctor scared the absolute shit out of me yesterday. He told us that if her blood pressure gets any higher, she’ll be on mandatory bedrest in the hospital. He even said that she could possibly deliver this baby early—too early. I don’t want to do anything to hurt her or the baby.

Ginger laughs softly, wrapping her hand around my cock and begins to stroke me, her grip firm enough to make me groan, yet not enough to get me off. “I asked the doctor about sex yesterday. He told me regular activities were fine, Pres,” she breathes.

“Normal activities? How does he know what we do is normal? Maybe I’m rougher than most men and he has no fucking clue,” I mutter, my hips thrusting with her strokes.

She laughs and smirks at me. “Fuck my mouth, Pres. Then, fuck my pussy.”

I don’t get a chance to argue with her, she releases her hold on my dick and swallows me practically whole. I let out a shout as my hand flies to the back of her head, twisting my fingers in her hair, holding on for dear fucking life.

I’m unable to hold back, my control fucking snaps as soon as her throat wraps around my dick. I fuck her mouth, my eyes staying on hers, assuring that I don’t hurt her. I watch as Ginger breathes through her nose, her eyes watering but hooded. Then one of her hands disappears, and I know my girl, she’s getting off just as much as I am on this.

Pulling out of her mouth after a few pumps of my hips, I have a desire for something else warm and tight. She doesn’t hesitate, she rises to her knees and then turns around, bending over again and showing me her gorgeous ass and pussy, offering them for the taking.

Grabbing ahold of the globes of her ass, I squeeze the plump flesh spreading her apart. Gazing at her sweet center, I let out a hum.

“Pres, hurry, I’m dying,” she whines.

Sliding my cock through her folds, she moans when it grazes her clit. I want to tease her a little more, but I can’t, I need to be inside of her too fucking bad. Pressing the head of my dick against her slick entrance, I slowly slide inside of her wet heat. Slipping one of my hands around her hip, I press two fingers against her clit, and I wrap my other hand around one of her ass cheeks.

“Move, move, move,” she chants as she swivels, and tries to force my hips to thrust.

I chuckle behind her, knowing how needy she is, seeing it—it’s sexy as fuck and I don’t want it to end. I pull out of her, then slowly slip all the way back inside to the root. Repeating my motion, again, and then again for the third time, I groan. She’s warm, so wet, and I fit so snuggly inside of her.

My instinct is to ram into her, slam my hips against her, bruise her and take her—own her. However, no matter what she claims, I don’t want to hurt her either. So, I take her slowly, fucking her with precise, lazy strokes, building us both higher and higher.

Ginger mewls beneath me, her hips pushing back as I thrust forward, causing me to groan each time. I gently touch her clit, circling it with featherlight touches of my fingertips. “I’m so close,” she rasps. I know she is. I can feel her pussy flutter around me.

I feel my own back tingle and my balls tighten, signaling that I’m just as close as she is. I grunt, not wishing for it to be over, but sure that it will be soon. Rubbing firmer circles around her clit, I begin to thrust a little harder on each down stroke.

Ginger’s hips crash against mine, with more force. I let out a groan, closing my eyes as my head falls back. Her pussy clenches around me as she cries out and only then do I allow myself to lose a bit more control.

Moving my hands to wrap around her hips, I pull her back as I thrust forward. I slam into her tight, pulsing cunt, repeatedly, until I bury myself deep inside of her and I come—hard. “Fuck,” I groan, folding over her back, my cock still twitching inside of her wet pussy.

“Now, will you rest a little,” I murmur against her back. She harrumphs before she lets out a yawn.

“Dammit,” she whispers.

I gently slide out from between her legs, hating to leave the warmth of her body. Making my way to the bathroom, I dampen a cloth with warm water, then return to her, cleaning her up. Ginger’s breath hitches as she shifts her hips, obviously enjoying the way the cloth feels against her sensitive pussy.

“Rest, peaches,” I grunt.

“Will you hold me?” she asks as she crawls over to her side of the bed. I watch her slip between the sheets.

Throwing the wet cloth toward the open bathroom door, I slip into bed myself. I’m not tired in the least, but I can tell that she is, and she needs me.

Ginger curls against my side, wrapping her arm around my waist as her rounded belly rests against my own. I slip one arm around her shoulders, sliding my hand to her hip, then I place my other hand on her stomach.

“You feeling okay?” I ask. She hums but doesn’t say anything else.

A few seconds later her body becomes extremely heavy and I know she’s fallen asleep. I stay with her for about an hour just enjoying the way she feels pressed against me.

My phone rings from my jeans pocket across the room and as president, I, unfortunately, cannot ignore it. I leave Ginger peacefully sleeping, before I grab it and answer the call, gently closing the bedroom door behind me.