Smooth skin, warm beneath my fingertips.

I inhale the familiar scent—nicotine, spiced cologne, sweat—and breathe out slowly. I know this man, inside and out. There was a time, not too long ago, when I thought I might never touch him again, but any remaining doubt faded when he took to one knee and asked me to be his wife.

I’m marrying Lucas Hammer.

The words, even in my mind, still send a delicious thrill up my spine. If he hadn’t taken out a full-page ad in the Chronicle, I might not have believed it myself. These days, it’s getting a lot easier to believe in the good things.

My gaze drops to my belly, not yet showing the baby growing inside. Lucas doesn’t know he’ll be a father—I’m waiting for just the right moment to tell him. I study his sleep-relaxed face.

Lucas shivers when I draw a fingertip across his torso, dipping down to the sharp V where his hard stomach and pelvis meet. He always shakes when I touch him, as though he can’t quite believe I’m still around. My eyes glisten with happiness. As if there is anywhere else I’d rather be.

“Lucas?”

His eyes open a slant, then lazily close. He flicks his tongue across his bottom lip and murmurs something incomprehensible before drifting back to sleep.

“Babe?” I murmur again, waiting for him to stir. He rolls on to his side, facing me, pulls the blankets up to his neck and yawns. He isn’t awake yet—that will take a few minutes. I know this about him too. Gently, I snake my hand under the sheets and give him a shake.

His lips twitch. He moans.

But he’s still not quite awake.

Time for me to have a little fun.

Taking advantage, I lean in to kiss him. His hand immediately goes to the back of my neck, so that his fingers can tangle and tug at my hair. “Now you’re up,” I say, my lips hovering over his.

He resumes the kiss, sucking my tongue gently into his mouth, while he takes my hand and guides it to his cock. It’s already hard. I close my palm around it and he groans. “Definitely up,” he says.

I press my forehead against his and smile as my hand slides up and down his cock with the slow rhythm I know he likes best. I know every inch of him, how he feels, how he tastes. I lick my lips, eager to have him in my mouth. Shifting position, I begin a trail of light kisses at his throat, dragging my tongue down to the cleft of his collarbone. At his nipple, I linger, circling each tiny pebble with my mouth, before moving down his torso. I hover again at his pelvis, my lips mere millimeters from his cock, and blow out a warm breath.

His mouth opens in a sigh.

Lucas lifts his hips, and the head of his cock swipes across my bottom lip.

His sharp intake of breath comes out as a low groan. “Fuck me…”

I flick the tip of his penis with my tongue. It jerks in response, as though trying to bend toward my mouth. I reach down and grab his scrotum, cupping his balls in my palm with one hand, while the other grips the base of his cock.

Another moan vibrates from his throat.

My mouth lowers over the head of his cock, warm against my cool lips. I open wider, allowing space for his sheath to slide in and out. I take him deep, all the way, allowing my throat muscles to go lax.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’,” he says, moaning.

The hum of his approval makes my chest fill with pride. Here, in this moment, nothing else matters but his complete satisfaction.

Lucas lifts his hips, thrusting his cock deeper into my mouth. He withdraws slowly, then thrusts again. I get so lost in the rhythm that when he pulls out completely, I’m gulping at air.

“I want you,” he says.

You have me.

All of me.

I crawl up alongside him, pushing my naked body against his. It’s so familiar now, like we’re the final linking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Together, we complete the picture. I look up at him for a second—my breath hitching—before moving my body up to straddle him. My fingers dig into his chest, almost hard enough to break skin. He doesn’t flinch. He grabs my hips and I let my head fall back so that my hair brushes against my shoulders and back.

My nipples tighten, craving his mouth.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

Lucas slides his hands between us until his knuckle presses against my clitoris. He rocks his hand against me. His hands are big and strong, but he knows the exact amount of pressure. I guess he knows me inside and out, too.

I begin to rock my hips, back and forth, while his thumb toys my clit. Working in tandem, we pick up speed. I start to pant. A low noise like a growl rumbles out of him, and I know he’s close to release. I ease off, slowing down, wanting—needing—to prolong this moment.

Lucas wondered if getting engaged would somehow kill the passion between us, but it’s only intensified, the diamond on my finger giving me the kind of confidence to try new things. So much of our relationship began in secret, always having to act like we weren’t together, when in reality we could hardly stand to be apart.

It’s almost as if we’re making up for lost time now.

We leave for the office together, attend events as a unit, come home as a couple. Our engagement was prominently displayed on the social pages of worldwide media—Marnie and Liz even threw a party.

A part of me wonders whether he’ll show our baby off the same way.

I thread my fingers through Lucas’s and pin his wrists to the mattress, while my hips continue to rock back and forth. He lifts his head and takes a nipple between his teeth. A soft bite, a sweet suck, the aggressive flick of his tongue. I arch my back to give him more of me, practically begging him to devour my breasts.

He matches my movements, hip thrust for hip thrust. We know each other’s rhythm, the pressure points that will bring us each to the brink. Lucas knows the exact way to press his pelvis to my clit, and he does so now.

My control begins to unravel.

I have no willpower when it comes to this man.

Lucas lifts his hips with a powerful grunt. Our lips crash together, and I get swept up in the orgasm. Rushing waves of pleasure shake through me, and I cry out into mouth over and over as the thrusts get deeper.

I bite down on the curve of his shoulder and he jerks once. And then again. I can almost feel his climax build. He grabs my hips and guides me faster, harder, until I almost can’t breathe. His fingernails dig into my skin, and his eyes almost roll back into his head.

He finishes with a low, soft cry against me.

I flatten my chest against his. Our skin is slick with sweat, and beneath it, our heart beats pulse in tandem, as if they can somehow become one.

It’s then that it hits home—soon a third heartbeat will join in. A lazy smile curls my lip up.

* * *

Lucas emerges from the shower in a navy terry cloth robe, and settles into the bar stool at the kitchen nook. I pour him a cup of coffee, holding the pot while he swallows the first few gulps, and then refill his mug.

He wraps his palms around the cup and smiles.

My breath hitches. No matter how well I know this man, my response to him always surprises me. People say that heady rush of love fades at some point, but I can’t imagine how. Lucas can make my knees weak with a stare. That’s not something I ever want to end.

“Italian roast?” he says, lifting an eyebrow.

“Your favorite.”

He takes another sip. “But it’s too strong for you.”

I wait for him to notice that I’m not drinking coffee, but an article on the front page of the New York Times catches his eye. He skims the story, and while he’s distracted, I slide a small paper bag on the counter.

He looks up and frowns. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you.”

His eyebrow lifts, intrigued. That’s another thing I know about Lucas—he’s generous and thoughtful, and he loves to give gifts. He also likes to receive them.

“It isn’t even my birthday.” He tugs the bag closer and lifts the edge. I thought about giving him the positive pregnancy test, but that just seemed so cliché.

I put my hands on my hips. “Just open it. I promise, it doesn’t bite.”

Yet. My mind flash forwards a few years and I imagine a teething baby, his tiny jaws closing in around his daddy’s unsuspecting finger. The thought makes me giggle.

Lucas reaches into the bag and pulls out the small T-shirt. It’s black, plain on the back, but when Lucas flips it over, the silver lettering of the Metallica logo shimmers under the kitchen lights.

He blinks. “It’s…”

“A collector’s item,” I say, for which I have paperwork to prove. That eases some of the confusion, but Lucas’s lips are pressed together like he’s still very perplexed.

He holds the tiny shirt up and smiles. “It’s kind of small,” he says.

“Actually, I think it will be a perfect fit.”

He laughs. “Sure, for a ba—” I can almost hear the gears clink together. His eyes grow wide and shimmery, and for a second I think he might cry. His Adam’s Apple bobs. “Are you serious?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek and nod.

I’ll probably always remember how he looks in this moment. Shocked. Elated. Blissfully in love. He jumps off the stool and comes around to envelop me in a hug. He kisses my lips softly and then pulls away.

“We’re going to be a family,” I whisper.

He knows what it means to me. Tears stream down my cheeks.

“I hope those are happy tears,” Lucas says softly, caressing my cheek with his thumb.

“Yes. Definitely.”

I think about everything that’s changed for me, and for us. How we’ve come together, finally letting go and giving into the love we both feel.

Giving in fully.

Lucas has been going to therapy and he’s like a different person now. He’s even started resuming contact with family and friends from his past. I’m no longer worried about what might happen with his anger.

To think that two people can help one another grow and change and become who they were meant to be…it fills me completely.

“What’s going through that head of yours right now?” he asks.

“Just thinking I wish my parents were here,” I whisper. “But I am happy. So happy, I just wish they could see it.”

“Maybe they do,” he says.

And somehow, I feel that it’s true.

There’s a circle that’s been completed. I’m going to be a mom now. I’m going to know what it’s like to care for and cherish a little life, to guide it to adulthood.

And I’m going to do it with the man of my dreams.

“There’s that smile,” he says, kissing my lips.

I giggle a little and feel my cheeks redden. He can still make me blush, even now.

I have a feeling he’ll still be making me blush in thirty years. And something like that is rare. It’s a gift.

And I’m never going to let it slip away.