Shane wasn’t kidding when he said careful pregnancy sex. After he carries me back to our bed and lays me down, he strips off his sweatpants and pulls my nightgown over my head. Then he crawls between my open thighs and settles himself down.

“You might as well get comfortable, sweetheart,” he says. “I plan to take my time.”

“You’re going to torture me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little. But I’ll do it very carefully, I promise.”

A very unladylike snort escapes me. This man. I shake my head. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

He smiles. “A few times. But keep it up. It’s good for my self-esteem.”

I laugh. “I think your self-esteem is just fine.”

When he flicks my clitoris with the tip of his tongue, my back bows off the bed and I cry out.

He lays his hand on my abdomen. “Lie still. No thrashing.”

“I’m not thrashing.”

“Yes, you are. We have to be careful.”

I roll my eyes, knowing full well he’s enjoying this way too much. “Oh, please.”

He really wasn’t kidding when he said carefully. He makes love to me with gentle licks and swipes of his tongue, teasing and swirling and ratcheting up my arousal to a fever pitch. I moan shamelessly. “Shane, please,” I say, trying to pull him closer. I want him inside me.

“Shh.” He runs his middle finger through my wetness, then sinks it slowly inside me, working it deeper and deeper until he finds what he’s looking for. As he strokes that tender spot inside me, I feel another slippery finger teasing the rosette of my anus.

“Oh, God,” I moan, realizing his intentions. Since I met Shane, I’ve discovered more erogenous zones than I ever knew existed. It’s been an eye-opening revelation. I had no idea back there was an erogenous zone until Shane proved it to me with a life-altering orgasm. “Not fair!” I groan.

“Everything’s fair in love and war, but especially in love. Now relax and let me in. It’s just a finger. You can handle that.”

I take a deep breath and force myself to relax, allowing him to work his slick finger inside my tight back hole. His thumb brushes against my clit, making me shiver, and he leans forward to kiss me. I’m panting now, overwhelmed by the two-pronged assault. His thumb circling my clit and his slippery finger gently nudging its way inside my tight anus is driving me insane.

“Shh, lie still,” he whispers against my lips. “Just relax and feel it.”

“You’re killing me,” I wail plaintively.

He drinks in my desperate cries, unrelenting in his teasing and stroking. Eventually, his finger works its way in, and I’m relaxed enough now to let him stroke my there inside. It’s not long before an explosive orgasm hits me, one that makes me cry out loud enough to shake the rafters.

Shane surges above me and swallows my cries. “That’s my girl,” he says, smiling down at me. His torturous fingers leave my body and he sinks his hips between my wet, trembling thighs. Ever so gently, he guides the head of his erection to my wetness and presses inside just enough to sink the broad crown. I sigh, feeling swamped with pleasurable feelings. Both my clit and my back side are still tingling from my orgasm, and now his erection is filling me, stretching my soft, wet tissues. With my good hand, I stroke his back, urging him to move, to give in to his own needs. But he holds steady.

“I love you,” he says, suddenly very serious. “You’re it for me. Everything starts and stops with you. You know that, right?’

I nod, feeling my throat tighten. And I realize how foolish I was to ever doubt him, even for a second. He gives everything of himself to me, everything. There’s nothing left for him to give anyone else. He’s mine, just as I’m his.

He kisses me senseless as his hips begin to rock forward and back. As he works himself gently inside me, my body softens to accommodate him.

I gasp at the size of him, as he slowly stretches me. “Oh, God, Shane.”

He drinks in my whimpers and the keening cries I can’t hold back. Once seated fully inside me, he pauses a moment, giving me time to adjust.

I grab hold of his bicep, clenching it tightly when my pulse begins to race. I take a deep breath, trying to relax, but it’s not helping, and suddenly I’m breathing too fast and too hard. My lungs feel like they’re being squeezed, and I can’t catch my breath. I feel pinned down, caged in, and suddenly claustrophobic. I push against his chest in our prearranged signal, alerting him that I’m about to have a panic attack. “Shane.”

Immediately, he rolls us to our sides so that we’re lying face to face, still joined together. He hitches my thigh up over his, giving him better access, and he withdrawals then sinks back inside me. “Is this better?”

I nod, able to breathe again and relax as he strokes smoothly and steadily in and out of me. As I’m drifting on a cloud of residual pleasure, he picks up his pace. When his muscles tense, I know he’s close. I clench my vaginal muscles, and he grits his teeth, grimacing with pleasure.

“Fuck!” He throws his head back, the tendons in his throat stretched taut, as he releases a steady stream of liquid heat inside me. Over and over, he erupts inside me, his cock bucking as he fills me.

He gives me long, languid kisses as his orgasm wanes. After he pulls out, he disappears into the bathroom and returns with a warm, wet washcloth to clean me up with. Afterward, I roll onto my side and he spoons against my backside, his arm around my waist.

Warm, sated, and happy, I slip quickly into sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Shane and I enjoy a leisurely breakfast together at the kitchen counter. Between the two of us, we managed to prepare scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee (mine decaf) without burning a thing. Cooper would be proud of us.

As Shane’s making our second cups of coffee with the Keurig machine, I scroll through the news headlines on my phone, and one of the stories catches my attention. It’s about a celebrity powerhouse couple who are tying the knot – the focus of the story is their mutual prenuptial agreements. And that makes me realize Shane and I have never even discussed a prenuptial agreement.

At first, I find the topic a bit depressing. The prospect of entering into a marriage with a fail-safe mechanism already in place seems to be admitting defeat from the outset. I don’t want to marry Shane just to divorce him in a few years. I’m marrying him because I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And the truth is, if something does happen to our marriage and we want to end it for some unfathomable reason, I wouldn’t even take any of his money. It’s his money – he built his company and his fortune from the ground up. It’s not mine, and I don’t feel entitled to any of it.

Considering his net worth, though, having a prenuptial agreement in place is a prudent step. I’m sure Troy has counseled him already on the need for an agreement.

I smile as he hands me my second cup of coffee for the morning – this one a French vanilla decaf. “Has Troy talked to you about drawing up a prenuptial agreement?”

He freezes in the act of reaching for his own second cup of coffee. “What in the world made you think to ask that?”

I shrug. “Isn’t it customary when one party brings a lot more wealth into the marriage than the other party? You’re worth a fortune, so it only makes sense we’d have one.” I strive to sound very matter of fact about the whole issue, but I have to admit the whole idea makes me uneasy.

“Troy mentioned it, yes,” he says, hedging a bit.

I nod, fully intending to be a realist about this. I’m not going to get bent out of shape just because he has certain financial assets he needs to protect. I totally get that. “Good. Naturally, he would. It just didn’t occur to me before now. I’ll be happy to sign whatever you want me to sign.”

“Beth.” Shane lays his hand on mine and links our fingers together. “I’m not asking you to sign a prenuptial agreement.”

“It’s standard procedure, right? When one partner comes into the marriage with a significant amount of wealth? It just makes sense. I’m totally fine with it.”

He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. “No prenup.”

“Shane, be realistic. You have a great deal of wealth, and naturally – ”

He interrupts my sensible speech with a kiss. “I said no.”

“What did Troy say about that?” I know Troy tells Shane like it is.

“He wasn’t happy, but I don’t care. You’re not signing a prenup, and that’s that. End of story.”

Shane picks up his phone when it chimes. “Miguel’s here, asking to come up.”

Shane gives Miguel the passcode to operate the private elevator. A few moments later, we hear the ding signaling the arrival of the elevator car.  The doors slide open, and out steps Miguel.

“Hey, guys,” he says, entering the great room. He’s dressed in dark jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. And I’m sure there’s a gun holster underneath that jacket.

“Would you like some breakfast or coffee?” Shane says.

Miguel shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’m good.” Then he looks my way. “How are you feeling, Beth?”

“I feel great. I was a little queasy this morning, as usual, but hot food and coffee perked me right up, pardon the pun.”

I hop down from my counter stool, then kiss Shane before heading to our suite to brush my teeth and grab my purse and jacket. When I return, I arrive just in time to hear the tail end of their conversation.

“And try to keep her in the bookstore,” Shane says to Miguel. “If she absolutely insists on going somewhere, go by vehicle. I don’t want her out walking right now. At least not until we’ve got this hit-and-run case resolved.”

Miguel nods. “Got it.”

Shane’s already dressed for work, so he escorts us downstairs to the front lobby, where Miguel and I hail a taxi to take us to Clancy’s.

“Be safe,” Shane says, drawing me into his arms for a goodbye kiss. “If you get tired or don’t feel well, come straight home and call me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”