“What’s your color, Leila?”

I made a face before I could temper my reply. I didn’t say the words, ‘Green, duh!’ aloud, but it was all over my face. The exasperation that tainted my arousal didn’t satiate his need to treat me with kid gloves.

Well, he’s definitely not holding back now. My color was green, but that was before I frowned and his hot fingers turned into pincers and the pain monsooned the pleasure.

I tried to breathe through it, tears stinging my eyes as I defiantly glared back at him “Wanna re-ask me that question?”

He let go, but the storm in his eyes was still raging. A few moments ago, when I assured him that I was only three months along and had a clean bill of health and all but a nudge and wink from my OB to go forth and get my freak on, I still saw him treading water. His ocean blue eyes were listless and wary, like he still saw me in that hospital bed.

Jacob loved me. From the tented front of his boxer briefs, he was lusting for me, craving some us time too. But the way forward wasn’t to take baby steps. To ask me for my color every five seconds, pulling us both out of the moment.

Like now.

Neither of us wanted to back down.

“You are quite possibly the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.” I heard the frustration in his voice. Felt it when he reached for me, combing his fingers through my curly locks before he clutched a fistful and tugged. Forced my chin up. My gaze to meet his. The scene wasn’t over, with my Dom kissing it better with his touch. With the silky cream he massaged into my tender flesh. Still, I knew a time-out of sorts had been called.

I had a million and one things to say; about the fainting spell that sent me to the hospital, finding out we were having a baby. The way my co-workers tiptoed around me, like my water would break at any moment and they didn’t want us to be responsible. About the paparazzi who had become a constant and persistent fixture in our life now that the Whitmore baby was on the way. But none of it compared to the frustration of not being able to leave all that at the door. To unplug and disconnect and scratch our collective kinky itches.

I didn’t want my husband to tiptoe around me. I wanted him to trust that I trusted him. That I would speak up. It would probably help if I did some actual speaking instead of letting all this angst simmer and grow teeth.

Jacob before all of this? The hard tug would have been a prologue to forcing me to my feet. Bending me over something. Giving me a spanking that would leave no doubt as to who was the Dom and who was the submissive. Instead, his grip slackened.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but it was so encompassing, so raw that I felt every syllable echo through me.

He left his fingers tangled up in me, but his face told me he was already out of this space. Feeling guilty. Like he was being too rough. Too selfish.

“Don’t what?” he followed, his tone tentative. Edged with remorse.

That’s what brought me pain. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt free, but when I was submitting to Jacob, I got pretty darn close.

Tell him that.

Tell him it’s okay.

“Don’t stop.”

His fingers twitched and his face...the expression on it was pure bliss.

And pure hunger.

Those sharp angles wanted me, wanted this escape as badly as I did. But he needed more than colors. More than glares. He needed me to show him that I was right where I wanted to be.

“I need this, Sir.” I wasn’t too proud to beg. I even tested the constraints of our play. I pulled away, the sparks of pain racing along my scalp. It was barely a tingle compared to the warmth that throbbed between my thighs. The pulsing intensified as I spun around, putting my palms where my behind had been. Showing him the bare flesh that was ripe for the taking.

I held my breath, dizzy with lust. Praying that he’d turn off everything else but this, just for awhile. He could go back to being my domineering, over protective husband after he turned my skin the color that was inside the secret part of me.

The part of me that kept no secrets from him.

“Are you trying to provoke me?” His voice gave nothing away and I could have come on the spot. It was his Dom voice. His impassive, there-will-be-no-debate-here-because-I’m-Jacob-fucking-Whitmore voice.

When he rounded my hips, his fingers like electric jolts rushing through me, I knew that I was gonna get what I wanted...and then some.

Still, I curled my fingers as I gripped the chair. Arched my back and said the word that sealed my fate.

“Maybe.”

The first strike almost made my knees buckle. Not from agony. Not because it was too much.

It was just right.

Submitting to Jacob felt like going home.

I held my smile as tightly as I held the cushion, pain flitting through me like some dark butterfly. I counted off, my voice as solid as his palm.

“One...”

*

"MOMMY IS GONNA KILL us."

Jacob's voice rippled through the monitor, bringing a smile to my face as I rolled on my side to take a look at the damage. It was only the best for our Hope, which meant I got to see every bit of breakfast that didn't make it into Hope's mouth in high definition. The smells that wafted upstairs cued me into what was on the menu. Eggs, of the scrambled variety from the pieces that Hope gathered, making it rain yellow and white. Bananas were her favorite and from her squeals, Daddy cut up a whole one. Knowing Hope, she probably ate half of it and had the rest smeared in her chocolate colored locks.

This was a three course meal, milk filling the tray in front of her; her very own pool to splash around in with her hands. Jacob surveyed the damage and looked genuinely ill, probably wondering how I or my mother did it without creating such a disaster. Breakfast was my forte and Jacob used his culinary skills to make bite sized pieces of food that minimized messes. Even then, I covered her in a smock that could take on whatever Hope could dish out.

I bit my lip to stifle my laughter as I rolled out of bed. He was trying to rationalize with a one year old, begging her to not wear her cereal bowl as a hat while he searched for the paper towels. Poor guy. He passed the paper towel stage ages ago. A hose was the next best thing.

I knew I could put him out of his misery, before he called up the property's complimentary cleaning service, hoping he could handle the mess before I woke up. I'd definitely seen and cleaned up worst before I realized that if I gave her a buffet of food, she'd paint the room (and herself) with it. Ultimately, I learned to not sweat the mess. To embrace it. Babies are messy. I was just glad we still had a bit before she was completely mobile and started drawing on the walls and getting into anything that didn't have a childproof lock on it.

I decided to mess with him a little bit. After all, we were overdue for that ravaging he'd hinted at a few days ago after my meeting with Rich. By the time I got home, fed Hope, and tackled some press releases and thoughts on rehabbing Rich's image, Hope and I were both out cold. A quick kiss in the morning and a full day at the office for us both and before I knew it, the week was gone and he'd seemingly forgotten all the naughty things he'd hinted at.

I hadn't forgotten.

I smiled to myself as I pulled on a t-shirt and shorts, tying my curly locks into a bun.  Clean up first, then maybe we'll get dirty all over again...

Wet slaps were followed by Hope giggling and saying 'Dada'. He was still trying to find cleaning supplies. Our daughter was repeating his new favorite word over and over, with different inflections like she was trying to explain why she was covered in her breakfast.

I paused at the landing, snuffing out my grin when I saw Jacob streaking back and forth. Putting out one fire just as Hope created a new one, flinging food in his direction like they were playing a game. If this was a game, Jacob was one Cheerio away from conceding defeat.

"What's going on down there?"

I took a page from his book, my voice booming from my chest and cutting through the noise and hustle. Jacob froze, his blue eyes shooting to the staircase. Even Hope paused Breakfast: The Musical long enough to gawk at me before she let out a squeal and said my favorite word: Ma. I didn't get two syllables, but it still filled me up with all the light in the world every time it came out of her mouth. Even when it was followed by her taking a slice of banana, putting it in her mouth, taking out said chewed banana and inspecting it, then putting it back in for round 2.

My husband wasn't a man that was conquered by anything, but he didn't bother downplaying the current state of affairs, either. He put down the roll of paper towels, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I wanted to feed her, then bring you breakfast in bed-"

"Looks like you're still working on the first part," I said, making a face as I stepped into the kitchen and right into something warm and mushy. I glanced at the floor and saw scrambled eggs peeking out between my toes.

His clenched jaw ticked. He was clearly in no mood for my snark on top of everything else. "I don't want you to worry about it. I'm gonna clean it up." He winced as Hope adorably raised her hand, like she was trying to remind him that his work was not done. "And clean her up. I've got it all under control."

Hope's hand smacked down before he even got the word 'control' out, spraying herself with a fresh splatter of milk and cereal.

I could have kept up the ruse for a little longer. Asked him questions like why he gave her so much food, why she wasn't in her smock, why the paper towels were in the sink with running water turning them into a soggy mess. All those questions and any plans to give him a playful, hard time went out the window when I saw how deflated he was. Jacob Whitmore, successful, billionaire businessman, foiled by a one year old.

I paused beside Hope's high chair, stroking her banana ringlets across her forehead and pressed my lips against her skin. Then I turned to Jacob, who was waiting for some sort of reckoning, and I smiled.

I split the distance between us, Cheerios and God knows what else beneath my feet. I didn't care about any of that. He needed to sleep in just as badly as I did, but he managed to sneak out of bed without waking me, (mostly) feed Hope, and apparently, he was even planning a breakfast for me. This man loved me. Loved us.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, raising up on my toes to show him just how grateful I was. I started off slow, my lips brushing his gently. Like it was our first time and I wanted to savor every moment. I took my tongue and teased it across his bottom lip, feeling the lust dancing in my belly as he groaned into my mouth. I let my tongue lead the way as I breathed him in. Swirled my tongue around his mouth as I pictured him whisking those scrambled eggs. Held him tighter as I feasted on the image of him taking care of our daughter. Of me. So filled with lust and love that I thought I'd burst. So hungry for him that I knew I'd never get enough.

I relaxed my hold, slowly opening my eyes. Face to face with lust and a fair amount of surprise swirling in his aquamarine gaze.

“I don’t want to ruin this moment, but I could have sworn that there would be a reckoning if you saw the state of this kitchen.”

“And our daughter,” I added, laughter spilling out of my lips when I peered around him and saw that said daughter was currently entranced by her two hands, gazing at what was left of the milk like it held the key to the universe. I wished I could see the world through her little eyes because everything was new and confounding and larger than life.

I blushed, extricating myself from Jacob. She wasn’t paying us any mind and the thing we were doing was the reason she existed, but I still felt this urge to keep her safe and pure and innocent as long as possible. And from the tingles that jolted through my system when Jacob reeled me back in, my body crashing into his, we were both having some very impure thoughts.

“Do you know how sexy you look right now, Lay?” His voice took on a low timbre that told me he was about to tell me—and every syllable would make it harder to start cleaning up this mess.

He fondled one of my dark tresses and the way he swept his tongue across his lips told me that if I slipped my shorts to the side, he would fondle another part of me. A throbbing, humming part that was more than willing to procrastinate if it meant I could have all of him. From the top of his delicious head to the base of him.

Every inch.

Hope let out a gurgle and both of us turned to see her holding out her hand to both of us.

“Baby first, play-”

“Second,” Jacob finished for me, a look of determination coloring his face.

I lifted Hope from her chair, not even noticing that she was covering me in her breakfast,  wriggling like she was so filled with excitement about whatever came next that I couldn’t help but grin at her. She fit in the sink like whoever designed those things had babies in mind. I tugged off her clothing and tested the water before I started in on rinsing her off. Even bath time made her squee and I felt my heart grow in my chest. I wanted to freeze this moment. For some future date when she would groan ‘Mooom’ whenever I tried to wipe off some smudge. The teen years when she did everything in her power to put distance between the two of us. When she was all grown up and this was some memory that I recounted to her and earned an eye roll for my efforts.

I glanced up to tell Jacob that I loved him. That this was the best morning ever, mess and all. I stopped short when I realized he was still tackling the destruction like there would be a manager swooping in to check his work when he was done.

Wait.

Was I the manager?

I grabbed one of the towels he was about to use to clean, wrapping Hope up. Trying to convince myself that I hadn’t somehow transformed into the kind of woman that honestly had any other reaction to my husband trying to do something nice (albeit ill advised) other than thank you.

“Why don’t you leave that? I’ll take care of it.”

He went for the paper towels instead, intent on scouring the place from top to bottom. “You do enough around here-”

“You help,” I assured him, perching Hope on my hip.

He stopped wiping, but he didn’t lift his eyes from the counter. “Is that why you make a little face when I tell you I’ll be home late? Why you list off all the things you do around here when I tell you I’m tired or stressed?”

“I don’t...” My defense tapered off as I realized that he had a point. My office seduction? When he didn’t take it upstairs for round 2, didn’t I make an edged, passive aggressive comment about putting Hope down? When was the last time he told me that he was running late or to kiss Hope good night and my reply wasn’t wrapped in disappointment?

I bit my lip as I watched him furiously attack an obviously clean counter. I got so caught up in the hustle, in trying to balance it all by myself, that I was selfish. I assumed he was just so slammed with work that everything else kind of faded into the background. That I faded into the background.

That thought alone, holding our baby, watching a billionaire who could have a maid here in half an hour, who wanted to do his part, heck, he wanted to make things easier for me...well, it made me want to go back to bed. Rewind this whole thing and start off this morning by running down the stairs and thanking him for being mine. We were both working hard, trying to do our best. Adjusting to this new life of baby, work, and us. If we didn’t give each other the benefit of the doubt, lift each other up, no matter what, what was the point?

I wanted to say that. Or one better, just tell him I loved him. But he’d dialed it up and was using a scrubby and I felt every bristle cutting me to the bone.

I cleared my throat, trying to inject some of the lightheartedness that I’d blunder down the stairs with. The elation when our lips kissed. My voice ended up coming out wrong. Too high. Awkward.

“I-I’m gonna get Hope changed.”

He grunted a reply, tackling the pans now that I was out of the kitchen. He was like Jekyll and Hyde this morning, but could I blame him?

He thought I was so high strung, so oblivious to him that I’d come downstairs and have anything to give other than gratitude.

He didn’t know me at all.