What are you doing?”

Ruth jumped, dropping a packet of rice on the floor.

It split.

“Oh, fuck,” she sighed.

Evan laughed, padding into the kitchen on bare feet. He held out a hand as she started to bend. “Don’t you dare.”

Ruth didn’t argue. He was probably right. She’d fallen over enough before, without the added burden of an enormously round belly. Now, she was a disaster waiting to happen.

Evan put the rice on the counter, cupping his hand over the place where the bag had split. Then he caught her hand in his and tugged her from the kitchen—but not before casting a speaking glance at the food she’d lined up on the side.

“So,” he said, leading her back into their bedroom. “You decided to get up in the middle of the night and cook dinner?”

“We should sweep up the rice,” she mumbled.

He pushed her gently back into bed, on top of the rumpled blankets. “That can wait ‘til morning. It’s 1 A.M.”

She huffed, because his calm reason was vaguely annoying. Then he lay down and wrapped an arm around her, and Ruth, weak as she was, forgot all irritation and purred like a kitten.

Evan kissed her cheek and murmured, “Are you nervous?”

She snorted. “Why would I possibly be nervous about our first time hosting Sunday dinner? About taking responsibility for the tradition and trying to live up to my mother’s half-a-century of experience when I can’t even cook—”

“You’re not doing the cooking,” he reminded her gently. “I am. Which makes me wonder what, exactly, you were doing in the kitchen.”

“Well,” Ruth said, feeling her cheeks heat. “I thought it might make things easier for you if I laid out all the ingredients and so on.”

Evan laughed. “I see. Thanks for the support, love.” He rubbed slow, soothing circles over her belly, but she knew that wasn’t just for her. He put his hands over her bump whenever he could.

Ruth looked down and watched him stroke the swell of her stomach, and felt herself relax. Somehow, he smoothed away her hours of lying awake, feeling ridiculously nervous, worrying that she’d ruin everything by… well, by setting the kitchen on fire despite still being banned from using ovens. Or something along those lines.

The tension drained from her with every circle of Evan’s hand. The glow of their bedside lamp shadowed his features, but she could still see the glint of his golden beard, the sky-bright eyes.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?!” The Kabbahs and Davises all crammed into she and Evan’s three-bedroom house expecting a perfect meal seemed like an enormous deal to her.

But then Evan said, “We’re family. So even if we fuck it up, everything will be fine.”

She relaxed again, just a bit. “Hm. I suppose that is technically true.”

“Plus, we’re not gonna fuck it up. I’ve been watching your mother cook for years.” He smiled down at her. “And I know you’re not questioning my skills.”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Would I ever, Great Husband, O Master of the Kitchen?”

“You shouldn’t,” he said haughtily, mimicking her tone. “But you’ve always been impudent.”

“Impudent?” She snorted. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Guess.” He lowered his head and kissed her, his lips gentle and familiar and electric all at once. His hand stopped circling and started rising, sliding up over the curve of her belly until it reached her full breasts.

Ruth moaned as he pushed up her T-shirt to pinch one thick nipple. She reached down to the waistband of the boxers he’d been sleeping in, shoving them down without much grace. When she felt the growing hardness of his cock against her palm, she shuddered.

Evan pulled her underwear aside and slid a finger through her wetness. She was almost always wet, now. Always desperate for him. And she’d thought she had it bad before she got pregnant…

“Again?” He asked softly, a teasing light in his eyes. “You’ll wear me out.”

“Liar.” She squeezed his erection as he pulled off her knickers, and then released a choked gasp as he thrust two fingers inside her.

“Come on,” he said calmly, even as his hand worked over her mound. “Sit up for me, love.”

Because she wasn’t supposed to lie on her back for too long, now, and definitely not during sex. As Ruth pushed herself into a seated position, helped by Evan’s strong arm, she moaned. Every shift brought his fingers into contact with that delicious spot that sent her eyes rolling back.

Evan pulled her into his lap, so that her back rested against his chest. She spread her legs wide and looked down to watch his fingers thrusting into her—but his rigid cock blocked the view.

“On your knees,” he said softly, and she leaned forward as she adjusted, until she was straddling his thighs. He pulled his fingers from her pussy, and she tried not to whimper—but it was hard, so fucking hard, when she could feel his naked skin against hers, his body surrounding her, his laboured breath against her neck.

“Evan,” she moaned softly, and he bit gently at her throat.

“Shhh, love. It’s okay. I have you.” He gripped her thighs, pulled her up slightly, and she reached down to guide his cock. When the swollen head pushed into her, they both released a tight breath.

Evan wrapped an arm around her hips, slid the other over her gently swaying breasts. As his fingers pinched one taut nipple, hard, Ruth let her head fall back against his shoulder.

“There,” he whispered. His beard brushed her throat, his lips grazing her ear. “Is that what you wanted, my love?”

“Yes,” she panted, but it wasn’t completely true. Ruth shifted her hips, clenched her muscles around him, chased the growing pressure within her.

He laughed. “Are you sure?” And his hands moved, cradling her hips, holding her tight, lifting her—fuck. He pulled her up, and delicious friction burst to life inside her. Then he pushed her down again, onto his cock, and said, “You don’t want that?”

“I do,” she gasped out, her voice almost a sob. “I do. Please, Evan—” She broke off as he repeated the movement, his strong arms lifting her, letting her fall again, sliding her up and down his length. “Oh, Jesus,” she moaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips as he moaned too, low and raw and deep in his throat. He sounded like an animal. The heavy pants of his breath felt almost feverish against her skin, and then he bit her, sinking his teeth into her shoulder, and Ruth had to reach down and rub her clit because this was too fucking much.

“You’re so beautiful,” he rasped out, his hips jerking beneath her. “You’re so beautiful and perfect and you’re mine.”

“And you’re mine.” Ruth rubbed harder, tried to ride him even though it was a struggle, even though he set the pace and moved her body for her, because she was reaching that desperate, frantic point when lust surpasses reason. “Fuck, Evan. Christ, I love you.”

“I know.” He slammed her down harder onto his cock, bit her shoulder.

And she came. Screaming, sobbing, breathless, sated. That was how he always left her, any time she asked for it.

Evan came too, with a choked moan that always made her smile, because it belonged to moments like this. And then they sat there for a while, his arms wrapped around her, Ruth’s hands clinging to him. She could feel his length softening inside her and even that, weirdly enough, made her happy. Everything made her happy.

“Perfect,” she murmured, her body still soft and liquid with pleasure.

He roused enough to press a kiss against her cheek. “I love you. Will you sleep, now?”

“Oh, is that what that was? You putting me to sleep?”

“Depends. Did it work?”

Ruth closed her eyes, rested her head against his shoulder. “Maybe. Possibly.”

“Good. You need your rest.” Which was an ironic statement, considering what he’d just done with her, but Ruth would let that slide. He murmured, “Don’t worry about tomorrow, okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“You know I won’t let you down.”

“I’ve never worried about that,” she said. “You’re perfect.”

Evan raised a hand to her forehead. “Are you okay?” He asked incredulously. “Feverish at all? Hysterical? No?”

“Shut up.” She pulled his hand away, then kissed his palm. “I wasn’t worried about you. I was worried about me.”

“Well, don’t. Because you’re perfect too.”

“I most certainly am not.”

Evan tutted. “Don’t insult my wife. I take it very personally.”

There was a point when Ruth would’ve brushed those words away. When she would’ve been uncomfortable at the pure love in his voice, in his eyes, in the way he held her.

But she was used to it now. She was happy with it. And she deserved it.

So instead, she turned her head to kiss him, soft and chaste. Then she said, “You are correct, I suppose. We’re both perfect for each other.”

He smiled. “That sounds about right.”