It appears that one-itis is indeed contagious. I think it’s chronic for both Kane and I, and the only way to manage the symptoms is with at least a once daily injection from a licensed professional.

I take my injections from Dr. Big gladly. I also take them orally for double effectiveness.

I love Sundays. I roll over in bed until the ripped bulk of my gorgeous doctor is there to meet me. He’s so hot when he’s half asleep, his eyelashes lazy as his eyes flutter, his blond hair a mess on the pillow. I love him with bed hair.

I love him.

And it’s just as well since he gave me a lot more than his dick that first night we were together. That’s what the dates seem to indicate, and what better professional to advise me through my pregnancy than Kane himself?

It turns out Dr. Big is quite the family man. He tells me at least twenty times a day how excited he is that we’ll be three where were once only two. Well, two and a cat since we both moved into his apartment at the same time.

I’m still in awed disbelief that I’ve even gone from endless virgin singledom to this, let alone having a bundle of mini-Big joy on the way.

I stretch my limbs out and indulge in a big yawn, enough to coax Mr. Sleepyhead’s eyes open.

“Morning,” I greet and he pulls me close.

“I love Sundays,” he says and I smile. Great minds.

I hold the diamond on my finger up to the morning light drifting in through the blinds. I can’t stop looking at it, not since Kane slipped the ring on my finger a few short months ago.

We’re getting married in the fall, baby bump be damned. Kane doesn’t want to wait, and neither do I. This one-itis is it for me, for both of us, and I don’t feel even a tiny bit sorry that Kane was the only cure I’ll ever have. He’s more than enough for me.

I’m having Riley as a bridesmaid, of course, and she’s already demanding she’ll be the one to catch the bouquet. She’s still looking for Mr. Right. She’s met a few more Mr. Wrongs in the time Kane and I have been together but seems to be happy enough sampling her options for the time being.

She says I’m a lucky bitch to have bagged the perfect guy in one go. I’m certainly that.

“How’s the mini me?” Kane asks and rubs a hand over my belly.

“Good,” I tell him. “Hungry for breakfast in bed.”

“Really?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Baby wants toast, and bacon and eggs. Chocolate pancakes, too.” I smile as he leans in for a kiss.

“Daddy wants mommy first,” he growls and I giggle as he nips at my neck.

“Baby’s not that hungry,” I say, “I think we can wait for the pancakes.”

I’m already wet for him. I always am these days.

He makes light work of thrusting that huge dick of his where I need him, and his breath is warm in my ear.

“To think you used to struggle taking a finger,” he whispers. “Quite a turnaround.”

“Just as well you cured me,” I laugh.

“Good job you’ve gotten used to accommodating this,” he breathes as he thrusts in deep. “Because you’ll be having to accommodate a whole lot more coming out through there in a few months’ time.”

I can barely imagine it. Me, Kane and our little one.

We don’t know yet whether the baby is a boy or a girl. I think a girl. He thinks a boy. That’s why our nursery is still tastefully done out in a neutral - boring - magnolia.

Who’d have thought one crazy impulsive night out with Riley would have led to all this? Who’d have thought my world-renowned consultant would end up putting a baby in my belly?

I’m so happy to be surprised on all counts.

“I love you, Melissa Malone,” Kane sighs, his hard chest tight to my back as he takes me slowly from behind.

“And I love you, Dr. Big.” I wrap my arm back around him and smile.

I really do love Sundays.

But every day is amazing when you’re soon-to-be Mrs. Big.

Mrs. Big will be a fitting name for me given that I’ll be six months along by the time I walk up the aisle to meet him. I can’t wait to walk up the aisle and say I do.

I can’t think of anyone more fitting to spend the rest of my life with than the only man who’s ever solved all my puzzle pieces.

His thrusts grow more frantic as I rock back against him, my breath ragged as his speeds up. I love mornings like this.

“We should do this more often,” he sighs as he comes down from climax.

I catch my breath from my own, smiling over my shoulder as I wriggle back against him. “We do this every morning.“

“A tradition we’ll continue until there is a whole brood of little-Bigs running around the place,” he laughs back. “Doctor’s orders.”

How can a girl argue with that?