Aspen

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Macy hissed.

“I have you.” My answer was terse because talking about my baby daddy was at the bottom of my list of things I wanted to do. Especially while I was trying to breathe through my contractions the way I’d been taught during the Lamaze classes Macy had attended with me.

“If I ever see that man again, I’m going to kick him in the nuts so hard he’ll never be able to father another child.”

A startled laugh burst out of my mouth at the image that popped into my head of my best friend going after the man who’d gotten me pregnant. Macy was pocket-sized at five-foot-two and a hundred pounds when soaking wet. In addition to being a full foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than her, Weston Davis had a dangerous air about him. The coiled way he held himself, and his awareness of everything going on around him, gave Weston a dangerous air that was only enhanced by the ink covering so much of his body.

It was part of what drew me to him in the first place, along with the sizzling heat in his green eyes when he’d looked at me, and the way a lock of his dark brown hair seemed to think it belonged on his forehead. Spending the weekend with a man I’d only just met was completely out of character for me, but I’d found Weston impossible to resist. From the moment he’d claimed the empty chair next to me at the nightclub Macy had talked me into going to, I’d known I was his. As crazy as it sounded, it had been love at first sight for me.

I thought it had been the same for him. I didn’t doubt he was mine right back, not even when he told me he had to take an extended trip overseas for work and his ability to stay in touch would be iffy. He’d given me an email address to use and warned me there would be a delay in his replies. I hadn’t asked too many questions, afraid to hear the answers, because the kind of business that would make a tatted up bad boy stay out of touch for so long couldn’t possibly have been good.

He’d even gone as far as to promise he’d find a way to get to me if I needed him. His green eyes had shone with such honesty and heartfelt regret that I believed every word. It wasn’t until after nine months and no response to any of my numerous messages that I was finally ready to accept defeat, even while a tiny part of my heart held on to the hope that he’d walk through the door and be with me for the birth of our child.

“I’m not sure you can kick that high, but I’d love for you to have the chance,” I panted.

“Oh, sweetie,” she murmured. “I do, too. I really do. I’d give anything to be out there in the waiting room if it meant he was here to help you through this.”

I squeezed her hand tighter as another contraction hit, making her wince in pain. “Yeah, because then it would be his fingers I’d be breaking, instead of yours.”

“You know that’s not it, but a little less crushing of my bones would be appreciated. I may need that hand later.”

She waggled her eyebrows, acting like a goof in her ongoing efforts to make my labor and delivery easier on me. I tried to unclench my fingers, but the pain made it difficult. Breathing through it wasn’t doing me a whole lot of good, but I’d insisted on trying to do this without an epidural because I tended to react weird to pain relievers.

“Remember what the Lamaze instructor said, try to find your happy place,” she reminded me. She widened her eyes and tilted her lips up at the corners as she used the phrase which had made us giggle each and every time the instructor said it.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift and found myself remembering my time with Weston. It seemed appropriate since he was the only man to ever get me to my happy place.

“Aspen.” The sound of his husky voice whispering my name into my ear sent shivers down my spine.

Goosebumps pebbled along my skin, and my cheeks were warm enough for me to know I was blushing. “Weston?”

He stood from his chair, and I immediately felt the loss of his warmth at my side. “Come with me.”

He lifted one hand, palm up, and I slid mine into it without question. I offered Macy a quick thumbs-up sign with the other as he practically dragged me from the club. The cab ride to his hotel was spent with me in his lap while he devoured my mouth with passionate kisses. We weren’t alone in the elevator ride up, but that didn’t stop him from pulling me against his body and nibbling at my neck while his fingers toyed with the edge of my skirt.

By the time we made it through the hotel room door, my panties were soaked—something Weston quickly discovered when he backed me up against the wall, hiked my skirt around my waist, and buried his mouth between my legs. His breath was hot against me, making me whimper.

“Don’t fucking move,” he said, pulling the fabric aside and dragging his tongue up my center. “I’ve got you, beautiful.”

When he circled my clit and I felt the tip of his finger press against me, my world exploded. “Weston!”

“So tight,” he groaned, working his finger farther into me. “Can’t wait to feel your sweet pussy wrapped around me.”

He pulled his finger out and stuck it into his mouth, moaning as he sucked on it. It was still damp when he clasped my face between his hands and kissed me. I tasted myself on his lips, but it was quickly overpowered by a rich flavor that was all his own.

I was dizzy, and we were both gasping for breath when he ended the kiss. Then he lifted me up, his hands under my ass. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the king sized bed and twisted so he fell onto his back with me on top of him.

Shoving my shirt over my head, he flicked my bra open and let it fall from my shoulders. My back arched when he squeezed my tits together and sucked one of my nipples into his mouth. Switching his attention from side to side, he quickly built me up again as I writhed on top of him.

“More,” I moaned. “I need more, Weston.”

“You need more? I’ll fucking give it to you,” he growled against my lips, his fingers tugging my skirt down. Rising up on my knees, I wiggled until it slid to the mattress and I could kick it away, along with my panties. While he was pulling his shirt over his head, I got to work on his belt and tugged his pants down his legs, taking his boxers with them.

He yanked a condom from his pocket before tossing his pants to the floor on the steadily building pile of clothes. My eyes were torn between the sight of his hand as he stroked his hardened length and the taut muscles of his chest, covered in dark ink. Then the battle for my attention ended when he rolled a condom into place and wrapped his hands around my waist to lift me up until I hovered over his erection.

My palms went to his chest for balance, and I enjoyed the feel of his smooth skin, my fingers tracing over the tattoos beneath them. Leaning down, I kissed him softly before making a plea. “Go slow. It’s been a long time.” A really, really long time, since the awkward night I’d lost my virginity to a fumbling teenager in the backseat of a limo after prom.

With one hand wrapped around his cock, he guided himself into me, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside.

“You’re so damn tight, beautiful. Your pussy feels like it was fucking made for me.”

He was all the way in, my pelvis flush against his, and I felt every inch of him. I reveled in the sensation for one brief moment, and it got even better when I swiveled my hips and rocked into him. He tilted his head back, his heated eyes locked on mine, and power rushed through my veins. He was already close to the edge, and I’d taken him there. Bending lower, I nibbled a trail up his neck to his ear.

“That’s because it’s yours.”

“Fuck!” he yelled, losing control. He flipped us over, my heels digging into the mattress as he hammered into me until his name was ripped from my lips. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he moaned, his hips pumping a few more times before he found his pleasure.

We’d spent the rest of the weekend together, somehow managing to top the best sex of my life many times over. But my favorite moments were those when we were cuddled in bed. I could have happily spent the rest of my life in that hotel bed with him, but reality too quickly intruded.

“I’m going to need you to start pushing on the next contraction,” the doctor instructed, pulling me from my memories.

“You can do this,” Macy encouraged, lending me her strength as she stared into my eyes.

My gaze drifted away from her and locked on the door. I was still staring at it when the next contraction hit and I started to push. My eyes remained glued to that damn door for the next two hours of labor as I pushed my baby boy into the world. It wasn’t until I heard his cry fill the room that I finally looked away.

Giving birth to our beautiful baby boy without Weston meant he’d broken his promise to me. I loved my best friend, and she’d done an amazing job as my birthing coach. But she wasn’t the person I’d needed with all my heart. She wasn’t Weston.

It was finally time for me to accept the reality of my situation and give up the hopes and dreams I’d weaved around him. He was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. I needed to look ahead to my future. I had a precious baby to raise—a treasured gift from the man who’d stolen my heart and smashed it to pieces.