Page 248 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
Rosie and I exchange glances, a puddle of regurgitated breast milk at our feet, soaked invitations in hand.
Smiling sheepishly, Rosie says, “Maybe I shouldn’t have had those tacos for lunch.”
I blow a long breath out of my nose. Tacos don’t settle well with Kellan . . .
I turn to Miss Daniels who looks horrified. “Do we get a discount if we take the breast milk-covered invites?” I try to give her another winning smile, but it doesn’t seem to penetrate the sour expression on her face.
Looks like we’ll be paying full price.
Half an hour later, a clothes change—Kellan in a new onesie, me in Rosie’s gym clothes—we are driving back to the burbs, a receipt for invites in hand, and a box of ruined invites in the back of the car.
I shift in my seat. The tank top that says “Baby no longer on board” pulls on my shoulders, and her leggings cut into my cock in all the wrong ways. “Fuck, love, you need new gym clothes.”
She chuckles next to me and glances at my crotch. “I have to say, seeing your penis in this new light is doing all sorts of things for me.”It’s doing all sorts of things to me too, but I’m fairly sure we’re thinking different things right now. I’m thinking Kellan will be our only child . . .
I send her a quick side-eye. “Not going to happen. Any ideas you’re conjuring up for the bedroom that include me wearing these leggings is never going to happen, so drop it.”
She folds her arms over her chest in a huff. “It could have been sexy.”
I gesture toward my getup. “Love, this is NEVER sexy.”
Chapter Forty-Five
ROSIE
“If this doesn’t fit, I might shoot myself,” I say through the partially cracked bathroom door. Delaney is on the other side rocking Kellan in her arms, while Derk and Henry are out getting fitted in their suits. Henry refused to wear a suit he already had. He wanted something special to wear for the occasion, even though he’s wearing a navy-blue suit, a suit he has two of already.Men.But I wasn’t going to argue with him—he takes his clothes very seriously—because after the whole invitation storeincidentincluding having to pump gas in my gym clothes, I don’t think I should complain about anything to do with clothes.
Funny thing, there is a diaper bag in our car at all times, as well as a parents’ bag now, because Henry refuses to ever be caught in a situation again where he’s wearing my leggings in public. He might have thought they were ridiculous looking, but I thought they were quite nice, showing off all the goods.
The goods I miss terribly.
I’ve had some fun with him the last few nights, teasing him with my fingers and then finishing him off with my mouth, but when he goes to reciprocate, I get nervous and shoo him away. Until I get the okay from the doctor, I don’t want him anywhere near the junction between my legs, even if it’s only his tongue.
Even though I want it so badly.
I thought that after the baby my libido would slow down, but it hasn’t. Doesn’t help that my diet has turned Henry into a sexy beast with ripped muscles and a lean stomach. God, just watching him take a shower this morning had me dropping to my knees and pulling him into my mouth. The way he gripped the wall of the bathroom, the ripple in his abdomen when he came, made me more than horny.
But now that I’m on a strict no-sex-for-six-weeks deal, it feels like I’m a virgin all over again. Hot and bothered with no one to take care of it. Then again, if I gave Henry the go-ahead, I know he’d happily pleasure me. He’s desperate to have me—I see it in the way his eyes blaze up and down my body whenever I’m around.
And even though I’m still carrying baby weight, he makes me feel sexy, a feeling I’m so grateful to have when it comes to my future husband.
“It’s going to fit; you’ve been working really hard at the gym doing your post-baby exercise program,” Delaney calls out.
It’s true, I have been. But instead of hitting up spin classes—no thank you, Satan—I’ve been attending a step class at my local gym. At first I tripped over the step at least five times a class, but now, I have the hang of it, I’m a killer on the step and workout in the front row like a champion. I’m not where I want to be weight wise, but I feel good, and with one week left before the doctor’s clearance, I want to look as best as I can for Henry . . . and for the wedding, of course.
I slip the dress up and over my hips, loving the short but full skirt and lace three-quarter-length sleeves, and bateau neckline. The gold and pink with the ornate lace overlay is everything I would have imagined in my wedding dress. It’s perfect.
And it was less than two hundred dollars.
Taking a deep breath I push my arms through the sleeves and hike the rest of the dress up. Sucking in my stomach, I zip up the side zipper, trying not to sweat too much while I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping and praying this dress fits. I have three weeks to the wedding, which gives me some time, but not a lot.
Come on. Come on.
And when the zipper stops, I have a mild heart attack, that’s until I realize the dress is fully zipped.
“Oh.”
“Is everything okay?” Delaney calls out.
