Page 3 of Light

“I can count, Emma.” At once regretting my snarl, I sift my fingers into her hair and gently rub her scalp. “It’s really nothing, okay?” I shift a little, coaxing her body closer while dipping my lips toward hers. “Sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t.” Her smile is forgiving. “Well, not really, because your son already did the job.” While guiding my hand across the prominence of her belly, she adds, “He’s been playing ‘Team Bolt Supersonic Obstacle Course’ in there all night.”

The second a robust little kick thuds against my palm, I chuckle. “No shit.”

“Maybe you’re just on the same wavelength with him again.”

I mellow my laugh into a proud smile. “You think?”

Her expression turns enigmatic. “I wouldn’t be surprised, Papa Richards. The bean is already very fond of his daddy.”

Cynical chuff. “Or maybe it’s the enchilada you had for dinner.”

“It was a freaking fine enchilada.”

Another chuff—though I’m darker about it this time. “Ohhhh, hell.” And I weather her answering giggle in return, knowing that she knows the conclusion I’ve already jumped to.

“Awwww, come on!” she protests. “Can I help it if everything goes better with supersized pregnancy hormones?”

And damn, does the woman mean everything. Including garlic ice cream and Cheez-It toppings, classic Krispy Kremes dipped in cottage cheese, and pepperoni pizza slathered in squeeze-style frosting. Fortunately, I’ve got all of those stocked in the house by now—but the woman’s been throwing some craving curve balls at me lately.

“All right,” I finally grumble. “I might as well just get this over with.” And then push up to one elbow, gently clearing some stray strands away from her cheek. “What’ll it be for tonight’s midnight snack, m’lady?”

At first, she just pulls her bottom lip in under her top teeth—but the impish glints in her eyes already warn me to expect the curve ball. “All I want is a giant dose of you, my lord.”

Well, that is a curve ball.

One I’m completely ready to turn into a home run.

Yeah, despite the disturbing nightmare. Probably because of the damn thing. What would wash away Faline’s stink from my mind better than burying my cock inside the sugar-and-cream goodness of my wife?

The possibility is so damn good, I have to reconfirm it. “Are you really saying you don’t want any of the odd but awesome snacks I’ve stocked downstairs for you?”

“Oh, I want odd but awesome.” Her touch is as steady as her gleaming, confident gaze—as she rolls to her side and reaches for the flesh that’s already jumping between my legs. As she skims over my lower abs and then rubs me through my sleep pants, the friction of the fabric only stokes the energy of my arousal that much faster. Holy fuck, that’s good. So damn good. “But my ‘snack’ of preference isn’t downstairs.”

I attempt to summon a glib comeback to my lips—but that shit isn’t happening for my head, let alone my mouth. Instead, I tell her what she needs to know via the breath I finally let out, as staticky as it is, while the temptress of my dreams heats her palm enough to fry away the crotch of my sleep pants.

For a second, I’m too astonished to speak. Who the hell am I kidding? I’m not shocked; I’m turned way the fuck on. Just the idea of what damage she could’ve dealt to my cock with her tactile flare gun—but didn’t—injects my bloodstream with the same demented sensation I get before taking down criminals. I guess it’s true what they say. Danger and fear are a heady aphrodisiac.

I regain enough composure to glance down. Sure enough, the blackened threads of my sleep pants mingle with the copious precome seeping along the length of my throbbing cock. I’m already swollen with need but getting bigger and harder by the second. The sight of Emma’s huge baby bump, even beneath her roomy sleep shirt, only adds to the lust transforming my erection into a glowing blue sex toy.

“Holy…shit,” I grate.

“Sorry,” Emma rushes out in a rough rasp. “About the…pants.”

I glower with deliberate darkness. “No, you’re not.”

“All right, I’m not.” She jogs her chin up. Goddamnit, the woman is breathtaking when she’s feisty. “I’m just too hungry for my snack.”

I tug at the hem of her shirt. Lift it until I can view the fullness of our baby beneath her naked skin. She hasn’t bothered to put on panties with the ensemble. Yesssss.

I lean in, caressing her stomach with my fingers and her throat with my mouth. “You’re too hungry…for me?” I snarl softly into her ear.

She trembles from head to toe, and I feel every perfect tremor of it. “Yes.” Her whisper is a wobble on the air, instantly surging my senses with the heady knowledge of my power over her. I love doing this to her. Unleashing the force of my electric field on the air and knowing what I’m doing to her with it. And anticipating everything I’m about to do, as well…

“What part is starving more, sweet bunny?” I roll my touch upward until I’m palming the fullness of her right breast. And then tugging and rolling at her nipple. And then reveling in the urgent gasp of need she gives in return. “Your wet, perfect pussy…or your hot, succulent mouth?”

She gulps hard. I almost give her a little reassurance. There’s really no wrong answer here…