CHAPTER SIXTEEN

NATHAN

I slip back under the sheets, drawn irresistibly to the warmth of Amelia’s body beside me. The baby monitor is silent now after a brief rustling woke me to check on my son— our son—sleeping peacefully in the next room.

Their presence has transformed this place. The once sleek lines and muted grays reflecting solitude and restraint now hum with the vibrant energy of family and love. Sharon had, as usual, worked her magic, ensuring everything was perfect for their arrival. Stuffed animals peek out from the corners of the living room, brightly colored blocks are stacked neatly in the playpen, and the fridge is stocked with all of Dylan’s favorites. His presence is everywhere, a physical reminder of the incredible gift Amelia has given me.

I shift to face her, taking in her sleeping form. The soft, golden rays paint her skin with an ethereal glow. The swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip—each line and plane is a masterpiece. My breath catches at the sight, and the urge to reach out and touch her, to worship her with my hands and mouth, pulses through me with the force of a second heartbeat.

Yet, beneath the desire, something deeper stirs. A fierce protectiveness sweeps over me. When I first saw Dylan, when the truth of his existence crashed into me like a wrecking ball, I had felt that sharp surge of anger—the bitter sting of betrayal. How could she keep this from me? How could she deny me the chance to know my son and be a father from the beginning?

But when she laid bare the truth on that weathered porch—when she revealed the suffering and heartache she had endured over the past three years—my anger melted like frost beneath the morning sun. The shame, the isolation, the crushing weight of single motherhood—she had borne it all with strength and grace that left me humbled. The reality of her struggle shattered any illusions I held about the true cost of our broken love.

I lean forward and kiss her shoulder, the soft warmth of her skin inviting me to linger. She stirs but doesn’t wake. I smile, my heart swelling with a profound joy that threatens to overwhelm me. These moments—these quiet, stolen breaths of intimacy—are a gift, a treasure more valuable than anything I could have imagined.

I crave her with an intensity that borders on obsession, a hunger that gnaws at me day and night. The quickies, the stolen caresses, are a temporary salve, a fleeting relief from the constant ache of desire. But sometimes, a man needs more. Sometimes, he needs to take his time, to savor every inch of his lover’s body, to bring her to the brink of ecstasy again and again until she’s boneless and sated in his arms.

With a mischievous grin, I slip the sheet off her body, revealing the lush curves and smooth expanses of her naked form. She’s a vision, a goddess, and I’m a mortal, helpless in the face of her beauty. I trail my fingers down the valley of her spine, reveling in how she shivers and arches into my touch. Lower and lower I go, my hand skimming over the swell of her ass, the back of her thigh, the sensitive hollow behind her knee.

She shifts and moans as I settle between her legs, my breath hot against the slick folds of her sex. The scent of her arousal, musky and sweet, fills my nostrils, making my head spin with want. I part her with my thumbs, exposing the glistening pink of her most intimate place.

“Nathan…” Her voice is thick with sleep and desire, her hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea.

I answer with my mouth, my tongue delving deep, lapping at her essence like a man dying of thirst. She gasps and grabs onto my hair as I work her mercilessly, alternating between broad, flat strokes and delicate flicks against the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center.

She’s close, her thighs trembling, her breathing ragged and shallow. I slip two fingers inside her and curl them just so, and she shatters, her back bowing off the bed as a keening cry tears from her throat. I lap at her through the aftershocks, drawing out her pleasure until she’s thoroughly satisfied and her body melts into the sheets.

“Morning.” I kiss the inside of her thigh before crawling up her body to claim her mouth in a searing kiss.

She grabs ahold of me, and we lose ourselves in each other, hands roaming, bodies moving in a rhythm as old as time itself. I slide into her welcoming heat and groan at the exquisite sensation of her body gripping mine. We move together, slowly at first, savoring every delicious drag and retreat. But soon, the urgency takes over, and we’re racing towards completion, chasing that blissful edge with desperate fervor.

She comes first, my name a breathless chant on her lips as she pulses and clenches around me. I follow a heartbeat later and spill myself inside her with a shuddering groan, my face buried in the crook of her neck as I struggle to catch my breath.

We lie there, our bodies tangled, our hearts beating in sync.

“That was…”

She doesn’t need to finish her thought. “Yes, it was.”

I glide my fingers along her back, and it isn’t long before I hear the cutest little snore. She’s gone back to sleep. I consider doing the same until a soft rustling comes from the baby monitor. Dylan is waking, his sleepy murmurs and little yawns filling the room. I kiss Amilia on the temple, her skin warm and soft beneath my lips. She stirs but doesn’t wake.

I smile and slip out of the room to care for our son.