Claim My Baby (Crescent Cove 2)

I swallowed deeply and grabbed Sage’s hand to tug her close. “I hope that glitter is edible, because I’m going to kiss every inch of you.”

“Your luck is in, Mr. Hamilton. So is mine, I hope.” She pulled something out of her back pocket that looked suspiciously like a long, silky length of thin, lightly padded fabric. “Since this babymoon thing is about one last hurrah pre-infant, I was thinking maybe you could indulge me one of my favorite fantasies.”

I pressed my face against the satiny fabric between her breasts and inhaled her summery, ocean water scent. The rich cocoa butter lotion she used now to keep her skin supple layered over the other scents, reminding me of the beach. “If this is about dirty talk, I’m standing firm.”

She laughed and scooped her hand through my hair. “The kid is not listening to you. I swear.”

“Do you have proof of what she can hear? Can you guarantee she won’t end up in therapy in ten years because of what filth I said to you while in the throes?”

“Yeah, think about what you just said. While in the throes. It’s fine for her if we have sex, but hearing sex words? God forbid.”

“Entirely different. She probably isn’t aware of what’s occurring there.”

“Yet she knows what you’re referring to when you talk about my pussy?”

I arched a brow. “You don’t even blush when you say that anymore.”

She jerked a shoulder. “Once you’ve had doctors and nurses all up in your hoohaa like it’s an amusement park attraction, the word pussy does not phase you. Also, if I can say it, why not you?”

“Saying it conversationally is not the same. Uttering it mid-thrust seems—”

“Hot? Arousing? Pleasurable to the pregnant lady who probably won’t be riding this particular stick much longer without help of that sex chair you refuse to buy?”

“We’re remodeling the house.”

Our house, though Sage hadn’t been eager to give up her loft. For now, we were keeping it as a possible studio. Once the bed-and-breakfast was fully operational again, we were considering using it for a staging piece for real estate consultations since she had training in that area and it was the perfect offshoot for Hamilton Realty. Basically, check out this Sage Evans—soon to be Hamilton, I hoped—staged loft, and hire her to stage your own property to prepare it for an open house.

The whole stay-at-home mother idea had flown out the window. She was still working at the diner too, just a few hours a week. The woman was stubborn to a fault, and I loved her more every passing day.

I was also pulling out my hair on a regular basis, but luckily, I’d been born with a lot.

“And your point is what?”

“Where exactly do you expect me to hide a sex chair?” I asked patiently. She’d come up with the idea a few weeks ago as mobility became more of an issue, and since then, she’d been like a dog wanting a bone. Much boning.

“Oh, I don’t know, how about in any of the rooms the contractors don’t go into? Or put it in the nursery. They definitely don’t go in there.”

I couldn’t hide my shock. “You would hide a sex chair in your daughter’s room?”

She snorted out a laugh. “Hamilton, you are too much. To hear you talk, I’d almost think you weren’t banging me like a snare drum on the regular. But we know that’s not true, don’t we?” She trailed the end of the tie along my cheek. “You should let me tie you up.”

“Hell of a segue, princess.” Also, we did not have much time for this. We had a very important appointment. “We have an itinerary, you know.”

“Mmm-hmm, and wouldn’t the rest of the day go so much better with an orgasm to start?”

When she put it that way, I had to agree. Especially considering what the rest of the day contained. I’d been anticipating this day for a while, but not necessarily the how, more the why.

Love could be a perilous, potentially embarrassing business. Yet I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I definitely wouldn’t trade seeing my very pregnant fiancée crawling around the bed to undress me, piece by piece. She took her time, drawing off my tie and looping it over her own head to make me lose my mind while she unbuttoned each button of my shirt, catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth. She tugged it off and carefully hung it off the bedpost, knowing my preferences there. Hell, she knew all of them, right down to how she licked my nipples and pressed eager little kisses over my tattoos as she removed my belt, pants, and boxers, draping them over my shirt.

“Want to see you in that shirt and tie sometime,” I said hoarsely.

“Hmm, like this?” It took her a couple of moments, but she shimmied out of her pajama top and the little shorts, swapping them for my white button-down and my tie. She only did the top two buttons of the shirt so it draped down over her belly, fully exposing it when she moved just right. Her breasts pressed seductively against the material, the dusky pink areolas slightly visible through the fabric.

“Christ, you’re a vision.”

“I smell like you now.” She lifted her arm and sniffed at the cuffs. Her love of my cologne was legendary, musk or not. “Think you can imprint me with more of your smell too? Or is that,” she eyed my now fully engorged cock, licking her lips, “too filthy?”