Nixon (Raleigh Raptors 1)

“Can’t feel your legs enough to stand?” I teased.

He laughed. “Harder than I thought it’d be,” he admitted, and I tossed him a fresh towel.

“This coming from a man who plays through rain or snow or windstorms without batting an eye.”

“It’s different when you’re in the game,” he said, wiping at the beads of sweat that rolled down his face and neck. When he moved on to his chest, I suddenly found myself ridiculously jealous of the towel. “The adrenaline kicks in, and you don’t feel the slickness of the field or the brutal sting of the snow. There is nothing but the next snap, the next play, the next touchdown.”

I grinned, dropping to my knees on his mat. “I love it when you talk football to me.” I slid my hands over his tensed thighs. He tossed the towel to the side, his hands instantly on my hips. I leaned forward, brushing my lips over his, relishing the taste of him mixed with salt.

He groaned, his fingers exploring my waist, the bump of my belly, and up past my ribs. “Hello,” he said between my claiming kisses.

I grinned but nipped his lip. “Hi, there,” I said, teasing his bottom lip with the tip of my tongue. I pushed forward until he fell back, and put a knee on either side of him. God, he was massive, all broad, corded muscles and slick skin. And that smirk of his? Heaven.

“You missed me,” he said, his hands massaging my back as I continued to assault him with kisses.

“Nah,” I said, shaking my head.

“You had to,” he said. “If you’re willing to brave the smell and the sweat to kiss me.”

I smiled down at him, tangling my fingers in his hair. It wasn’t like we’d been apart for a massive length of time, but between my Breaking Boundaries city internship, classes, and teaching this class, not to mention his practices and games, I’d seen less and less of him. And my heart had practically leaped into my throat when he’d showed up for my evening class.

“I love the way you smell,” I said honestly. Didn’t matter if the man was fresh off a game or a shower, he always smelled mouthwatering to me. “And your sweat doesn’t bother me.”

“Cleary,” he said, lightly smacking my ass.

“Cocky as ever,” I teased, shaking my head and tugging on his hair a little harder. He growled, and before I could blink, my spine gently kissed the mat, and he settled easily between my legs. The yoga pants I donned left only a thin barrier between us, and I groaned from the sweet pressure of him.

He kissed down my neck, over my breasts, and hovered over my bump. He grinned up at me as he slowly pushed my tank top up and up until he could see my belly. “Hi, baby,” he said, and chills raced over my skin. “How’d you like hot yoga tonight?” He planted a kiss on my tummy before lightly resting his ear on it, and I swore my heart expanded ten sizes. “I agree,” he said, nodding like he was having a conversation with his daughter. He flashed me a wicked look, tugging my shirt back down. “Little whoosh thinks you should lose the Half Moon pose. Not everyone is that flexible.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I told you to modify it. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”

He shrugged, kissing his way back up to my face. “I have a hard time modifying anything,” he said.

“I know. I live with you,” I teased. The man was as neat as they came—everything had its place, everything was clean, and everything had a purpose. He followed instructions to a T and set standards for himself that meant he had to be the best right out of the gate.

Something serious flashed over his features as he looked down at me. “Are you happy, Liberty?”

I swallowed around the emotion clogging my throat. The past couple weeks had been a whirlwind for sure, but every day I found myself falling a bit deeper and deeper for this man. He supported my dreams, made me laugh, took an interest in my passions, and was already a better partner than I’d ever had in my life. Not to mention the sex because oh my god. But it was more than that, more than his ability to make me feel like a goddess in the bedroom. He made me feel…alive and settled in a way I’d never been before.

I nodded, my eyes glistening. Damn you, pregnancy hormones! I rarely cried before getting pregnant, but as the days rolled on I was more and more prone to cry—commercials, a thoughtful post on Facebook, anything.

“Yes,” I finally said, the word a whisper between us. “Are you?”

He pressed his lips into a hard line and shifted so he could settle his hand over my tummy. He nodded as if he couldn’t physically get the words out.