Which means I’ve been without Fable for much too long. I need to rectify that.
Now.
“We hate when you’re gone, too,” she whispers against my lips. “But I understand, Drew. I never want you to feel guilty for working.”
“Too late.” I kiss her again, taking it deeper. A little sound of pleasure escapes her and I break the kiss, cuddle Autumn closer, and climb off the bed. “Going to put our little princess in her crib.”
“Wait.” Fable reaches out just as I turn and send her a stern look. She settles against the pile of pillows behind her, crossing her arms in front of her. “She might wake up.”
“She’s sound asleep,” I whisper as I glance down at my baby girl snug in my arms. She’s out, her lips parted, her eyes tightly closed, the spike of thick, dark eyelashes like little fans resting against her creamy skin. I may be a prejudiced bastard because she’s my baby and all but damn, she’s beautiful.
“Fine,” Fable says on a sigh, ever the overprotective mama. “Put her to bed.”
“Then I’m going to put you to bed,” I say, waggling my brows, making her laugh softly. “Be prepared, wife. It’s been way too long since I’ve had you naked.”
Fable
Oh. No.
The last thing I want is Drew to see me naked. I’m still carrying an extra ring of flab around my stomach and hips and everything just looks … weird. Plus, my boobs are enormous and while most men would probably love that, including my own man, I’m so self-conscious of those baby-feeding machines that I’m scared Drew will take one look at them and run.
Of course, the man wants to strip me naked in broad daylight, not nighttime like every other married couple on the planet. At least, that’s how I always envisioned normal married couples doing it—safe and sound in their beds at night. But, no. The morning sunlight is shining through our bedroom windows, casting everything in a gentle, golden glow, and he will see everything.
Everything.
I can’t stand the thought, not with him looking so amazing. He’s bigger than he was when I first met him and I thought him huge then. He’s wider, more solid, every muscle defined. That sprinkling of dark hair at the center of his chest gets me, as does the trail of hair that leads from his navel downward. There is nothing I love more than admiring my husband’s body. Touching it. Knowing it’s all mine.
But since I’ve had Autumn, I’m scared to death to let him see me. The real me, with the scars and the stretch marks and the extra skin and the … oh, God. I’m going to have a panic attack just thinking about it.
I smell him before I see him, his deliciously spicy masculine scent preceding him as he walks back into our bedroom. He’s smiling, that wicked, arousing smile he flashes me right before he pounces. Wearing only his boxer briefs, he’s beautiful.
Quickly I tug the sheet and comforter over me, hoping he didn’t see too much. I’m in my panties and a stained 49ers T-shirt. I look like hell. For once in my life, while lying in bed waiting for my husband, I wish I could disappear.
He stops at the foot of the bed, his dark brows creased in worry as he studies me. “Fable.” His low, soothing voice does nothing to calm the nerves rioting in my belly. “What’s wrong?”
I shrug, hoping I sound convincing. “I’m … not in the mood right now. Sorry. Maybe later?” The words feel like complete lies falling from my lips. I am in the mood. I desperately miss my husband. But I don’t want him to see me like this.
His frown deepens. “Not in the mood?”
Have I ever said that to him? Probably not.
Pressing my lips together, I nod. “I’m tired.”
“I’ll take a nap with you. We can all take a nap until Autumn wakes up.”
“But aren’t there things you need to do today?” I ask weakly, watching as he rounds the bed, tugs back the covers, and climbs in with me. “It’s your day off.”
“My day off that I planned to spend with you and Autumn doing nothing but hanging out with my girls.” He hauls me to him and I have no choice but to lay my head on his warm, firm chest. I can feel his heart beat beneath my ear, steady and strong, and I close my eyes, breathing deep. Feeling … right.
Whole.
“You’re tired, baby,” he murmurs against the top of my head just before he drops a kiss on it. “I understand.” His hand rests on my shoulder, then runs down my back in a slow, smooth gesture. A sigh escapes me at his touch and he slides his hand beneath the hem of my T-shirt, touching my bare back. “Where’s your bra?”
This is what my life has been reduced to. Not my husband thrilled at having me braless but concerned. Everything revolves around nursing bras and heavy br**sts full of milk and a greedy, hungry baby who can’t get enough of it. I don’t feel sexy. I feel like a feeding machine. I don’t even remember the last time I felt sexy. Months ago? Before the third trimester? I was horny and lusting for my husband during the second trimester, jumping Drew everywhere and anywhere I could. He loved it. I loved it.
Now I’m doing my best to avoid him as much as possible. This is crazy.
“I’m sick of wearing it,” I admit to him. “It’s ugly and unsexy and sometimes it digs into my skin.”
“Then you need a new one if it’s hurting you.”
I say nothing, just play with the hairs at the center of his chest, press a kiss to the spot where I can feel his beating heart. He shifts against me, I can feel his erection nudge against my belly, and I close my eyes, everything inside of me going loose and fluttery.