Page 155 of Unbreakable Thread

She shrugs into my arms. “Not really. It doesn’t surprise me.” She pulls back, and her hot breath licks the curve of my neck. “Thank you for reading it for me.”

“I’m glad I did.” So fucking glad. The aroma of home-cooked food fills the room. “Smells good.”

“I came up to let you know dinner is ready.” There’s a drop in her shoulders. I know she was hoping to get something out of Jenna. She did love her. Jenna might have loved her, but not enough to put her first.

“You look tired. I would have made dinner.”

“I wanted to. Besides, your dad helped.”

“You and my dad spend too much time together,” I tease, trying to lighten her mood.

One brow rises. “Max!”

I laugh. Thank god for my dad right now. He has been her taste tester and, at times, helps her in the kitchen. Pregnancy moods get the best of Sol, and she snaps at him. My dad’s lips go into a straight line. I hide my smile and walk off. Then I hear her say, “Sorry, Hector.” Better him than me.

“I’m joking,” I tell her. “It’s good he helps.”

“Yes, he’s doing well.”

I agree with her and slowly guide her to the bed.

“I’m hungry. We should go eat now.”

“After” —I lick the tip of my lip—“I have my snack.”

She lies on the bed, trying to get back up, frustrated. I know she’s upset. She’s wondering what was in that letter that I had to burn it. The last thing I want is for her to go downstairs angry and stab her fork savagely into her chicken.

“You can have that later,” she growls.

With a quick tug, her shorts and underwear slip off. I groan and bend, spreading her legs. I know what will make her feel better and distract her.

“Max, now’s not the time…your d—” She moans into her last words.

So damn wet for me. She always is. “Perfect time.” The tip of my tongue licks between her thighs. “Relax,” I tell her. “I got you.”

“The door’s open.”

“He won’t come up.”

“He’ll hear.”

“Then keep it down, Corazón.”

She squirms when my fingers move inside her, and my tongue laps around. Sol rocks into the movement of my tongue. Fast, hard, and desperate.

I know everything about my wife. What every moan and cry of pleasure means. Her breath always catches when I curl my fingers just right, when I press my thumb in slow circles against her clit while she’s still clenching around me. I know to slow down when her thighs start to shake, to keep the same rhythm when she grabs my wrist and holds it there. I know the difference between the sharp gasp she makes when I first push inside her and the low, broken moan that starts building in her chest when she’s getting close. I know to thrust deeper when she arches her back off the bed, to keep going when her heels dig into my lower back, and her fingers dig into the sheets. I know when she’s right on the edge because her walls grip my cock in tight, rhythmic pulses, her whole body drawing me in. She’s mine. I’ve memorized everything about her.

“I need more.” She’s already over the edge. She needs me to thrust inside her until I sate every inch of her.

“Tell me what you need, wife.”

“Just you…inside me.”

I’m already unbuckling my belt, my jeans falling to the floor. Stroking the warmth of my hard length, I spread her legs wider, teasing her with only the tip inside. Then I grab onto her thighs and thrust deep into her. Fuck. Her pupils darken with desire. Her walls clamp around me tightly. Moans and groans echo off the walls. I’ve been desperate to have her in every position possible. Once she gives birth and she’s in the clear, I intend to fuck her desperately. Right now, we have to compromise. The doctor did say sex was fine. It could even help speed up labor now that she isn’t having a C-section anymore. The baby turned.

“Max.” My name is a breathless plea.

“Come for me, wife.”