“I need this so fucking much,” I manage, kissing her as she holds on to me, grunting with the force of the fucking. I’m not sure if she’s kissing me back. All I know is that I’m inside her again. Back where I belong. And as I move faster, she closes her eyes and bares her throat. When I feel her come, all I can do is watch her face. Nothing could drag my gaze away. Not those guards, not her brother, not a fucking army.

“Lawson.” I’m not sure if I imagine her saying my name or not. It’s a breath, barely a sound obscured by a loud crash of thunder.

She dips her head, forehead coming to the curve of my shoulder. She’s wetter now, the aftershocks of her orgasm taunting my cock, and I don’t last long. I weave my fingers into the hair at the back of her skull and make her look at me. I kiss her as I come, watching her black eyes as the world stops spinning on its axis. And for an impossible moment, I am home. I am home.

I wake to unfamiliar light. Unfamiliar sounds. I open my eyes to look out of a window that’s not mine into a bright morning. Last night comes back to me in painful increments as the door opens, and I turn over to find Mercedes there. She stops when our eyes meet. She’s wearing that silk nightie with thick, fuzzy socks and carrying two mugs of coffee. She studies me but doesn’t offer a smile as she comes to the bed and holds one of the mugs out to me.

I sit up, my head throbbing, and lean against the headboard before taking the mug.

“Decaf. Sorry.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Aspirin?” she asks.

I sip and shake my head although even that hurts.

She settles beside me, pulls her knees into her chest, and blows on her coffee. Across the room, I see my clothes draped over a radiator to dry and try to remember when I undressed. Hell, I can’t even remember how I got here. But I do remember one thing, and as I turn to take in her profile and see the necklace still around her neck, I remember fucking her in the entryway.

“You probably shouldn’t have driven last night,” she says as if I didn’t know. She turns to look at me.

I sip the coffee. “You’re probably right.” I can’t move my eyes off her and she seems strangely shy as I take in her belly. She’s about six months now. A little more. Above her nightie, I see the swell of her breasts. They’re filling up for the baby. Babies.

I finish the coffee and set the mug aside. She’s still sipping hers. “Two little monsters,” I say.

She looks hesitantly toward me and nods.