Desperate to touch him, too, I reach between us, and he grunts as I wrap my hand around him.
“Do you want to come this way?” he whispers against my mouth. “With just our hands?”
“No, I want you to come inside me.”
My words make him groan, and he flips over onto his back, pulling me over him, begging me to straddle his hips. His hands caress my breasts . . . pulling, tugging, caressing, and I close my eyes, letting the sensations wash over me. I can feel him beneath me, twitching and hard, and I can’t resist the urge to grind against his lap.
“Tesla . . .”
His hands latch onto my hips as I move against him.
“Condom?”
He reaches toward his nightstand and produces a foil wrapper. I feel his eyes on me as I slide the latex along the length of him.
“I love you, Jax.”
“I love you so much, baby.”
With our eyes completely fixed on one another, I straddle him once again. With his hands guiding me, and my hand guiding him, I slowly lower myself onto him. He groans and arches, and I cry out, because in that one quick thrust, he’s so deep, and it feels so, so good.
He rises, and suddenly, we’re nose-to-nose. His hands slide along my ass, jerking me toward him as I ride him.
I ride him hard.
I’ve never felt so unbridled. So wild. And he loves it. I know he loves it, because the look in his eyes is ravenous. Hungry. Desperate.
And loving.
So loving.
His arms tighten around me as I cry out, my orgasm rocking me to my core. His movements become frantic, and he calls my name, burying his face in my neck as he explodes. We’re shaking and breathless as we cling to each other, but in that moment, a peaceful truth comes crashing over me.
He’s the one.
The One.
That mythical, perfect complement to your soul that all little girls dream about.
Jax Monroe is mine.
“Tesla,” he whispers against my skin. “My Tesla.”
And I am his.
My wife’s long brown ponytail bounces as she talks to her smiling customers. She's poetry in motion . . . graceful and gorgeous as she moves from one end of the glass counter to the other, offering samples of desserts to the little kids.
She bends, tilting her head as she reaches for a pastry in the cabinet. My gaze lingers over her . . . along her lovely neck and down the length of her delectable body until my eyes land on her stomach. It’s protruding and beautiful, and while she complains that she may never again have the flat and toned tummy of a dancer, I know she doesn’t truly care.
Neither do I.
Tesla is, and will forever be, the most beautiful thing in my world.
I’ve always heard that the glow of impending motherhood is an incredible thing, but I still find myself completely in awe of the fact that she’s beautiful and radiant and carrying our child.
I’ve had eight months to get used to the idea, and I’m still awe-struck every time I see her.
I sit at my favorite table and watch as she works. She’s sweet to her customers and in love with her bakery. The neighborhood had been in desperate need of a dessert shop, and Tesla’s Tasty Treats had been an immediate success when it opened its doors nearly two years ago. While she is owner and CEO, I’ve been allowed to remain a silent partner, helping her with the business side of things while she handles the day-to-day operations. She now has a staff of six, and I’ve never seen people more in love with their jobs. Tesla is an amazing boss—a perfect blend of firm and compassionate—and her employees love her.
The customers finally clear out, and she sighs tiredly as she tightens her ponytail. The doctor says she won’t be able to work much longer. Secretly, I’m thrilled. She’s on her feet way too much, and I worry.
I always worry.
“Why are you frowning?”
I’m so consumed with worry that I don’t even realize she’s standing beside my chair. Smiling up at her, I tug her into my lap and wrap my arms around her. I nuzzle her cheek, and she sighs happily.
“You work too hard, baby.”
“Jax, I’m fine.”
I bury my face against her neck, letting her scent soothe me.
“I thought you had meetings all day,” she says softly.
“Three were rescheduled.”
“That’s good. You work too hard, too.”
“But I’m not carrying precious cargo.”
We smile, and I kiss her softly.
“I love to watch you work.”
She giggles. “Old habits die hard, huh?”
We don’t often talk about the club, but sometimes it manages to creep its way into conversation.
Her fingers slide along the back of my neck, playing with my hair. “Jax, did you ever imagine we’d end up here?”
“Desperately in love with my wife and about to become a father? No, I never dreamed it was possible.”
“But you’re happy?”
She doesn’t typically need this kind of reassurance, but today, the mother of my child needs to hear these things, so I say them.
“You make me so happy, baby. Never doubt it.”
She bursts into tears, and I hold her tight.
Tara promises it’s just the hormones.
I pray she’s right.
“You make me happy, too,” she says through her quiet sniffles. Tesla lays her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just feel . . . gross and fat and so-not-pretty.”
“You are so, so pretty. My dream come true. And it won’t be long until our baby girl is here, and all of this will be worth it.”
She smiles. “It’s already worth it. But yeah, it will be such a relief to finally have her with us.”
“Just a few weeks to go, baby.”
“I know.”
The door chimes, and a family of four walk into the bakery. Tesla kisses me softly before climbing out of my lap. She’s all smiles once again as she greets the parents and offers samples to the kids.
She’s in her element, and despite her aching feet and crazy hormones, I know she’s happy.
I know she is.
Sometimes, I think about the sequence of events that brought us here. And, I think about the club, and how, in the end, it left us both stripped bare.
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
Defenseless.
Words that seem so frightening.
But they aren’t.
Not really.
Not when my beautiful wife can look at me from across the room, and when our eyes lock, I’m still paralyzed. But this time, I’m not just mesmerized by her beautiful body.
I know her heart.
I know her soul.
And she owns me, absolutely and completely.
Kalinda Grace enjoys the little things in life. She loves the cool side of the pillow, the sound of rain on a tin roof, and restaurants with drive-thru windows. When she’s not chained to her laptop, she’s either watching college football or binge-watching her favorite shows on Netflix. Kalinda hails from the Midwest. Stripped Bare is her first novella.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
About the Author
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