Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,365

I alternate between fear that they will never return to their original size and dread that they will deflate and hang low and be saggy balloons with nipples. I was still breastfeeding Nina when I found out I was pregnant with Martin. Back-to-back babies meant very little recovery time for the rack.

And I know for a fact my feet will never return to pre-baby proportions. A half size up, and I can’t wear any of my Louboutins. Also, I am not above re-vagination if things start feeling loose down there. I need a tight-fit fuck. Though given the size of Grip’s cock, I don’t think that will be a problem anytime soon.

Damn, he fucked me into a coma last night.

Not complaining. I can attest to the fact that a good slumber fuck is waaaaaaay better than melatonin. With all that I have going on, you’d think sleep would come easily, but mine has been sporadic. No rest for the weary.

Or the busy.

I can’t seem to turn my brain off even when my body is ready to tap out. Between feeding Martin in the middle of the night, trying to keep up with the warp speed of Prodigy’s expansion and growth, and keeping Nina’s little adventurous self alive, I’m half-zombie. I’m just really good at covering it. Lots of concealer. Lots of yoga. Lots of juicing.

What’s LA without juicing?

I’m doing everything I can to keep all the balls in the air, and I think it’s working. Sure, I’m exhausted and smell faintly bovine most of the time, but the kids are healthy, happy, and spend more time with me than anyone else, which is important to me. My clients are all flourishing, climbing and succeeding. Prodigy is a force. I set up the New York office before Martin was born, but I really wanted to be in LA for the birth, surrounded by my family. Now the New York office needs some TLC, so it may be time to head back. I have to talk with Grip about camping out on the East Coast for a while, and I’m dreading it. I’m thinking, though, if the kids and I stay in New York when he goes on tour in a few weeks, it should be fine.

I’m feeling especially good today. Frieda, our nanny, came early because I have a meeting this morning. So she has the kids for a few hours. After Martin’s first feeding, a nice long shower has me relaxed. I’m wearing my favorite knee-length cardigan, and I actually fit into a pair of pre-Martin jeans. The sex last night has my blood singing hallelujah as it flows through my veins. I didn’t realize it has been over a week since we had sex. That’s a long time for Grip.

Hell, I guess it’s a long time for me, too.

I tiptoe through our bedroom, trying to be quiet and keep the room dark so Grip can sleep. Between working on the new album, and prepping for the tour, he’s been stretched as thin as I have.

I walk into our closet to study the shelves of shoes, half of which I’m not sure I can wear anymore. I’m considering a pair of Gucci stilettos when Grip walks in.

“Morning,” I say over my shoulder with a smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you.

“Nah.” He sits on the tufted ottoman in the middle of the closet, running a hand over the back of his neck. “I wanted to talk before the day gets away from us.”

“Talk?” My hand freezes over three pairs of red pumps. I turn to face him, temporarily distracted by the stacks of muscles flexing in his stomach and rippling under the taut skin of his chest. A thin, silky trail of hair bisects his abs and arrows down to the drawstring of his sleep pants. I can see the morning wood-ish outline of his dick. My mouth waters. When was the last time I gave Grip head? I can’t remember.

Oh, God, I can’t remember.

“Bris?”

“Huh?” I jerk my eyes from his crotch to find one thick brow quirked over amused dark eyes.

“You know you can get it,” Grip drawls, leaning forward to grasp my wrist and pull me down to his lap. He cups my jaw with one big hand and takes my mouth as a willing hostage. Our tongues twist, and I taste toothpaste and his natural addictive flavor. His hands wander beneath my tank top, and he finds my nipple, squeezing gently.

“Baby, I have to go,” I mutter