I needed to move us on, immediately.
In order to do that, I announced, “Okay, so it doesn’t work and you get me pregnant. It isn’t like we both don’t want kids. It happens, I won’t be sorry.”
His finger stilled.
No!
“Creed,” I whispered and it came out sounding like what it was. A plea.
I started to lift up but his voice, a rough, low, vibrating growl I’d never heard before stopped me.
“You wanna get pregnant now?”
His words, the tone they were uttered in, performed a miracle. It took me out of what was happening to my body and into the conversation and I realized what I said.
When I did, I realized I meant every word.
“Absolutely.”
Creed stared into my eyes.
I stared back.
Then his finger disappeared and I whimpered. The feeling of loss was cut short when he yanked my panties back up, shifted, rolled me and then lifted me in his arms. When we were up, he started moving, carrying me like a groom carries his bride over a threshold, his strides long and swift, his destination clearly the bedroom.
I slid my arms around his shoulders and asked, “Creed, where are you going?”
“I’m taking you to your bed. We make a baby, Sylvie, we do it making love. Not f**king on the kitchen floor.”
Of its own accord, my hand slid up his neck into his hair, cupping the back of his head spasmodically as goosebumps rose on my skin.
When we made a baby, we did it making love.
Making love.
Making a baby.
What I wanted. What he wanted. What we’d planned.
Sixteen years late.
But, thank God, not too late.
I felt my lip start to tremble and I bit it so the feeling welling up inside me didn’t overwhelm me. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted Creed to plant our baby in me while he made love to me.
How a Nerf fight ended up like this, I didn’t know.
Just that, as with everything, as always, while experiencing something wonderful, only Creed could make it more wonderful.
He set me in the bed and immediately covered me with his body.
Creed’s hands started moving on me, mine on him and his head was descending so he could kiss me when Gun pranced in, stopped and stood by the bed.
“Meow.”
Creed’s lips were brushing mine when I whispered, “She wants breakfast.”
“She can have breakfast after we try to make a baby,” he replied, not whispering.