Breathing.
In one piece.
Deep in me.
Ty.
I closed my eyes and sighed.
“One way to get you to calm the f**k down and stop crying,” he said against the skin of my neck and my body went still. His head came up; he looked down at me and grinned. “Divorce papers are on the counter, mama. You want me to get up and go get ‘em so you can sign ‘em?”
I decided I’d get pissed later at the belated but highly inappropriate show that he had a very good sense of humor.
Instead I declared, “You get up and go anywhere, I’m tackling you.”
His body shook as his grin spread to a smile. Then he asked, “You honestly think you can tackle me?”
“I didn’t say it would be a successful tackle.”
And then my husband burst out laughing.
And I watched.
He didn’t give this to me often but I always watched. This time it was way better because he was doing it while still inside me.
Then his laughter died to a chuckle, he dropped his forehead to mine and his hand came up and curled around the side of my neck.
And when he did the last, the laughter died, his eyes held mine and he whispered, “Is my mama home?”
I swallowed but I still knew my eyes got bright and my voice was husky when I whispered back, “Yes.”
He closed his eyes, shifted the lower half of his face and touched his mouth to mine. Then he lifted his head away, opened his eyes and I felt his thumb stroke my jaw.
His gaze again locked with mine, he told me gently, “Missed you, baby.”
I swallowed again and my arms and legs tightened around him. “Me too.”
“Do not ever leave me like that again,” he ordered.
I decided not to remind him he told me to.
Instead, I said softly, “Okay.”
He stared at me. Then he said softly back, “Okay.”
Then he bent his head, touched his mouth to mine, pulled gently out and then he reached out a long arm, tagged my underwear, shifted his lower half and pulled my panties up my legs. Then he rolled off me and got to his feet, righting his jeans as he moved. I lifted up, my torso turning and twisting to keep him in my sights as he walked to the kitchen. Then I watched, my chin on my arm resting on the back of the couch, as he tagged a manila envelope from the counter, walked to the junk drawer at the side, dug through it and found what he wanted. Then I watched him walk to the kitchen sink. He dug out a bunch of dishes and put them on the counter (at a glance, it was very clear Ty was not tidy, so I kept it solely at a glance).
Then my breath stopped as I watched him strike a match and light the envelope on fire. He twisted and turned it until it was a sheet of flame in his hand.
Then he dropped it in the sink and watched it burn out. He tossed the matches on the counter and started directly back to me.
“Divorce papers,” he stated.
I stared at him in shock.
Then I watched my man and his big, beautiful body with its equally beautiful tats walking back to me.
Then I grinned.