Fuck yeah.
His Sylvie.
“Born to love me, baby, like I was born to love you,” he whispered back.
Her eyes got soft as they dropped to his mouth. He suspected his did too, as he dropped his mouth to hers.
Creed kissed her, moving her from the wall. Still inside her, he walked her to the bed and put them both into it.
There, they stopped fucking.
They finished making love.
His Sylvie had wanted four kids.
She wanted it, Creed gave it to her.
But that night, Creed gave her number five.
* * * * *
Raid
Thirty Minutes Later
Raid walked across the porch with its now-empty porch swing to the door, through it and into the farmhouse.
A light was on, shining dim from the living room to his left.
He walked that way and saw her there, on the flowered sofa, curled up in an afghan, head to the arm of the couch, asleep.
Waiting up for her man, she’d conked out.
Pregnant women, he’d learned (repeatedly) did that shit.
He moved to her and sat in the area open at the curve of her lap, a small area considering the size of her belly.
He had a hand lifted to pull her blonde hair away from her face even as her head turned and her big blue eyes opened.
Blinking, she focused on him.
“Hey,” she whispered. “It go okay?”
“Nothing sweeter,” he answered.
Her head slightly twitched as she lifted it up from the couch.
“Sorry?”
“Years, my two boys, my baby girl you got in you, countless hot fudge sundaes, all that you gave me, and there’s nothin’ sweeter.”
She was getting him, he knew it when he saw her face grow soft.
“Raiden.”
His name was hushed, reverent.
Fuck, but she loved him.