Look at Us Now - ch. 30
Fic masterlist
Okay guys so my computer or Tumblr is acting out or maybe I'm just dumb idk but I had a really hard time getting the text from Scrivener to this post. I handled it but the italics died before the battle was over. Sorry! I'll fix it tomorrow (hopefully)
Update: I fixed it!!
Warnings: NSFW, Rowan at work, Remelle's last planned appearance
Words: ~7k
“Oh, hi, fiancé,” Aelin greeted him. Someone shouted their congratulations in the background. “I am knuckles deep in Major Yellowlegs’ necrotic tissue, and you’re on speaker. Say hi to my OR.”
Fiancé. The word still astonished him. It took a running nurse along the hall to remind Rowan he also had a purpose with this call.
“Hi,” he awkwardly greeted her co-workers, unused to it. Before they got together, Aelin would ignore his calls for hours and tell him it’s forbidden to answer them in the OR. It’s been a few months since he learned it isn’t—at least not when you’re an attending surgeon. “How’s the Major’s leg?”
Her sigh came out muffled, likely because of her face mask. “Please tell me you won’t ever get a motorcycle.”
With the amount of riders she patches up? A hard pass.
“Even if I wanted to, you ruined them for me. I have kids to raise.”
Then, remembering he wasn’t yet supposed to mention children in the plural, Rowan cursed internally. He cleared his throat and went straight to the point. “I’m at the hospital with a newbie; we came here in an ambulance and I need a ride to get my car back at the training center. Your shift ends soon, right?”
True, but a lame excuse that truly meant: I’m already here for our ultrasound appointment. Word would get out as soon with this hospital’s gossip track, but Aelin asked him to be discreet.
“Actually, when my shift ends depends on the kid. What happened?”
“That—” fucking dumbass is what Rowan held back from saying. “—trainee decided to… cook his ration by the campfire. Now he’s got some ugly burns and a bit of molten plastic all over his arms.”
Aelin cursed under her breath—or that mask, he’d never know the true cause of her muffled voice. “His bones okay?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Good. Just hang on and I’ll call you as soon as I’m done with the major.”
After hanging up the phone, losing Aelin’s voice brought back the heaviness that came when you had to accompany a terrified nineteen-year-old to the hospital. At least he had his own room now. The pale walls and sanitizer smell matched the odd silence that fell over this wing of the hospital.
However, when Rowan entered the room again, he heard giggles coming from the two nurses that were previously soaking his arm with saline. An odd choice of sound to make, given that the boy, Ress, almost split his lip open, biting it viciously so he wouldn’t cry.
“What’s the joke?” Rowan barked while entering the room.
The nurses gawked at him, gauze in hand and eyes wide, motionless. His trainee turned his face around, staring at the wall.
“Come on.” Rowan jerked his head towards the hallway outside, inviting them out. “I wanna laugh too.”
He held the door open for both women, closed it and led them out until they were at a safe distance, out of earshot.
With both hands on his hips, he stared them down. He recognized the younger pain in his ass from basic training a few years back, and the other one must be working here for longer than he became an instructor.
“Are you telling me what’s so funny or not?”
“Oh!” The older nurse smiled at him, somewhere between smug and matronly. Patronizing? “That was such a foolish way to get hurt, and being made fun of is a kind of rite of passage in the DAF, don’t you—”
“Captain.”
“What?”
“You may address me by Captain, Lieutenant.”
The woman straightened, sensing she wouldn’t talk herself out of this. The other one must remember him enough to keep quiet.
Addressing the younger nurse he recognized, he said, “You don’t get to mock any trainee, ever. You’d gloat to your classmates that Major Salvaterre wouldn’t stop staring at you because he was interested, but he told me himself it was because your push-ups were so lousy you looked like a dying fish.”
“And you,” he turned to the older one. “You’ve been here for so long I wasn’t even your instructor. Have you not learned anything about professionalism?
“You don’t get to teach him a lesson, much less bully him. My job is to turn inept kids into fine airmen. Punishing them? Also my job. Don’t. Try. To do it.”
With the tense look on the women’s faces, Rowan ground his jaw and smoothed the sharp edges of this tone, willing his voice to sound calmer. Technically, he was still right, but even if Rowan outranked them, he tried not to snap at people whose work he didn’t supervise.
“Now, next time one of my kids comes here injured, I don’t care if they did a hula dance in front of a cannonball. You will keep a straight face and respect them as you’d do a colonel. Are we understood?”
“Yes, Captain,” they said in unison.
“Good,” he said in a softer tone, relaxed his shoulders, then nodded at them. “Have a nice shift, Lieutenants.”
Inside the room, Ress was alone at once, and smart enough to not ask him what happened outside.
“Did you call your parents?”
“Nope. I can handle this.” His chin was as high as his idiocy.
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose. Was this a failed display of bravery? This kid was dumber than he thought.
“It doesn’t look like you’re leaving this place any time soon, Kid. You need to tell your parents you won’t be home for dinner,” Rowan said while moving towards Ress’ backpack to fish the phone for him, sparing the boy’s injured hands.
“How’d you know I live with my folks?”
“You leave base covered in mud and comes back the next day with your clothes all ironed and the shiny shoes.” Rowan lifted a brow. “Is that your doing?”
For the first time since he got hurt, Ress smiled—albeit a small, closed-lipped near-imperceptible thing. And while he called his parents and answered their millions of questions, Rowan thought of Maisie and the little one on its way.
First, fatherhood made him too soft on these kids at work. Also, it wasn’t his business, but pushing them to call their parents when the injuries inevitably happen was something he’d only start doing when he understood what it was like to be a worried, waiting parent at home.
His students were legal adults—though barely—but it took having a kid himself to realize that by the time Maisie turns fifty, he’ll be an eighty-year-old time-bomb, each of her shenanigans bringing him closer to an impending heart failure.
“Hey, ‘Cap,” Ress called, covering the phone mic. “Are my parents allowed inside the hospital?”
Obviously, but it was a sensible question, since everything in the Air Force was restricted area. “I’ll be here until they arrive.”
Ress soon wrapped up the conversation with his parents and reassured him they’d arrive soon.
“Good. You kids try too hard to look tough.” Rowan lifted his index finger for emphasis. “A real man never leaves his mum worried if he can help it.”
Silence, followed by a long sigh. “You can say it, you know.”
“Say what?”
“That I was dumb.”
He chuckled. “Boy, I’ll give you so much hell, you’ll wish you were there instead.” The faintness of his closed-lipped smile didn’t match the kind of punishments he had in mind. Ress was smart enough to understand and keep quiet.
“You know, I have a little girl. She’s five, and—“
“Are you about to say your legal adult trainees are as sharp as your five-year-old?” Ress’ face lit up with amusement, a small curve on the corner of his lip.
Well, yes, but not anymore, now that he mocked Rowan’s moment of wisdom.
“Gods, no,” Rowan replied instead, “I’d never do that to my Maisy Daisy. She’s way smarter than you lot.”
Ress’ spine bent forward with the force of his cackle.
“It’s not a joke!” Rowan said as Ress wheezed beside him, “That kid’s a real genius! She’ll end up with a Nobel Prize or something.”
“I bet she will, ‘Cap.”
A different nurse came in, checking the monitors and injuries while writing things down.
“The ER doctor said another one would come soon.”
He nodded. “Someone from the pain management team, Captain.”
Rowan’s recently lightened mood turned sour. “What about the skin people? Are there no dermatologists or plastic surgeons here?
“I’m afraid our dermatologist, Dr. Wiselheade, is preoccupied with her scheduled appointments at the moment, but she’ll see him in the morning.”
Her scheduled appointments. “You mean the people who did not arrive in an ambulance, because they could not only wait for days to see her, but also drive their own asses here?”
The nurse swallowed. “That is the overall public of her afternoon appointments, Sir.”
Rowan got up, and his voice came out slow and lethal. “You’re telling me the doctor is too busy popping pimples to treat a burn injury?”
The man opened and closed his mouth, unsure o what to say.
Rowan turned to leave and gestured so the man would follow him out of Ress’ room. “Come on. Show me where this doctor’s office is.”
~~
“I need to speak with Dr. Wiselheade.”
The sergeant looked at his name tape and checked the agenda once. Twice. Then she asked, “Sir, do you have an appointment?”
“I’m not a patient, I’m a visiting officer from base. I need to speak with Dr. Wiselheade.”
“I’m sorry, Sir, but you need an appointment to speak with the doctor.”
“Do I, now?”
“I’m afraid so, Captain.”
Rowan leaned over and kept his tone conspiratory. “I don’t have an appointment, that’s true, but what if I told you I have a pimple?”
“Really?” She paused to examine his face and noticed his lack of acne. “Where is it?”
“It’s up my fucking ass, Sergeant.” He intensified eye contact to say, “Listen to me, this is not Dr. Wiselheade’s private office, nor can she make any rules. When a superior officer tells you they need to speak with her, not only do you go immediately, but you also do not—under any circumstances—ask them where their pimples are. Do you understand?”
“Yes, S-sir.”
He schooled his face back into an amiable expression and gestured at the door. “Now, would you please inform the Doctor that she has a visiting officer waiting—a mandatory meeting?”
Rowan should have counted the time, because it felt like less than a minute until the Sergeant was back and asked him to wait until the doctor’s current appointment was over.
In the meantime, he concluded that this hospital was a disgrace. Did people forget everything Rowan taught them after basic training was over? It seems like they lost all sense when it comes to conduct, uniform, every guideline they chose to abide when joining the military.
When the patient left, he was immediately asked to come in. He opened the door, ready to—
Grabby Blonde from the supermarket?!
“Oh, hi, Captain.” She tilted her head, smirking. “There’s no need to fight my secretary, I’ll always make time for you.”
“Except she’s a sergeant assigned to manage your agenda, not your secretary, Doctor, because this isn’t your private practice.”
Rowan wasn’t too bad at remembering people. His trainees, Maisie’s classmates, the oldest employees at the convenience store—he remembered all their faces and names. However, he’d completely forgotten not only her name, but her existence altogether.
Something about Grabby Blonde felt very… forgettable. Despite her being annoyance embodied.
“Why don’t you sit down and call me Remelle?”
“I’d rather not.” Knowing he was in treacherous territory, Rowan leaned against the wall and crossed his arms before himself. “I’m retrieving you to treat a nineteen-year-old burn victim. The sooner you come with me, the sooner you can go back to your appointments.”
She got up from the desk, movements feline as she sat on it, in front of him, and crossed her legs. “That’s not much of an incentive, is it? I’m not even part of the primary burn management to need to go in there this soon.”
She was just begging for him to be an asshole, wasn’t she? “If actually practicing medicine isn’t incentive enough, I’ll have to remind you, Lieutenant, that you do not have a choice whether to come or not.”
Wrong choice of words, Rowan realized too late.
“You sound so dirty when you order me around, Captain.” She licked her lips, arched her back and failed to draw his attention to her cleavage. “Are you always this bossy?”
Ress was scared, and alone. Rowan wasn’t supposed to leave him there for too long, and it was obvious where Dr. Wiselheade, Remelle, Grabby Blonde—whatever she liked to be called—would try to run circles around him until she used this “opportunity” to get what she wanted, so Rowan decided to cut this short.
“I’m spoken for, Lieutenant.” He sent a disgusted look towards the wedding band on her left hand. “And so are you.”
The next best argument, since his lack of interest wouldn’t deter her.
“Yes, that’s why I think we have a lot in common,” she said in a sultry tone, sliding her hand up his arm. “We both know how hard it is to fight temptation.”
Rowan didn’t. The only temptation he faced these days was trying not to jump on his fiancée in front of the kid.
He quickly retrieved his arm from her grasp. “What I’m feeling tempted to do is paying a visit to your husband, Doctor.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind if you bring your… her. Benson has very poor standards, I’m sure he’ll love to switch for an evening.”
With that, Rowan saw red.
Scratch that, he didn’t only see red. Red pumped through his veins, tightening his muscles in a way that was not healthy for a workplace, emptying his head into a fight or fight mode that his remaining scraps of reason urged him to depart.
“I am leaving this room right now, and all disciplinary measures will be applied if you don’t show up at Ress’ room in ten.”
He touched the doorknob, and she placed her hand over his to stop him.
Do not grab and toss her wrist with your other hand. Do not show any sign of aggression.
Rowan pulled his hand from under hers, freeing it from her grasp.
“I’m not saying I won’t go, I’m just proposing an exchange of favors. I know you want to.”
Unbelievable. Doing her own job—a favor?
“Believe me, Dr. Wiselheade, I don’t. You think I’m tempted, but I don’t see anything tempting here. In fact, I wouldn’t describe your looks or personality even as pleasant—if I must be honest, I find you deeply annoying.” He crossed his arms, looking down at her in the grimmest way he could muster. “Now, I have a counteroffer for you: you leave this office right now and give my trainee the best treatment you can, and in return I won’t file a formal complaint for sexual harassment. How do you feel about that?”
Mala bless his fiancée, she’d pay good money to witness the way Remelle Wiselheade’s eyes lost its spark.
~~
“That bitch!” Aelin exclaimed, a bit too loud for the restaurant they were in. The sea of white tablecloths might give the idea that this place would be loud, but the murmurs were oddly soft for a full house. Aelin focused on his story from earlier today in a way that made her miss out on the piano music she loved so much.
Aelin convinced him to go out more than they usually did so she could wear all her fancy outfits while she could, and there was no better occasion than Baby #2’s sonogram. And when she inquired of him about his day, he decided it was best not to lie about his encounter with Dr. Wiselheade, even if it had the potential to ruin their special dinner.
“I handled it.”
“Yeah, I bet you did.” She cut her trout more forcefully than it demanded. Since when has Aelin liked fish? He stopped questioning ever since she showed him the pregnancy blood test with the most adorable White Hawks onesie. She continued, “If you didn’t, I’ll handle it just fine.” Another minor attack on the fish’s corpse. “I’ll handle her so fine that fake boob of hers will be flying off her mouth,” his lovely fiancée said.
“Aelin.”
“What? You think I can’t start a fistfight just because I’m pregnant?”
“Not the sole reason, but yes. You summed it up well.”
Aelin’s shoulders dropped, and she focused back on her meal. The crumpled look on her face was the exact reason he didn’t want to tell her about this. However, it was one thing to dismiss phone numbers he was given or random people on the social media profiles he scarcely used, but this was her co-worker—and a recurring annoyance rather than a fleeting one. Rowan didn’t want to bother his pregnant fiancée with it, but something told him he should make her aware of it.
“But, hey.” He caressed her wrist with his thumb, an attempt to cheer up his Fireheart. “We just made it out of the first trimester. Don’t you think that’s exciting?”
With that, she smiled. In sync, both of them looked at the representation of this dinner's special guest—today’s picture of Baby #2, leaning against a wineglass in front of a vacant seat. If this one ended up being as well-behaved as Maisie, this might be their only time at a place like this in the next decade.
He squeezed her hand. “How do you want to tell people?”
She was the one to suggest they should wait before telling people, and Mala knows how many times Rowan almost broke that promise despite himself. Big mouth aside, after all the chaos and drama surrounding Maisie’s birth—no matter how rewarding—Rowan decided he wanted Aelin to be in charge of decisions like this.
His parents figured out about Maisie’s pregnancy by themselves while Rowan was incarcerated? So this time she’ll get to pick when, where, and how they get to know. As long as she was happy and still wanted to marry him, Rowan would happily follow his fiancée’s lead.
When Rowan asked if she minded the mental load, she quickly brushed him off. Aelin also wanted Aelin to be in charge of all decisions.
“I want to tell Maisie first.” Her voice was firm, as if she’d thought this over before, so Rowan decided not to argue.
“And then our work is done, right? You know she’ll tell everyone and their mothers before we have the chance to.”
Aelin giggled, her laugh lighting the dimly lit room they were in. “Less work for us, and a much cuter reveal.”
“Okay, then.” He kissed her knuckles, chest molten. Rowan was so ecstatic about her and this baby, he couldn’t think of a single request he wouldn’t fulfill for her right now. “Shall we go before she falls asleep at Sellene’s?”
“What?” She removed her hand from his grasp. “What about dessert?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Weren’t you complaining that the dish was big enough to feed a woman pregnant with quintuplets?”
Her exact words, if he remembered correctly.
Aelin placed a hand over her stomach, affronted. “Well, yes, but dessert is a different compartment entirely.”
“Like a secret pocket for treats?”
“Exactly.”
“And you’re telling me that because you went to med school, and I didn’t?”
“Precisely.” She looked away, trying to catch a waiter. “The dessert compartment is real and very scientific. Please, know your place.”
Rowan didn’t need to be told twice. He looked down and chuckled while the server came over, then happily watched his fiancée’s excitement over her key lime pie—to celebrate the baby’s current size.
A while later, while they waited for the valet to bring back his car, Rowan took Aelin in, and the effort she’d put into their night out despite having a long day at work. As much as he loved taking her out as a farewell to her nice clothes, this was coming to an end soon.
He wasn’t sure she’d realized it, but Aelin was showing already, and her belly was bigger this pregnancy. He loved it. Right now, the deep blue satin of her dress draped between her lower belly and her hips—a new effort to hug her growing stomach—and it was easy to tell it wasn’t exclusively due to the insurmountable amount of food Aelin tackled; that it was mostly because of his baby.
Once she realized he was staring, she slid her hands over her sides and let out an awkward chuckle. “I was fighting for my life to get into this thing earlier. Didn’t calculate how much worse it’d get after dinner.”
He pulled her to his front and hugged her from behind, kissed her on the cheek, and murmured, “You look stunning.”
Aelin didn’t argue, settled instead into his embrace and soon their car arrived.
The city lights became a blur now that traffic had died down after rush hour, and they decided to call and check if Maisie was still awake.
“Hey, Sellene. How are you three? Are the girls behaving?”
His cousin chuckled. “Surprisingly so, yes. You’ll learn why in a minute.”
The red light allowed Rowan and Aelin to exchange a look. A quiet Maisie was her most dangerous version—it meant she was onto something. When the little girl took her aunt’s phone to speak with them, she didn’t spare a single pleasantry before letting them learn why.
“Can Bree and I have a sleepover today? Pleeeease pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?”
Breanna soon joined her on the ‘please’ chorus.
It was Rowan who said, “I’m not sure, Mais.”
His chest tightened with the request, the reminder of the bedtime story he’d picked to read her tonight on the back of his mind. How silly was he being right now? Not so long ago, Rowan used to spend two or three days at a time without physically seeing Maisie, but the thought of it was now unfathomable.
“Can I speak to Sellene again?” he said without changing routes.
“Uncle Ro, please!” Bree shouted while the phone was passed over.
Aelin snorted, eyes widened in a can-you-believe-them look.
“Are you on speaker?” Rowan asked when he was sure it was Sellene on the other end.
“Not anymore.”
Good. “How do you feel about this? I don’t mind being the bad guy if you want to postpone the sleepover.”
He switched lanes to enter the street that led to Sellene’s neighborhood, not buying the sleepover idea yet.
She chuckled. “It’s fine, really. It’s been moderately chaotic so far, and we’re all having fun. You two should take the night off and have a few drinks or—oh!—go celebrate your engagement! I’ve got them.”
His cousin had no idea how off-limits alcohol was.
“I don’t know, I—“
As he trailed, Aelin sneaked her hand over his seat and cupped his cock.
Rowan almost hit the brakes.
“Are you sure?”
The question slipped his lips without conscious approval, and it was hard to focus on the traffic instead of Aelin’s come-hither look.
“Of course!”
“I think—I…”
Rowan was cut off by Aelin’s squeeze on his cock, followed by the harsh strokes of her hand, wiring his body despite the clothing he still wore.
“We’ll pick her up in the morning, then.”
He made a turn and sped his way home, the path to Sellene’s forgotten. Aelin’s hand didn’t leave its spot until they arrived.
Rowan almost fucked his fiancée in the garage.
And she didn’t help his efforts to carry her to the bedroom, teasing his neck and increasing friction by pushing their hips together.
In the hallway, he pressed her against the wall and nipped her jaw. “You want to make it to the bed or not?”
Her teasing smirk was enough to tell him that he didn’t need to hear an answer from him—she’d run circles around him, an usual occurrence.
He kissed her. If he used it as a way to avoid her snarky retorts or teased her purposefully to achieve this result, he’d never tell.
Aelin’s softness as she opened up and allowed him to take charge nearly broke him. Rowan’s tongue met hers with possessive sureness, taking what was meant for him. The soft and pliant sounds Aelin filled the hallway with drowned him, making his cock’s ache much harder to bear.
Their bed was much needed, now more than ever.
When he finally arrived there—delayed by Aelin’s toying with his neck—he reverently placed his fiancée atop the bedsheets, pressing their foreheads together and breathing each other’s air. Aelin smiled and flung him into bed with her.
“How do you want me?” Her breathlessness reduced her voice to a whisper.
Rowan threaded his fingers with her hair at the base of her skull and pulled, baring her neck to him.
“Just the ring on,” he growled before kissing her neck, insatiable as he sucked its skin into his mouth.
“Good.” Aelin shuddered under his attention. “I refuse to take it off.”
What they did take off, quite clumsily, was the outfits for the fancy restaurant of Aelin’s choosing, and both of them fumbled to undress each other in a way that never happened with her—his—t-shirts or his sweatpants.
When all that dreadful clothing was dealt with, he climbed on top of Aelin and directed himself to her breasts. He cupped the side of one and trailed pecks from the valley between them to her inner boob, but stopped himself.
“Are they sensitive?”
“Good sensitive,” Aelin rasped as she took hold of the roots of his hair and directed Rowan’s ministrations herself.
Not knowing when would be the next time they’d be good enough to eat, he dived into her tits like a starving man. The gentle biting on the outside soon turned into him sucking her nipple into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it, which drew out a loud moan from her.
The first of many. Rowan was intent on making the most out of their empty house.
He could’ve spent the entire night lost between her breasts, but his Fireheart pulled him by the hair for a sloppy, wet kiss.
Rowan hadn’t bothered with the lights, but the moonlit interior of his house allowed him to take in Aelin’s ethereal features. Not only her lovely, regal face, but also those mouth-watering tits, the peaks glistening from his kisses. It was something that often rendered him speechless, how enthralling were her beauty and personality both. It seemed unfair to other people—not only that someone such as his fiancée existed, but also that Rowan got to have her all to himself.
He’d never dare change a single thing about it.
With both hands pinned by him above her head, she squirmed under his grasp, and the diamond on her finger glinted with the movement.
He was about to marry her, wasn’t he? The reminder left him speechless every time.
The downwards trail of kisses he started was soon interrupted by Aelin. She cupped his jaw, tugged his face closer, and hooked her leg around his hips to lock it over hers.
“I need you. Now.”
When he dipped the pads of his fingers on her sex, Rowan’s dark chuckle was engulfed by Aelin’s moan.
“I didn’t think you’d be this wet for me by now, honey.”
“I—“ She arched her hips once he pressed against her clit. “You’ve been teasing me since you put that shirt on.”
His dress shirt? He needed to save this information for later.
“And now you need my cock, and this is all my fault?”
“Precisely.” A pause. “Please,” she added when he didn’t move.
A dark chuckle. “So polite.”
Rowan aligned himself between her thighs and slowly pushed in, her warmth maddening with a tight grip on him.
Her breath hitched, a breathless plea between parted lips.
His muscles tightened at the languid pace, but Aelin pushed against his thrusts, asking for more.
The increase in rhythm turned his thrusts deep yet not frenetic, but that seemed to satisfy Aelin, by the way she cried out and maimed his back with her nails. Her enthusiastic response turned his blood into lava, and his pleasure built in the base of his spine.
She stopped him and, with one deft motion, switched their positions.
He was doomed.
If Rowan had very little control as it was, he was completely at her mercy with her tits bouncing on his face and a clear view of her body and where they joined.
Aelin rode him ravenously, thighs working hard so she could pound her hips to properly bury him inside her. Tension coiled inside him as his pleasure built to an impossible degree under her merciless pace, so Rowan decided that if he must go, he should do it with dignity.
He leaned on an elbow and snapped his hips up, earning a booming string of curses from Aelin, his name falling from her lips in the foulest way. Digging her fingers into his chest, she clenched his cock with her inner walls before collapsing on top of Rowan. Once his Fireheart was sated, he allowed himself to climax, and watched the heat in her eyes as his cum filled her.
After being Aelin-starved for so long, he got drunk on the sensation of claiming, or even branding her.
Mine.
She excused herself to clean up, and watching his load drip down her thighs sent a wave of heat down his body, readying him for the next round.
He'd also never take it for granted, her trust in him. Rowan himself had never been so unbridled in bed with anyone else, but it was Aelin, so that one life-changing consequence just added to the appeal.
Aelin darted from the bathroom and laid her head on his chest, letting out a small groan of appreciation as she relaxed into him. “It’s been forever since we last had sex.”
Because she hadn’t been feeling good with all the pregnancy symptoms, but he refused to point it out and risk her feeling bad about it. “We had sex earlier this week.”
“Forever.” Her whine and pout were so adorable, Rowan couldn’t help but kiss her frown. “Aren’t you worried about our sex life with this pregnancy?”
No. Rowan narrowed his eyes at her. He went from occasional mediocre encounters with women he couldn’t care less about, to mind-blowing chemistry with the love of his life. His sex life was peaking big time.
“Honey, is something bothering you?”
Aelin sat with her back on the headboard. It was that kind of conversation, then. Rowan mirrored her and waited.
“I mean, I’m so freaking excited for this baby, but our frequency went downhill because I’ve been tired. And then I’ll be all sensitive and achy and swollen, and don’t get me started about after.”
“What about after?”
She gave him a pointed look.
“You mean another baby?” They could wait before the third one, or even stop at the second if it was what she wanted.
“Are you really gonna make me spell it out?”
Rowan’s mouth opened, but no words came out as he stayed confused. There was only one other option, but she couldn’t possibly mean—
“My postpartum body, Rowan.”
Oh, please. He looked at her dead in the eye and said, “Hot. Go on.”
Aelin’s shoulders dropped, and she gave him a pleading look, as if he was joking.
He was not.
“After Maisie, I spent years trying to get back in shape, and I didn’t. I just reached a point in which I decided that my body as hot as I was willing to work for, and there was that. And I’m not even mentioning the parts that won’t ever go away, like my stretch marks.
“Part of sex is feeling desirable, and I’m afraid that’ll be just…” A sigh. “Hard.”
As his fiancée listed her worries, Rowan had to force his mind into a self pep-talk that went along the lines of: Listen to her. Be patient. Do not be insensitive or invalidate her concerns. And do not, under any circumstances, tell fiancée her concerns are gibberish.
But truth was, no straight man would ever think about stretch marks with his face pressed against a pair of tits.
Also, Rowan wasn’t a doctor, but he was pretty sure women can’t help cellulite—if it bothered him, he’d be sucking cock by now.
He cradled her face between his palms and said, “Aelin, you’ve consistently been breathtakingly gorgeous in every version I’ve known of you.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded. Stroke her cheek with his thumb. “You did have a god-like body before Maisie, but that’s impossible to maintain with the amount of responsibilities you have.”
“You think so?”
“Of course, between Maisie and your work hours—“
“No! Not this. You really think I was so hot I looked like a god?”
Praising her old body was definitely not his point, but whatever makes her feel better.
“I still do. But I’m not talking about personal taste, I’m talking about unrealistic—“
She pressed their foreheads together. “I get it. You’re the perfect fiancée who doesn’t mind a belly pouch. Just answer me.”
He closed his eyes and chuckled. “I did go to extreme lengths to get you naked back then, so yeah.” He briefly kissed her lips. “You went from an unrealistically sculpted body to merely having an insanely hot body. Big deal. I’m still winning, babe.”
They collapsed onto the bed, a tangle of laughter and kisses—though, really, he was the one kissing her silly, until she couldn’t remember why she’d been upset in the first place.
She licked her swollen lips, looking up as he hovered over her. “You really mean all that? I don’t want you to say things to humor the pregnant lady.”
Without changing positions, his expression was earnest as he said, “You talk about this like I’ll be stuck with you and your mom bod.” His expression melted, giving way to a mushy smile as he tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Honey, I chose you. I’ve waited my entire life for you.”
But Rowan was tired of speaking. He’d much rather make his point by kissing down her body, starting with her neck and torso.
“I like to feed you,” he said before kissing the freckles over her hipbone. The path down her legs was slow and torturous, stopping only at her ankle. “I like that after I feed you, you let me fuck you rough and raw until you’re full with my babies.” Something else he also liked was the eager look in his Fireheart’s eyes. After making his way up her inner thighs, he kissed a spot on her lower belly. “And I love each and every mark that proves it.”
When he mouthed her sex, Rowan was too lost in her to focus on words anymore.
~~
Aelin and Maisie seemed to be deep in conversation, Rowan noticed from the counter, and he hoped his fiancée wouldn’t breach the subject without him there. He wasn’t far from them, but the loud chatter from Stone Villa’s Creamery made it impossible to hear a single thing from their table, just see his daughter engaged in an excited conversation with her mother, who had her back to him.
It was Saturday morning, which meant Maisie was currently missing soccer class. They decided to never mention they completely forgot about it before agreeing to the sleepover.
The clerk cleared his throat, snapping Rowan’s attention back to him. “One strawberry with bubblegum, one…” A well-deserved pause and frown. “Basil and lime with M&M’s, and a black coffee with no milk?”
He nodded. Ice cream at morning wasn’t done in his house, so Maisie better enjoy the opportunities that came with her mother’s pregnancy and odd cravings.
When he approached the table with everyone’s order, the tiny yapper was in the middle of yapping about her sleepover at Sellene’s, where they’d just picked her up from.
“…Bree has a big, big poster in the kitchen with all the letters and numbers, so we were laying on the floor and creating a secret code for when we have our own phones.”
“Oh, yeah? What did you come up with?”
“It’s a secret, Mom!”
“You’re right, honey, I’m sorry.” The quickest of twitches in Aelin’s lips told him all about how much she was struggling to take her daughter seriously at the moment.
Rowan cut in, “And how was school yesterday?”
“We learned letters and numbers.” A sigh too weary for a five-year-old. “Again.”
“Is that so?” The hardest part about parenthood might be keeping a straight face. “Are you implying that you don’t need school anymore?”
“Yes! We’re not even learning new things, we just mash all the letters and numbers we already know to make bigger words and bigger numbers.”
“Sorry, Mais. You have to study letters and numbers for 12 more years, and then pick the one you like the most to study for at least four more.”
The little girl narrowed her eyes at him, unsure whether she should take this news seriously or not. “Except Mama, because she chose bones.”
“Also a good option.”
"About bones…” Aelin cleared her throat. “The endochondral ossification is already in progress within the fetal skeleton, and your father and I decided that the transition from cartilage into mineralized bone would be a good point to tell you the news.”
‘Your father and I’ implied that Rowan participated in the decision-making process, but not a word passed his lips as he broke the news.
Maisie frowned. “That’s too many words.”
Understandable.
“Your mom was telling you about our new family member.”
“Fleetfoot’s becoming a sister?”
“No, honey, you are.”
“What.”
“Your mom is pregnant. With a human baby. You’ll be a big sister soon.”
Maisie’s jaw dropped. Her wide green eyes darted between her parents, waiting for a punchline, perhaps, but the news were very real. Slowly, she mouthed a spoonful of her ice cream.
“We’re having a baby,” the little girl murmured.
In Maisie’s head, the baby must be as hers as Aelin’s and Rowan’s. He made a mental note to check with her what she meant by ‘we’, but if her ‘mothering’ of Fleetfoot was any indication, he had nothing to worry about her taking more responsibility than necessary.
Still, the news seemed to shock her.
Aelin squeezed his hand under the table. “How are you feeling about this?” she asked Maisie.
“Noah—not from school, the other Noah from soccer—has a baby brother. He says they’re really dumb. Maybe his is dumber because it’s a boy, but later they all get smart enough to play.” She took another spoonful of ice cream, deep in thought. “At least I won’t need other moms to let me play because their kids are doing other things. Same mom, same rules, same time to play.”
Aelin grinned. “You’ll get a new playmate, yes.”
“And I’ll teach her all the cool things the teachers at school don’t know like drums and how to whistle.”
Rowan kept his tone challenging when he teased, “Do you know how to whistle?”
Maisie’s big green eyes narrowed—the little girl loathed being questioned. “Not yet, but I’ll figure it out. And next time I need you to tell me about the baby before.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to know when you call the stork, not when the baby’s already in your belly. I need time to get ready.”
Rowan refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose. This phrase had so many layers, so much to analyze and discuss later, it almost have him a migraine. Instead, he said, “But are you happy with this news? It’s okay if you’re not; we just need to know.”
Maisie didn’t reply instantly, and Rowan liked that she looked for an answer within herself instead of immediately saying whatever would please her parents the most. Then, her pursed lips slid into a wide gap-toothed grin.
“I’m having a sister!”
Aelin opened her arms and waited for her squealing daughter to round the table and sit on her lap to hug her. Rowan was halfway melted by the sight when it came to him…
Wait a second.
“Maisie, you meant having a sibling, right?”
“Samesies!”
No. Nonono— “That is very much not the same. A sibling means it could be a girl or a boy. Which is what you’re getting: a sister or a brother.”
“What?” She left her mother’s lap, sending her a betrayed look. “You didn’t tell the stork we want a girl?”
“No, honey,” Aelin said, as patient as she could be. “We wouldn’t do that, even if we could. The stork always sends the baby we need, not the baby we want, okay?”
“Fine,” Maisie huffed and returned to her chair. “At least we’ll get a pink and blue party.”
A pink and blue… Rowan’s brows went up. “You mean a gender reveal party?”
“The pink and blue party! Like the one Auntie Elide and Uncle Lorcan had to find out they were having another…” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “…boy.”
“Honey, I don’t think that’s your father’s or my thing. We didn’t throw one when I was pregnant with you—never felt like we missed out.”
“Mom, Dad, you don’t understand.” Maisie returned her spoon to the cone to brace both hands on the table, looking as serious as a five-year-old girl could.
“We need a pink and blue party.”
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They are the cutest 🥹 I'm not ready for the story to end 🩷
