Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Her eyes get wide. “Oh my God, I was thinking the same thing!”
“Really?”
“No!”
I laugh. “But you have to admit I make a good point.”
Annabelle giggles. “It’s valid, I’ll allow it.”
I take that as permission.
Sliding onto the bed beside her, I lean down, kiss the curve of her shoulder, then lower—slow, deliberate. My fingers toy with the waistband of her shorts. Ease the fabric down her hips.
“I’m Scottish. And horny as fuck and very supportive of the mother of my child.”
“Maverick—” Her voice is a warning.
A breathy plea.
She lifts her hips when I tug her shorts the rest of the way off. Doesn’t stop me when I settle between her thighs like I’ve got all the time in the world, nudging her thighs apart.
Press my hungry mouth against her pussy and suck.
Lick.
Take my time.
She tastes like heat and want and laughter—like us. I groan into her, her hands tangling in my hair, hips bucking the moment my tongue finds that spot—her clit—that always makes her groan and whimper . . .
Annabelle is melting beneath me, thighs trembling; every stroke deliberate, every kiss a promise.
It’s not just about getting her there. It’s about her fingers in my hair, tugging. The way her thighs cage my head. The way she reaches for me—mindless. Greedy.
I’m ravenous.
Gluttonous.
Want her to come in my mouth . . .
She’s close—so close—hips bucking in that rhythm that tells me she’s losing control. Her thighs squeeze, breath hitching, and then she shatters.
It’s beautiful.
Chapter 27
Annabelle
This is it.
The day we tell our families.
I’m still in Arizona—technically not in hiding, but let’s be honest: I’ve been in witness protection mode ever since I found out I was pregnant. Two positive tests, followed by at least four more.
No bump yet. No glow, either, unless you count the sweat from nausea. But it’s real. It’s happening.
And it’s time.
I watch Maverick across the room as he wraps up a call with his agent. Something about optics and keeping it “classy” until the official statement. He’s nodding, listening intently, while I’m busy freaking out because he’d just shown me the text from his mom confirming she and his dad were available for a FaceTime in ten minutes.
Cue internal screaming.
It’s not that we don’t love our parents—we do. It’s just . . . we haven’t exactly told them about any of this. The wedding. The baby. It did not cross my mind for one second that my personal life would become national news.
Look, we were going to tell them eventually, ideally at our own pace.
This whole thing feels like a reality dating show—Love Island: Oops, We Got Married. One minute we’re strangers, then fake married, then somehow falling for each other in between prenatal vitamins and late-night Taco Bell because suddenly I have cravings.
Anyway.
I hadn’t wanted to call my folks and be like, “Hey, remember how you always warned me about fast-moving relationships and were elated when I dumped Tim? Plot twist! I’m seeing someone new and expecting, ha ha, how has your week been?”
I wanted to wait to say anything to anyone until I was sure. Lucy doesn’t count.
Now here I am, about to meet Mr. and Mrs. McBride.
Maverick clicks his phone off and looks at me, eyes soft. “You ready?”
No. Not even a little. “Sure.”
Here goes nothing . . .
Maverick slips his arm around my shoulders as we walk toward the living room, where his laptop is propped open on the coffee table. The screen is already connected to our call—camera off, thank God—but I can hear the faint sound of laughter.
Shit.
He gives me a squeeze. “They’re excited to meet you. Don’t panic.”
I give him a tight smile. “I’m not panicking.”
I am absolutely panicking.
He clicks the camera on, and suddenly, there they are. His mom has the same mischievous grin he does and is waving at the screen like she’s spotted us in a crowd. Giddy.
His dad—more stoic in a gruff but charming way—nods once before leaning in closer to squint at the screen as if he can’t see us clearly.
“Is this her?” his mom all but squeals. “Oh, aren’t you darling! Look at those cheekbones! And your hair—Callum, you didn’t tell us she was this pretty!”
Maverick chuckles. “Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad. This is Annabelle.”
“Annabelle!” She beams. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Lies. They’ve heard nothing about me, short of what they’ve seen on television, and even then, they weren’t certain any of it was true. They didn’t even know I existed in any official capacity.
“It’s so lovely to meet you,” I say, because I was raised right and also I’m terrified.
His dad tilts his head. “So, how long have you two been seeing each other, then?”
Maverick opens his mouth.
I open mine faster. “About a month?”
Ish. If you’re being generous and adding some weeks—but who’s counting? Ha.
His mom clutches her chest like she’s on the verge of fainting—but in a very enthusiastic, giddy way. “A month! Oh my goodness. And already so smitten, I can tell!”