Happily Ever Ninja(101)

Greg said nothing and the fire behind his eyes had mellowed. He watched me, like I was something new and volatile and wonderful, like he was considering how best to handle me. I could see he was excited by the idea of a new addition to our family and, strangely, his excitement both eased and irritated me.

Eased because I needed him to be happy about this. If he’d been upset, I would have lost my mind, gone into full ninja mode, and destroyed the apartment.

Irritated because he wasn’t the one who would be pregnant, deal with mood swings, weight gain, medical tests, back pain, labor, struggle through breastfeeding, and juggle Grace and Jack’s needs as well.

And lose myself a little more in the process. . .

I scoffed at his cautiously exuberant expression and posed his question back to him. “How about you? Do you care at all what I want? What I need?”

“What do you need, Fe?” he asked, his voice quiet and curious, bracing.

“I need a partner,” I blurted, swallowing a sob, my eyes still stinging with stubborn tears. “I meant what I said. I need you here. Alive. Active and involved and helping, every day. I need you to look for ways to help, not wait for me to make you a list. I need you to listen and not discount my point of view or contributions despite your feverish caveman need to keep me safe. I need you to clean the apartment, and pick up your goddamn socks, and stop making mindless messes—like we have magical cleaning fairies who orgasm every time they do the laundry.”

He cracked a rueful smile at the last bit, but quickly pressed his lips together.

Despite the just-spoken sarcasm and humor, my voice wobbled as I added earnestly and gently, “Let me remind you of some words a very wise man once said to me. ‘A relationship is made up of many burdens, and the two people within the relationship have different strengths and weaknesses, abilities and talents. Burdens are weightless, worlds change, and love endures when both people are contributing their maximum.’”

Greg set his jaw, his eyes narrowing, but I could tell his temper had lost its steam. “That guy sounds like a pretentious asshole.”

I pressed my lips together, partly to keep my chin from wobbling, and partly because I was fighting a smile.

Pulling him into my arms for a tight hug, because I needed to touch him—I needed his strength—I lifted my chin and whispered against his ear. “I’d like to amend that wisdom to include: burdens are weightless, worlds change, and love endures when both people are allowed to contribute their maximum.”

“Now you sound like a pretentious asshole,” he grumbled, but I could tell it was false grouchiness because his arms came around me and held me to him with a tight, possessive embrace.

I had to take a couple deep breaths before I admitted brokenly, “I need you to stop leaving me behind.”

He paused for maybe a full minute, then squeezed me and nodded. “Okay. Okay.” His hand soothed up and down my back as new tears leaked out of my eyes, tears of relief and tears of panic.

“I’m serious, Greg. You can’t do that to me anymore. You can’t—”

“I know. And . . . I’ll do my best. I might require reminding, but I’ll do my best. And, in return, I need something from you.”

“I don’t know if I have anything left to give.” I was so exhausted and overwhelmed and honestly scared. I couldn’t fathom having any energy to spare.

“I need you to tell me I’m wanted.”

“Of course you are—”

“And needed—”

“Yes,” my arms tightened around him as his lips came to my neck, “more than you know.”

“And you’re desperate for me.”

“I’m beyond desperate for you.”

“Good.” Greg placed a wet kiss just below my ear, biting me, and whispering, “Because I’m desperate for you—and not just your intoxicating warmth and body. I’m desperate for your beautiful heart and brilliant mind. I’m desperate for you to need me as I need you—insatiably, completely, eternally.” He punctuated each of his last three words with a kiss, a lick, and a nibble, sending lovely spikes of melting affection and ardor through my limbs, flushed heat to my cheeks.

“I do,” I admitted breathlessly, leaning my head back so I could catch his eyes, so he could see both the veracity and importance of my words. “I belong to you, Greg. And I demand you take better care of me. And not just because I’m pregnant—”

“No, darling. We belong to each other. I shall require reminding and some patience if you can spare it, but I intend to take the best care of you. And not because you’re pregnant.”