I actually roll my eyes, but not because he’s started the countdown. No, it’s because I know I won’t be getting any Jesse-style fuck or trample when he reaches zero.
“Two.”
It’s like he’s dangling a carrot that I’m never going to get a bite of. Stupid, I know, but the need for Jesse and all of his talent for fucking me into submission has become engrained in me, pregnancy only seeming to enhance my desire for it.
“One.”
I exhale tiredly and start fiddling with my fork, refusing to submit, probably only shortening his fuse.
“Zero, baby.” I’m snatched from my chair before my brain filters the final call of the countdown, and I’m on the floor, wrists pinned above my head and Jesse straddling my waist. My eyes are wide and the restaurant is silent. You could hear a pin drop. I’m staring up at Jesse, who is unashamed and most unconcerned by our surroundings. He’s got me sprawled on the floor in a restaurant. What the fucking hell is he playing at? I dare not even look away from him. I can feel a million sets of shocked eyes drilling into the spectacle Jesse has created. I’m mortified.
“Jesse, let me up.” I wouldn’t put much past him, but this? This is way past unashamed. Fucking hell, what if someone tries to pull him off me?
“I did warn you, baby.” His face is awash with amusement, while I’m simply horrified. “Wherever, whenever.”
“Yes, okay.” I wriggle. “You’ve made your point.”
“I don’t think I have,” he says casually, making himself comfortable, suspending his face over mine. “I love you.”
I want the ground to swallow me up whole. Ravishing me and kissing the living daylights out of me on a busy street is one thing. Pinning me to the floor in a busy restaurant is insane. “I know. Let me up.”
“No.”
Oh God, I can’t even hear the chinking of knives and forks, which tells me all eating has halted. “Please,” I beg quietly.
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” I grate the words through clenched teeth.
“Say it like you mean it, Ava.” He’s not going to give up, not until I follow through on his stupid, unreasonable order to his satisfaction.
“I love you.” I sound softer, but still uneasy.
He eyes me suspiciously, and I’m beyond relieved when he shifts and pulls me to my feet, choosing to remain on his knees in front of me. I take my time straightening myself out, anything to avoid facing the masses of diners who are undoubtedly looking on in shock. After I’ve spent much more time than is really necessary brushing myself down, I chance a quick look around the restaurant, then proceed to die a thousand deaths on the spot. I’m tempted to run for it, but I notice Jesse still on his knees in front of me.
“Get up,” I say on a hushed whisper, despite the obviousness of being heard. It’s still eerily silent.
He walks forward on his knees until he’s flush with the front of my legs, and then slides his hands around to my arse, looking up at me with puppy dog eyes. “Ava Ward, my beautiful, defiant girl.” My face is heating further by the second. “You make me the happiest man on this fucking planet. You married me, and now you’re blessing me with twin babies.” He slips a hand from my arse and onto my tummy, circling adoringly before dropping a kiss in the center. There’s definitely a few sighs from our spectators. “I love you so fucking much. You’re going to be an incredible mummy to my babies.” I can do nothing more than stare down at him as he makes his public declaration, the embarrassing fool. And there are more sighs. He kisses his way up my body until he’s in my neck. “Don’t try to stop me from loving you. It makes me sad.”
“Sad or crazy?” I ask quietly.
He emerges from his hiding place in my neck and gathers my hair, draping it down my back before cupping both of my cheeks in my palms. “Sad,” he affirms. “Kiss me, wife.”
I’m not up for any further embarrassment, so I conform and give him exactly what he wants. This way I get to escape sooner. But then clapping starts, and I’m soon missing Jesse’s lips on mine as he takes a bow and sits me back down. We’re staying?
“I love her.” He shrugs, like that explains why he has just manhandled me to the floor and demanded a declaration of love, before announcing to a bunch of strangers that we’re expecting twins.
“Twins!”
I jump at the excited, broken English of the waiter, who waves a bottle of champagne in front of us. “You must celebrate.” He pops the cork and pours two glasses. I cringe. It’s very thoughtful, but there’s no way either of us are drinking it.