Her man had a great deal to learn about being a bear. She began to laugh. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I like your beard. And now that it’s had a chance to grow out a bit, it isn’t particularly coarse. In fact, it tickles a bit because it’s soft.” She dug her fingers into it and used it to bring his mouth back to hers.
“I don’t think we have to wait for our celebration,” she finished.
His brown eyes sparkled. He scooped her up into his arms. “Let’s go see if that bed of Pierre’s has any life left in it.”
The master bedroom was painted a soft and cheerful yellow. It was bare except for a large sleigh bed and a chest of drawers with an oval mirror attached. Years ago, Uncle Pierre had moved into the spare room in his house when his wife died. He had given – or lent – them the antique bedroom suite from the room he had shared with his Marie.
The bed was made up with plain white sheets and a blue blanket. The dark wood gleamed richly. The room radiated a sort of simple contentment. Troy and Lisa Marie had been happy here. Uncle Pierre and Aunt Marie’s love was a family legend. This was a good place to consummate her marriage.
Patrick rumbled in her ear, “You can change anything you want. This is just a stopgap.” He set her gently on the hardwood floor and began exploring her mouth before she could answer him.
He took his time tasting her – just as if he had never kissed her before. As if he need to discover what she enjoyed. Sometime later she found he had moved them to the bed and she was sitting astride his lap nibbling and sucking while his beard added a new level of texture to their kissing.
He pulled away. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I forgot to shave. I guess I got carried away.”
She chuckled. “I told you, I like it. I think you should keep it.”
His mouth opened and closed like a fish. He narrowed his eyes and tipped her chin from side to side. “You are going to have a rash,” he pronounced.
His big hands explored her belly gently. Her abdomen felt as taut as a drum these days. And the curve had gone from gentle to pronounced. “I think we need some of that Shea butter,” he said.
“What?”
“To prevent stretch marks.”
“I’ve got stretch marks?” she yelped.
He held her still. “Nope. But a little prevention is worth a pound of cure.” He brushed the undersides of her breasts. “They’re bigger,” he whispered.
“Um.” Her belly wasn’t the only thing that was swelling like ripening melons.
“Are they tender?”
“More sensitive,” she admitted. His caresses were going straight to her pussy and making it clench tight.
He withdrew his hand. “I won’t touch you there if you don’t want me to.” Brown eyes met hers with a slight frown in them.
“It doesn’t hurt exactly. It’s just that what I feel is more intense.”
He answered by taking one furled nipple into his hot mouth and swirling his tongue over it. He pulled away and looked at her. The damp nipple cooled and puckered tighter as he traced circles around it while he waited for her verdict.
“I liked it.” Her voice was husky with arousal.
He moved to the other side. He went back and forth like that until her skin was flushed and damp and she was writhing beside him. He was breathing hard and his muscles were taut with need. And all she had done was caress his chest. Every time she touched his cock he moved her hand away.
He trailed a hand over her belly and dabbled in her navel. “Did you feel that?” he asked in delight.
As far as she could tell, her babies were having a game of ping pong. “They’re awake.”
“Feels like popcorn popping,” he said. Delight rang in his voice. He kissed her stomach all over. “Hello,” he whispered. He traced kisses down to her bush. He covered her mound with his hand and kneaded softly. “Would you like to be kissed here?”
She nodded.
His beard tickled her sensitive inner thighs softly while his tongue alternatively probed and lapped. He kissed her pussy as he had kissed her mouth, gently, thoroughly, and as if he had all the time in the world to discover her secrets. When his tongue at last swirled around her clit, she stiffened as all her tension ratcheted up. She could no more have stopped herself from coming than she could have stopped the sunrise.
He held her while the aftershocks rippled through her body, gently squeezing her mound and pressing her clit with his thumb whenever they seemed to be slacking off. She was languid when she finally said, “I’m done.”
“Okay.” He kissed the side of her head.
“What about you?” He was as stiff as stone. And his cock was a hard probe against her thigh.
“Is it safe for me to be inside you?”
She roused herself enough to position herself over him. “It certainly is. There is something in semen that helps prepare my vagina for childbirth. And orgasms tone everything so labor will be easier.”
“You sure?”
She kissed him. “I’m sure.”
He held her as she got ready to take him inside. She spread her lips and aimed him at her passage. She was slick and swollen and still pulsating. He was a tight fit but she got the job done. He was arched like bow by the time she was sitting on his pubes.
“You do it,” he groaned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She gripped his hips with her knees and raised up. “You won’t,” she assured him. “You can move.”
He bucked. She sank. They began a slow trot while his skin dampened and his mouth became a large rigid O. He was struggling to keep to her languid pace. She would not have believed he could get any harder, but he did. She increased her cadence and slid up and down on his cock. Her juices made a succulent noise as sexy as anything she had ever heard.
Except for his roar of satisfaction. She let herself come. Her vagina squeezed his cock tighter. She collapsed on his chest, exhausted by the intensity of her climax. She lay still while his arms clasped her close.
The late afternoon sun was slanting in over the bed when she woke up. She had been sleeping on Patrick’s furry chest. There was no way she was going to let him go back to shaving or waxing or whatever citified foolishness he was into. His fur and his muscles added up to hot masculinity. Her playful touching must have woken him because he stopped her hand. He brought it to his lips. His beard tickled.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bascom,” he growled. “How do you feel?”
“Excellent. What about you?”
“Never better.” He hugged her tightly when she would have slipped off his torso. “Stay. I like feeling the popcorn.”
“Is that what you’re calling our family.”
“Yeah. I know it’s silly. But I think of them as three pieces of popcorn bopping around inside you.” He kissed her.
“They are a bit bigger than that.”
“Oh. Do you want girls or boys?”
“Yes.”
“What?” He was confused.
“The ultrasound showed three babies. And three placentas.”
“Right.” He stroked her back making her spine tingle. “Isn’t that normal?” He sounded vaguely worried.
“It means we are having fraternal triplets. It’s unlikely they will all be girls or all be boys.”
“Because they have placentas?”
“Because they each have their own. If they were sharing, they would be identicals. From one egg. Like me and Amber. Instead they will be fraternal.”
“Like me and Zeke?”
“Yup.”
“Cool.” His chuckles made her bounce.
“What?”
“Do you know what a millionaire’s family is?”
It was her turn to be bewildered. “Nope.”
“One of each. I guess you went one better and gave me a billionaire’s family.” He kissed her ring finger. “I’ll have to get you a proper ring,” he said. “And an engagement ring.”
“I wouldn’t say no to an engagement ring – I�
��ve always thought a diamond would be nice – but what’s wrong with my wedding ring?”
“It was my mother’s.”
She made a fist enclosing the ring. “So much the better.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not unless you know something to her detriment.”
“Nothing. But my father – he wasn’t – he isn’t.” He faltered to a stop.
“You are not your father. And we are not your parents.” She stretched out her fingers and moved them into a beam of sunlight so that the ring glinted. “It’s a nice ring. You’re the one who needs a ring.”
“Done.” He pulled her back over his body so they could kiss. “I’m going to have to figure out what to do with that money Clive left for Shirley. It complicates things because we’re married. But I do not want to set the Duprés off again.”
“You better not.” She pinched him.
“You and your sister are Shirley’s heirs. But I think maybe Uncle Pierre and Gilbert are right and we should do something for the whole community with that money. We’ll consult with Father Armstrong. Maybe have a community meeting.”
“I can’t speak for Amber,” Heather said. “But I think that Grandma Shirley would disapprove of just two people getting all that money. She would have been happier to think of all French Town benefiting.”
Patrick grunted. “I can take care of Amber. Or you can do it yourself. All my worldly goods, remember?” He pulled away from her regretfully and sat up on the edge of the bed. “I could make love to you all afternoon and until the stars fill the sky, but I think I better feed you before you get faint.”
She was hungry. Ravenous. “What’s for supper?”
His growled response had her running laughing to the kitchen. They were going to have their happy ever after. Bear love forever and ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Epilogue
“What do you think?” Patrick opened the door to the nursery and showed his wife three white cribs lined up against one pale green wall. The fresh paint was trimmed with bright white woodwork. A huge oak rocker sat in one corner. Changing tables were arrayed on either side of the closet doors.
“You did a good job,” Heather said. “The furniture looks good.”
“I got those boys of Lenny’s to do the actual painting,” Patrick admitted. “Cord and Hunter were happy to make a little money. I was too busy visiting my wife in hospital to be decorating. I did not expect our babies to be so early.”
Heather only smiled. “Did they put the furniture together, too?”
“It only arrived yesterday. Zeke and I did it this morning before I picked you up. Shall we put our babies to bed, Mrs. Bascom?”
Heather smiled slyly. “They are sleeping in their car seats. They might wake up if we move them.”
Patrick cleared his throat. “The doctor said not to leave them to sleep sitting up. Something to do with their breathing.”
Heather sighed. “Okay, but I warn you, they will be hungry as soon as they wake up.” She crossed to the window and lowered the blinds. “We might as well keep it dark.”
“Jenna brought over some bottles and formula – in case you can’t manage to nurse all three,” he said hesitantly.
“So far, I seem to have enough milk for two at a time.”
Their three babies were asleep in the hall, lined up against the wall in a row. They still had identification bracelets around their chubby wrists. Their dark hair and red cheeks and squashed noses looked identical to Patrick.
“Can you tell them apart?” he asked.
“Only by smell,” she admitted. She knew they weren’t identical, but right now they sure looked it.
He bent over the first car seat and gently extracted his daughter. He sniffed her neck, glad he was freshly shaven. He was proud of the ring Heather had insisted on, but a member of the bar couldn’t sport a beard. “She smells of milk and you,” he complained. He checked her bracelet. “This is Stella.”
Heather took the baby from him. She was bursting out of her little pink sleeper. “I think she grew on the way home.” She too breathed in their daughter’s sweet scent. “It’s Stella all right.”
Patrick was undoing the straps on the second car seat and extracting another sleeping infant. He nuzzled the dark curls. “Bethany,” he pronounced.
Heather leaned over. She sniffed delicately and gave him a proud smile. “Correct.”
He checked the bracelet anyway. He was holding his cousin’s namesake. Heather had started back to the nursery and he followed carrying his burden close to his heart. Heather laid Stella in her crib on her back and deftly swaddled her in a thin blanket. The baby slept on.
“Do you want to swaddle Bethany?” she asked.
“I’ll have to learn how,” he said.
Bethany woke up in the middle of his inept attempt to roll her into a tight bundle. Her face scrunched up and she opened her mouth in a squawk. Heather took her and loosened her blanket. “Hungry?” she cooed.
She sat down in the rocker and offered Bethany her breast. The baby latched on and began to nurse greedily. Patrick watched his wife with their daughter at her breast. Madonna and child.
Another wail came from the hall. “I’ll go,” he said.
Hope was wide awake and looking around with unfocused eyes. “Hey,” he chided gently. “You’re okay. Daddy’s here.”
His voice made his daughter shriek more loudly. She didn’t stop until he was cradling her in his arms. Her little rosebud mouth opened and closed and her head turned restlessly as she tried to find someplace to suckle. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, “Wrong parent.”
Heather looked up. “Change her,” she advised.
“I practiced at the hospital,” he told her.
“On our babies?”
“On a doll,” he confessed. He laid Hope down on the changing table and kept a hand on her belly while he rummaged for a clean diaper. “This is trickier without a nurse standing by.”
Heather snickered. He could hear Bethany’s greedy suckling. Hope decided he was torturing her and screamed. She cried louder when he exposed her legs and undid her diaper. Stella woke and began to fuss. Their peaceful homecoming was suddenly bedlam.
He got Hope’s diaper on and stuffed her uncooperative legs back into her sleeper. “What do I do now?” Hope’s howls blended with Stella’s.
Heather was at his elbow. “This one’s done,” she said. “Let’s swap.”
“But what about Stella?”
“See if putting her sister beside her calms her?”
“Doesn’t Bethany need changing?” He patted the little bottom and felt the heaviness of her diaper.
“Probably. But you could try changing her in the crib.”
Miraculously, both Bethany and Stella stopped crying as soon as they could touch. Their hysterical sobs turned to hiccups. Little fingers reached out and locked together. “You were right,” Patrick said as he headed for the diapers and wipes.
“They are used to being squished up together,” Heather said. Hope made urgent suckling noises in her arms. “You need to make a bottle for Stella – and a chart. We will have to keep track of who’s turn it is to get formula.”
“I can do that. I guess.” It took less time to change Bethany’s diaper. And even less time to change Stella’s. His daughters continued to hold hands and Bethany’s eyes drooped and closed. “I think Beth is asleep,” he whispered.
“Good.”
“Should I take Stella with me when I go to the kitchen?”
“You’ll need both hands.”
Which turned out to be quite true. The fridge had a row of bottles with exactly four ounces in each one. Jenna had taped instructions for warming them and a chart to the cupboard. Do not use the microwave! He already knew that could create a scalding hazard. He settled for the old-fashioned method of inserting the bottle in hot water.
He had had a delightful fantasy of bringing his wife and babies home from the hospit
al and enjoying them in peaceful contentment. He hadn’t thought how much was involved in keeping his popcorn happy.
One of the girls started crying again. The noise cut off abruptly. Heather appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Isn’t that warm yet?” The baby at her breast pulled her head away and screamed. “She’s figured out that this well is dry.”
“Which one is that?”
“Stella.” Heather rocked the baby tenderly and the crying subsided. “Did I thank you for naming her after my mom?”
Patrick handed her the bottle and reached for his daughter. “It was only fair. We named Hope for mine.” Laura intended to name her daughter after her mother. Her twins were due any day.
Heather expertly checked the temperature of the milk and handed him the bottle. “Don’t let her suck air.”
Patrick sat down at the table and adjusted bottle and baby. “Am I doing it right?”
“Hold the bottle a little lower. That’s the way. I’m going to make us some lunch.”
Stella slurped happily on formula. “She seems content enough with a bottle,” he said with relief.
“The nurses got them all started at the hospital. And we had four whole days for them to get used to taking turns.” Heather pulled a roast chicken out of the fridge. “Where did this come from?”
“Your Aunt Debbie.”
“That was kind of her. I’m starving.” Heather sliced chicken. “Do you mind that they are all girls?”
Patrick stared at the back of his wife’s head. “Are you serious? Three healthy girls are fine by me. I was so worried that you would have them on the way to the hospital that I would be happy if they were furry.” Stella choked on milk. “What do I do now?”
“Take the bottle away. Sit her up and rub her back. Stella tends to gulp.”
The baby felt too floppy to sit, but Patrick did his best while Heather washed her hands. He was ready for her to take the baby, but she just bent over and adjusted his hands. “You’ll never learn any younger. Support her chest with your fingers.”
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