Free The Culmination by Lauren Rowe Page A

his body as chiseled and ripped and muscled as ever. Good lord, I will never get over the sight of him. He’s a work of art.
    He rips off his towel and chucks it across the room, giving me the view of him that never gets old, and then he growls like a polar bear and flexes every muscle in his arms and chest.
    “Wowza,” I say. “Hello, Incredible Hulk Jonas.”
    “Damn, I wanna fuck your brains out, woman. Holy fuck.”
    My heart lurches in my chest. “Do it.”
    He leaps onto the bed and hovers over me, his muscles taut. “Oh, the things I want to do to you.”
    “Do ’em.”
    “Nope.” He kisses my nose.
    “Just this once. I won’t tell.”
    “Nope.”
    “Yep.”
    “See, I’ve already explained this to you, woman. If I fuck you the way I want to do it and hurtle you into premature labor, I’ll never, ever forgive myself. Is that what you want?”
    “Well, jeez. No .”
    “I thought so.” He bites my neck and pretends to rip at me like a shark.
    “Jonas!” I shriek.
    He growls. “Just six more weeks, and then you’re all mine, woman.”
    “Well, you do realize I’m gonna have to, you know, heal after giving birth.”
    “Fuck that. Once those babies are out of you, I’m going in, any hole I can get. You’re just gonna have to fucking deal with it.”
    “Jonas!”
    He laughs and licks my face.
    I wipe my cheek, scowling at him. “Another Hallmark moment brought to you by Jonas Faraday: ‘My darling, once those babies are out of you, I’m going in any hole I please, no matter how bloodied or mangled you happen to be from birthing my children. Happy Valentine’s Day.’”
    He belly laughs and licks me again.
    “You really are a master of Valentine’s Day bullshit, you know that?”
    “I really am.” He sighs, completely enamored with himself. “A little music to set the mood, Mrs. Faraday?”
    “That would be lovely, sir.” My heart is racing. He’s a new man. Oh my God. I could pass out with relief.
    He leaps off the bed and over to his computer, cues up a song, and then turns to me with a devilish grin. I’m not sure what that naughty smile of his means. Is he going to play something fuckstastic for me, signaling he’s ready to throw caution to the wind and fuck the shit out of me? Doubtful. Or has my hunky-monkey husband selected a song suited to tenderly romancing his saintly, pregnant wife, per doctor’s orders, yet again?
    The song begins—it’s “The One Who Loves You the Most” by Brett Dennen, a beautiful, heartfelt love song—one of my all-time favorites, actually—and, instantly, I know what brand of fuckery we’re going to engage in tonight. Again.
    Jonas scoots into bed next to me, his hard-on raging.
    “Hi, husband,” I say. “And hello to your boner, as well. Good lord, baby. That boner deserves its own zip code tonight. Holy moly . ”
    “Why, hello, wife, from the both of us.”
    “I think your dick grew again. ”
    “At least another four inches. Thanks to your fucking hotness.”
    “At least.”
    “How are you this fine evening, wife?”
    “I’m good.”
    “You look exhausted.”
    “I am.”
    “Tell me all about it, My Magnificent Sarah. Don’t hold back.”
    “Well, let’s see. My feet are swollen. My back hurts. And I’m as big as a house.”
    “You’re not as big as a house.” He touches my swollen belly. “You’re as big as an exceptionally large condo.”
    “Wow, you sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.”
    “So I’ve been told many, many times.” He smirks. “Many, many, many times. Before you came along and kicked my ass, of course.” He winks.
    “You woman wizard, you.”
    “It’s true. I can’t deny it. I am, indeed, a wizard of women. It’s what they all say. And in my vast experience with many, many, many, many—”
    “I got it, Jonas.”
    He laughs. “ Many women, you know what I’ve figured out?”
    “Oh, this ought to be good.”
    “The thing that makes women want to bone a guy the