Chapter 163
Ivan
I'm too in my head right now to look forward to sex with Zander.
I shrug off my clothes easily and crawl onto the bed, naked, watching as Zander slips out of his.
When he crawls onto the bed, hovering over me, I want to say no.
It's on the tip of my tongue, ready to change my mind.
This is like the time I tried bungee jumping. Terrifying.
Zander's gaze softens, his hand cupping my cheek. "It's okay," he says softly.
I nod, and he leans down to kiss me.
***
Zander
I move to his neck, kissing him, but he's not as responsive today. My hand drifts over his chest, to his waist, then lower.
Wow. He's not even hard. I check lower, and he's not even wet.
Great. My own arousal deflates like a popped balloon. I move off him and lie next to him, staring at the ceiling.
"Why'd you stop?" he asks.
"I need to catch my breath, mentally prepare… you know, my age is catching up. I can't just hard anyhow anymore," I lie.
He chuckles softly. "Just this morning, you fucked me in the shower before work."
"That's different. That was morning wood," I say.
He giggles. I rub small circles around his waist.
"Where do you see yourself in ten years?" I ask, shifting the conversation.
"Hmmmnnn…"
"A member of some school PTA, arguing with other parents and bribing staff to treat Nia well," he says, and I laugh.
"Speaking of, what did you say about spoiling Nia?" I tease, pinching his waist slightly.
"Hey, I said don't spoil her not, not give her every advantage we can as her parents," he says shamelessly.
"That… actually kind of makes sense," I admit. He wraps an arm around my torso, snuggling closer.
"And we'll probably have one or two more kids by then. Swamped with school activities," he continues.
"So, that's three or two kids?" I ask.
"Yeah."
"And in twenty years?"
"In twenty years… hmm. Nia will be a little lady by then. I'll probably be sobbing because she'll want to move out for her independence," he says.
I can't help but smile.
"In thirty years?"
"Playing with my grandchildren," he says matter-of-factly.
"What if Nia doesn't want kids?" I ask, curious.
He gasps. "That's okay. I'll respect her decision, but I'm sure the child or children will."
"You sound like Nia's grandfather," I joke, thinking of how my dad always pushed for grandchildren.
He laughs. "In forty years?"
"In forty years… I'll be what? In my sixties? I don't know… being a doting grandparent, lazing around, maybe I'll take up knitting as a hobby."
"In fifty years?"
"Hoping cosmetic surgery will be advanced, because I don't want to look like a dried raisin."
"I'm sure you'll be the most beautiful dried raisin out there," I say, and he rolls his eyes.
"And where do I fit into this grand life plan of yours?" I ask softly.
"What do you mean, where do you fit? You'll be at my side all throughout," he says, simple, sure, grounding.
I don't answer him. I just hold him tighter, my palm pressed flat against his back. His heartbeat thrums steady against my chest.
But I can feel it — the way his thoughts keep spinning.
"I see what you just did," he says suddenly, his voice edged with a mock‑accusation.
My lips twitch. "I didn't do anything."
He clicks his tongue, dramatic as ever. "I hate it when you're right."
He lifts his head from my chest, green eyes narrowing, but there's laughter hiding in the corners of his mouth. I slide my hand down to the small of his back, and that's all it takes — the last of his hesitation melts away.
"I love you," he says softly.
"And I love you," I respond, my voice quieter, but no less steady.
His smile blooms wider, bright and almost boyish. "I actually love you so much that if you asked me to stab myself, I would."
I huff a soft laugh. "That's quite the violent example, my love."
"I love you," he repeats, stronger this time, like he needs to say it over and over until it sticks to the air around us.
"I really, really love you. And I'm in love with you, Zander Vale. My husband. The father of my child—" he pauses, grin tugging at his lips, "—and all the children I'll have."
I open my mouth to respond, but he leans in first, kissing me.
It's not rushed. It's not greedy. It's long and full of emotions, and when he finally pulls away, his golden hair falls into his face. His green eyes sparkle like they always do when he's being honest, and his lips are soft, pink, kiss‑swollen.
I love this man.
"I'm ready," he whispers.
"Okay," I murmur, and twist us until he's beneath me. He wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me down, kissing me again — deeper this time.
A low groan slips out of me as his body moves against mine. He's there again — present, warm, wanting. His cock, trapped between us, stiffens against my skin, bringing mine roaring back to life with it.
I press my forehead against his, breathing him in. "Are you sure?" I ask, giving him the out he won't take.
This time there's no fear in his eyes.
"Yes," he breathes.