HEY GUYS! I know what you're thinking. I never write two multichapters at a time. But I'm breaking my own rules and doing it, because I couldn't resist this idea. Don't worry - I'm not abandoning Moonlight. I'll make sure they both get equal treatment. With that said, please enjoy TTD!

…

APRIL

I'm the light sleeper between the two of us. If someone's going to wake up to the baby crying, a tree falling on the roof, or someone robbing the house, it's me. Jackson is practically useless once he's fallen asleep for good.

So, unsurprisingly, I tend to wake up first every day. Today is a day unlike any other in that respect, where I open my eyes to the ceiling, under our fluffy white duvet, with a heavy man-arm draped over my middle.

He always finds some way to touch me. We aren't newly married anymore - we're going on seven years, with two years of dating to precede that - we don't fall asleep wrapped up in each other like desperate lovers anymore, nor do we wake up as such. We cuddle after sex, it'd be a crime if we didn't, but Jackson gets hot while he sleeps. Once he drifts off, he subconsciously shifts away from me and flips onto his stomach.

But in the morning, he's always touching me with some part of his body. Whether that's a foot sandwiched between my ankles, his crotch against my ass, or his face on my belly, it's always something. It makes me smile when I wake up, knowing that he finds me for comfort - almost like a child.

I turn on my side to face him, stroking his arm as I move. He's sturdy and capable, strong and masculine, but in sleep he's soft and vulnerable. Only half his face is showing, the other half smushed against the pillow, and instead of getting up and beating the alarm with a morning run like usual, I stay. I stay and stroke his beard, enjoying the prickly sound that follows as my fingers comb through the coarse hair.

He trimmed it yesterday morning, but he's been keeping it thick for the winter. Spring will come soon, though, and I'll be thankful when it does. I always like the lumberjack look at first, but it wears on me. More so, it wears on my skin. The soft insides of my thighs, my chest, and my face get chafed every time we're intimate.

I trail my fingers up his arm, over a shoulder, and down the curves and ridges of his back. He is all brute power and force, which is something about him that still turns me on. Next to his hulking frame, I'm a delicate flower. I like the way we look next to each other, though, and I always have.

Usually, on Mondays, I'm excited for the work week ahead, but not today. Today, everything is too perfect right where I am to even think about anything else. The house is quiet; my husband, baby, and dog are all still asleep, and everything is under control. I want to bottle this moment and save it for later, when everything inevitably flies off the handle at work.

Jackson stirs after a few minutes pass, rolling onto his side to expose his warm, bare chest. Without opening his eyes, he reaches for me and I oblige, tucking my body against his and stealing all his heat.

"Morning, itsy-bitsy," he says, wrapping his arms tight around my body to keep me close.

I smile at his use of the nickname I've had forever. I can't remember exactly when he started using it, but it came before we even got engaged. I've always been tiny in comparison to him, and everyone always notices, and it stems from that. He frequently shortens it or adds more words, but it's never worn off. I don't think it ever will at this point.

"Hi," I say, spanning my fingers over his stomach. I like it like this, when it's soft and he isn't flexing. "Sleep good?"

"Mm-hmm," he says, slipping a hand inside the back of my t-shirt to drag his fingers across my spine. "You?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Baby wake up?"

"Nope," I say. "She's been doing so good."

"That's nice," he says, relaxing further while keeping a good grip on me. "Where's the yapper?"

I snort and edge my foot forward a bit, feeling for the lump above the covers. Corky, my 9-year-old Pomeranian, is lying just where I expected him to be.

"Where he always is," I say. "Your favorite spot. Right between us."

He playfully grumbles something unintelligible before asking, "What you got planned for today?"

"Staying in bed with you," I say, then chuckle at myself. "Wishful thinking."

"If only," he says.

I walk my fingers across the trail of hair under his belly button, up further to the bottom of his rib cage. "All I know is there's a new crop of interns headed in today," I say. "I'm gonna do a little introductory speech and whatnot. Nothing big. Other than that, I'm in the ER."

"Maybe you'll get a big MVC," he says.

"Don't wish that on someone," I whisper harshly, then meet his eyes with light in mine. "Maybe."

We both laugh softly, then he cups my jaw to kiss me. He tastes like sleep and morning breath, but I'm used to it at this point. I don't really mind. In the familiar way of some lucky mornings, he presses his weight onto his forearms to hover over me, lips on my skin as he shimmies out of his pajama pants.

"Do we have time?" I ask.

"I'll go fast," he answers, hitching my leg high with the knee bent as he pushes inside me. "Just get Dorky off the bed."

"Corky," I hiss, and he blinks his eyes open slowly. "Off the bed. Off. Go on!" I shoo him with one hand, but all he does is close his eyes again. I look up at Jackson with a laugh trapped in my chest. "He's not going anywhere. Just… just ignore him, honey."

He takes a deep breath, but doesn't argue. We don't have time for that.

It's not that morning sex is a rare occurrence, because it's not. Though seven years have passed, the intimacy between us hasn't died or gotten anywhere close to fading. Our routine has changed slightly since the baby was born about a year ago; we don't have nearly as much 'adult' time. We have to squeeze it in by whatever means necessary. And if that means a quickie before the alarm goes off, so be it. At least I get to feel him inside me, and I carry that connection for the rest of the day.

He doesn't pound me like it's his last day on earth, though. Today, he takes his time though he said he'd hurry. I like it, I cherish it; I loop my arms around his neck and kiss him while he makes love to me, closing my eyes to savor the feeling. He fills me up in every sense of the word.

"Did you get a chance…" he hisses, calculating the rhythm of his hips. "To pick up diapers yesterday?"

"No, damn it," I say, digging my nails into his sides. "I meant to. I'm sorry. I will today."

"NBD," he replies, adjusting my leg higher. "I can. Just checking so we wouldn't have double."

"We can go together after work," I say. "Oh, shit. Go a little harder, baby."

"Too slow for you?" he asks, eyes gleaming.

"Didn't say anything about speed," I retort with a smile. "Harder."

"My baby likes it rough," he says, laughing and taking heed of what I've said.

I throw my head back with a soft moan and he takes advantage of my exposed neck, opening his mouth wide and trailing kisses over my skin with those lips I love. He sucks on the place where my pulse beats wildly, then moves a little lower to lift my shirt and try to put his mouth on my breasts.

"Baby, no," I say, nudging him away with the jerk of one shoulder. "Peyton hasn't eaten yet. They're full."

"Come on…" he whines, a smile on his face.

I roll my eyes and yank on his hips to keep them moving. "You don't even like it," I say.

He tried breastmilk a couple months after the baby was born just out of pure curiosity. He claimed it was sweet and thin, but didn't taste that great. Different than normal milk. It's not that he wants another taste, it's that he misses messing with my nipples. I miss that, too, but it's out of the question right now - especially before her morning feeding. We'd end up in a soaked bed.

"Fine," he says, chuckling as he tucks his face into my neck again.

"You make me laugh," I say, hands on his ass as he strengthens his thrusts.

"If we ever run out of coffee creamer, I know someone who can make it," he says, giggling mischievously while peppering gentle kisses across my jaw.

"Shush," I say. "Pey's gonna be up soon. We gotta get moving."

"Alright, alright," he concedes. "That means a little less talk, a lot more action."

I laugh and wrap my legs around his waist as high as they'll go, closing my eyes as he buries himself deep inside me. Every pump of his hips is contained and measured; he doesn't even have to try anymore. He's just that good.

I come first this morning, and I'm still trembling with the effects of my orgasm while he empties himself inside me. That's when the control of his pelvis goes out the window and he bucks against my body like a bull gone rampant - with about as much force, too. He's so strong, and when his muscles take over his brain, there's no way to reel them in. I cling to him and soak up every untied, unwound moment.

"Ugh," he grunts, pulling out and lowering himself between my legs - where both of our fluids have collected. "You're sexy."

I bend my knees and widen my thighs, agreeing with his use of this rare, extended morning before one of two alarm clocks sounds - our phones or the baby crying. Neither have gone off yet, and I'd love nothing more than for him to give me head. We haven't had the time or energy for it in forever.

"You're sexy," I whisper back, lifting my hips to adjust them.

He presses quick, repetitive kisses over my vulva, separating the lips to sloppily go inside with his tongue and teeth.

"Oh, Jesus, shit," I hiss, feeling his nose nudge my clit just slightly. When he goes down on me, he puts his whole face into it. There's no half-ass with Jackson and cunnilingus. I'm very lucky.

"Oh yeah, baby," he says, lifting up for a moment to lick his lips. When he goes back in, he pats my outer thighs and drags a flat tongue inside me, over the folds of my inner lips, all the way to touch my vagina. "Oh… yeah, baby."

I would roll my eyes at him if he weren't making me feel so good. His fingernails dig into the skin over my hip bones, and my back arches from the mattress while he sucks and licks me within an inch of consciousness. He teases me - doesn't go near my clit until I'm throbbing and beyond soaking wet. And when he does touch it, he only traces the hood with the tip of his tongue while the nerves buzz for attention.

"Jackson," I rasp. "Any minute now. Any damn-"

Interrupting my sentence, familiar sounds come through the baby monitor. Rustling and shifting, which means that Peyton is on her way to waking up.

"Quick," I urge him. "Just… suck it, would you, please? She's almost up."

He smiles and laughs against me, pulling roughly on my hips so they're flush against his mouth, and voraciously shakes his head back and forth with his tongue pressed against my clit. I start moaning, whimpering, pleading for him to finish me off, but the sounds I make don't overpower the fussing coming from the baby monitor.

I can't possibly have an orgasm while my baby is whining in my ear, and it isn't coming fast enough. It isn't anything Jackson is doing wrong, but now my mind is elsewhere.

"I gotta get her," I say, sitting up and leaving him high and dry. After I tug on my shirt, I look at his face and see that it's shiny from his chin to his cheekbones. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "She's the boss."

"Yes, she is," I say, haphazardly searching for my pants he discarded.

"Want me to get her, bare-ass?" he asks, slipping out of bed while stepping into his pants.

"Please," I say, scurrying to the dresser to find something to make myself decent. It's not like Peyton would care, but walking to greet my baby in the morning with a naked ass isn't exactly on the top of my to-do list.

As he leaves the room, Corky follows Jackson probably in search of food. When he realizes he's not going to get anything, he comes trotting back inside and hops up to lay in his spot again.

When Jackson comes back in holding the baby, I'm wearing a pair of soft drawstring pants and a looser shirt, one that will be easier to nurse her in. "Hi, baby boo!" I say, arms outstretched. "Did Dada come and get you this morning? Huh? Did you get to see your Dada?"

"She left a very special present for Dada, too," he says, grumbling lightheartedly, as he hands our 11-month old over. "But she's clean now."

"Good," I say. "Hi, little Peanut. Hi, baby boo-boo."

Peyton, our beautiful little baby, looks at me and smiles. She has four teeth - two on top and two on the bottom - and her eyes crinkle when she grins as big as she did just then. She buzzes her lips and reaches for my face, and I get closer to her, too.

"Can I have a kiss?" I say. "Give Mama kiss?"

She plunks her head forward, landing with an open mouth near my chin. Her version of a kiss.

"Oh, so good," I say, smooching her forehead loudly. "So good, so good."

I lean back against the headboard and lift my shirt for Peyton, who is a pro at this point. She nestles against my chest, resting her body sideways on my stomach, and latches to my breast quickly and naturally. I run my fingers through her curls while she nurses, and her eyes flutter closed as she's soothed by the sound of my heartbeat close by.

"I know it's about time…" I whisper, watching our perfect creation as Jackson looks on.

"Yeah," he says, softly agreeing. He leans forward and kisses the back of her head, though, just as in love with her as I am. "It is."

"She's getting too old," I say. "Pretty soon, she'll bite me."

He chuckles, then kisses my lips over her head. "And just between us," he says. "I want them back."

"You're selfish," I whisper, but bump my nose gently against his. "It's just such a sweet stage."

"I have a solution," he says.

"What's that, honey."

He lifts my chin with one finger and looks into my eyes, a smile in his. "We'll just have to have another one," he says.

"Another baby," I say. "When she's not even a year old?"

"Oh… why not," he says. "Get off the pill, let's have one more. We already proved we make cute kids."

"Damn cute," I say. "The cutest."

"We're basically the best at procreation," he says. "It would be selfish not to make another one. We'd be depriving the world of our offspring."

I laugh loudly, which startles Peyton and makes her jump. I quiet down and make a face at Jackson, who's still grinning.

"Everyone at the hospital will make fun," I say. "Say we don't know how to use birth control."

"Eh, let 'em," he says. "What's the harm? They're just jealous."

"Jealous, huh?" I say, then hold the baby's little body as I crane my neck for another kiss. He gives me one, sweet and lasting, then strokes Peyton's back.

"Yeah, that's totally it," he says.

I keep quiet for a moment, adjusting the way I'm sitting so the baby can lie more comfortably. "Maybe in a year," I say, watching her. "When she's two. That's a good age difference, and we could actually plan it."

"April and her plans, plans, plans," Jackson says, and I extend one leg to kick him with a socked foot. Instead of following through, though, he stops me and grabs it, then playfully bites the arch.

"Shush up," I say, then Peyton detaches and squirms to try and sit up. I hand her to Jackson, who slings the burp cloth over his shoulder, then slide out of bed. "I got the shower first," I say. "You're on baby duty 'til I get out."

"Got it, sarge," he says, and earns himself a slap between the shoulder blades because of it.

…

After we drop Peyton off at the hospital daycare, we go our separate ways.

"Can you meet for lunch?" I ask, shrugging into my lab coat after changing into scrubs. He's just tying the drawstring on his; I find it cute because he still has to look while he does it after all these years.

"Maybe," he says. "You have an open window?"

"I should," I say. "I'll let you know if it changes."

"Alright," he says. "Maybe we could eat with Peanut."

"That sounds perfect," I say, then gather my pens to slip them inside my front pocket. "Okay. Gotta go."

"Don't forget to kiss your husband," he says, peering over his shoulder as I walk past. I giggle, shake my head, and retrace my steps to press a quick, chaste kiss to his lips.

I have somewhat of a slow morning. There's a few hours before the new group of interns come in that I spend reorganizing the trauma supply closet after an apparently incompetent resident did it yesterday. I can't quite remember who I assigned the job to, but I have to make a note never to ask them again. By giving away my usual task, I piled double the responsibility on myself.

We get a few minor incoming traumas, but nothing that steals my attention for more than an hour at a time. When noon rolls around and it's time for the interns to come by, I practically rejoice. I never thought I'd say that.

Chief Bailey brings them around; all of them are huddled together like wet cats in a storm, clutching their notepads like life rafts. I smile to myself as I remember being in their place, scribbling in that red notebook that Jackson makes fun of me for to this day. I have a green Moleskine now that I write odds and ends in, but he still gets after me for it. I chuckle a bit just thinking of it.

"This is our Head of Trauma, Dr. April Kepner," Bailey says. "She runs this ER and knows it forwards and backwards. She's easily the most organized, responsible, and down-to-business surgeon we have here." She shoots me a congenial look. "But she's also the kindest. If you ever need advice, my advice would be to seek Dr. Kepner first. Her people skills are fantastic, which is an area where all of you need to improve."

"Hi, everyone," I say, taking a few steps forward. "Thank you, Dr. Bailey, for the shining introduction. I'm not sure if I can live up to that."

I break the ice with that little comment, which is what I had meant to do.

"If you're looking for a fast-paced, high-energy, demanding environment, then you'd be the perfect fit for a trauma surgeon," I say. "It didn't take me long to figure out that this was where I needed to be. I came in hoping for a steady, predictable schedule, but once I got my first taste of the adrenaline rush that comes with life-or-death situations, there was no going back. Now, I'm pretty much a trauma junkie."

I get a few laughs for that, too.

"And I proved my past self wrong, too," I continue. "You can still have a family as a trauma surgeon. The hospital is wonderful about maternity leave, and family always comes first to Chief Bailey."

"That's right," she agrees, then nods while looking behind me. "And would you look at that. Speak of the dashing devil himself."

I turn around to be met with my baby's face right in mine - Jackson zooming her through the air in his sturdy hands. "Hello there, Dr. Kepner," he says, after I've given Peyton a little kiss. "I was just coming to get you for lunch."

"Perfect," I say, then take the baby and place her on my hip. "I'll see you all around, I'm assuming," I say cordially.

I turn to follow Jackson to the cafeteria when a voice pipes up behind me. "Are you married to Dr. Avery?" a young man asks. He's medium-height, medium-build, with blue eyes and brown hair.

"That's highly inappropriate, Michaels," Bailey says, frowning. "Around here, we don't go around spouting personal questions like-"

"Dr. Kepner is my wife," Jackson says, wrapping an arm around the small of my back in the possessive way I've always secretly loved. I'll never tell him that, though.

I clear my throat softly. "Yes. We've been married for… going on seven years now. Outside the hospital, I go by Kepner-Avery. In here, though, I don't. It gets a little confusing."

I'm not sure why I felt like I owed him that information. I didn't, really. Bailey said everything that needed to be said, but I spewed anyway. I try and brush it off. There's nothing I can do to bring it back, and he doesn't even give a response.

Shrugging it off, Jackson and I walk away with Peanut between us, heading to lunch.

"How's your day been so far?" he asks. "Other than that nosy intern."

"Fine," I say, hitching the baby higher. "Kinda boring. I'm hoping for a big catastrophe while I'm in the middle of my salad. Is that bad?"

"Horrible," he says, and we get in line. "You're going to you-know-where."

I nudge him with my shoulder and smirk. "Meet you there, then."

"Oh, yeah. We've known that's where I'll end up."

I snicker and roll my eyes. "Oh, shut up. You're the Good Samaritan here, if anyone."

"Says you, Trauma Barbie."

"Don't," I say, pinching his waist. He cracks up laughing and orders a turkey wrap.

We sit down and I hold Peyton on my lap while eating my salad - meagerly picking at it, really. She reaches for stray pieces of lettuce that fall to try them, but she really only marinates them in her mouth without really swallowing. She isn't big on solid foods yet. Soft pasta, applesauce, baby food and breastmilk, that's all she'll go for right now.

"We should start throwing around ideas for your mom and dad's 45th," Jackson says, picking the tomatoes out of his wrap. "Damn it. I forgot to tell them no tomatoes."

"I was gonna say something," I say.

"You should've."

"Didn't wanna be naggy."

"Coming from you, I'm used to it," he says. I pretend to laugh and then give him a deadpan expression, which makes him chuckle. "But your mom and dad's party is what… two weeks away?"

"Yeah," I say. "Lib and Alice are supposed to get back to me about the venue."

"Do you think your parents will really be surprised?" he asks. "What if they already know? They're nice enough just to go along with it for your guys' sake."

"They do not know," I say. "Unless…" I narrow my eyes. "A blabbermouth told them at Carmine's last weekend."

"What?" he says. "You think… me? No! I didn't say anything. But you never know with Kimmie. She's always spouting off about something."

"I think it was you," I say, poking his arm to tease him. Then, I lean forward to look at Peyton's face as she watches us intently. "I think it was Daddy. Know why? 'Cause Daddy's got a big mouth. He can't keep anything to himself."

"I promise!" he says, amidst laughter. "I didn't say a word. I kept my cool. They even mentioned their anniversary and I barely acknowledged it."

"Okay, okay," I say. "Fine, I believe you."

"I did tell them to work on their surprised faces, though."

"Jackson!" I say, and he bursts out laughing like it's the funniest thing he's ever said.

"I'm kidding!" he says. "I'm kidding, geez."

We eat our lunches talking about mundane, everyday things, then Peyton gets fussy just as we're finishing up.

"It's getting close to naptime," I say. "You wanna take her back, or me?"

"I can," he says.

"Well…" I say, looking at the time. "I'll just come with you."

We walk to daycare together and Peyton fights sleep in Jackson's arms. When we give her to the worker, she squalls and whines to be handed back.

"We'll see you in a little bit," I tell her. "Go take a nice nap, and Mama and Daddy will be back in a few hours."

"Love you, Peanut," Jackson says, kissing her head while she's in the daycare worker's arms. "Aw," he says, as we walk away.

"She's just sleepy."

"I'm sleepy too, damn," he says, yawning for effect. "You woke me up too early today."

"I didn't wake you up at all," I say.

"Felt you staring. Had to open my eyes."

"If I remember correctly, you never finished what you started this morning," I say under my breath.

He raises his eyebrows. "You're right," he says. "I'll have to make up for it tonight. Rain check?"

"Maybe Pey can go to bed a little early…" I trail off.

"We could finally crack open that bottle of red," he says, matching my tone.

"That sounds amazing," I say. "You-"

"April!" a voice calls, and I turn to see Dr. Hunt beckoning me from the direction of the pit.

"Oh, shoot. Gotta go," I say, then stand on my tiptoes to kiss Jackson quickly. "Tonight. Me and you."

He nods and smiles, and I'm off like a flash. I jog to meet Owen in the pit and he ushers me in, debriefing me on the newest patient just admitted.

"There seems to be a rectal obstruction," he says. "We're not quite sure what it is yet, and he won't tell us. The X-Ray should show everything we need to know. He's in there right now. I'm handing this case over to you. I gotta be in surgery in ten minutes."

"Sounds good," I say. Though I'm officially Head of Trauma, Owen and I run the ER like partners. We work well together. "Rectal obstruction… seriously," I say under my breath, then practically crash into Arizona in the hall on the way to meet my patient.

"Hey, lady," she says, peering over to see the labs I'm holding. "Whatcha got?"

I raise my eyebrows and scratch my cheekbone. "Very exciting. Rectal obstruction."

She makes a flabbergasted face and I start laughing. "Jesus Christ, people," she says, then shakes her head, stunned. "I can't imagine."

"Can't imagine what," I say lightheartedly, flipping through the papers in my hands.

"Sticking something up there!" she hisses. "Are you kidding me!"

"Zona," I say, chuckling. "Don't shame people."

"I'm not shaming," she says. "I'm just saying, I can't imagine it for myself." To her, my silence is telling. She knows me well enough. So, after a beat has passed, she looks over with wide eyes and an open mouth, smacking me on the shoulder as she says, "Have you done it?!"

I close my eyes and raise my eyebrows, lips turning down in a seemingly innocent expression. "I didn't say a thing," I respond.

"You…" she says, utterly surprised. "You and Jackson? Anal?"

"Shhh!" I shush, waving a hand around. "Don't announce it to everybody. I'm not saying it's an everyday thing, but we've… experimented."

"With what?" she asks, curious now.

I narrow my eyes. "This stays only between us."

"Of course."

I look either way to make sure no one's coming. "We have tried…" I clear my throat. "Sex. And… items… sensual items. The finger every once in a while… his tongue…"

"April!" she shrills, lips all scrunched. "You're nasty. You two are nasty!"

"Shush!" I giggle, catching sight of the same intern who asked the inappropriate question earlier today. "Be quiet, I swear. Quiet."

"Hi, Dr. Kepner," he says, approaching.

"Hello," I say, trying to keep my smile at bay. "Uh, this is Dr. Robbins. She works in peds. I'm not sure if you've had a chance to meet her yet."

"I haven't," he says, then extends his hand. "I'm Vince Michaels."

"He's one of the new interns," I tell her, then look back at him. "Where's your group?"

He looks around like he's noticing for the first time that they're not surrounding. "Oh," he says. "I… I got separated. I didn't know anyone else, so I was looking for you."

"Oh, looking for me," I say. "Well, I was headed down to meet my patient and grab his X-Rays. You're welcome to tag along, if you'd like."

"I would like," Vince says, and matches stride on the side Arizona isn't on.

"I have patients to check on," Arizona says, and I widen my eyes at her so Vince can't see. I don't want her to leave me alone with him, but she doesn't seem to want to be with him, either. "I'll catch up with you later, April. Wouldn't want to get behind."

"I hate you," I mutter, jaw clenched while trying to fight a smile.

As she walks away, Vince says, "What was she talking about, getting behind?"

I look over, stomach jumping, though he has no idea what she meant. "Oh, nothing," I say. "Don't worry about it. Why don't I help you find your way back to the group?"

"That would be great," he says, and holds my eyes for a bit too long.

As we walk through the hospital in the direction of the first floor, where I assume the rest of the interns are, I see Jackson at the nurse's station of the plastics wing. He sees me, too, and also the tagalong that's leeched to my side.

He gives me a funny look at first, too far away to comment. Then, his face forms into mock-suggestiveness, licking his lips and wiggling his eyebrows, then pursing his mouth and nodding in an overly-exaggerated manner. I roll my eyes and ignore him, then continue on my way with the lost intern.

I reunite him with the group eventually, but as we get closer, Vince seems to drag his feet.

"Got a lost one for you, Bailey," I say, then usher him forward with a hand on his back.

"Ah, I thought I was missing a duckling," she says. "Thank you, Kepner."

"No problem," I say, then smile benignly at Vince before I walk away.

…

"Seemed like you got a little puppy love going on," Jackson says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the tune of the song playing. "What's this song? Sounds familiar."

I glance at the radio, where he could easily read it if he so chose. "'September' by Earth, Wind, and Fire covered by Taylor Swift," I say.

"Damn, she really went in," he says, nodding along.

"I don't know what you're talking about with 'puppy love,'" I claim.

He looks at me and scoffs before putting his eyes back on the road. "Oh, sure," he says. "Yeah, that intern following you around all day had these big doe eyes for you. He was practically drooling."

"Who, Vince Michaels?" I ask.

"Any relation to Jillian?" Jackson asks. "Maybe he can whip me into shape. Although, that seems like something he'd probably want to do to you."

"Stop it," I say. "He was lost. I was helping him out."

"He asked if you were married," Jackson points out. "That's a man with an interest."

"Oh, whatever," I say. "Jealousy doesn't look good on you, boo."

"Just about everything looks good on me," he says pompously, puffing out his chest. "And you know it."

"I know nothing of the sort," I say.

"But I look best in nothing," he says. "Ain't that right?"

"Jackson," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Or would you rather see Vince Michaels in nothing?"

I shake my head and look out the window for a moment, then turn around to Peyton in the back seat. "Your daddy's a maniac," I say, then grab her foot and squeeze it. "Hear me? A maniac!"

We make it home and Jackson still doesn't relent. I change my clothes, let the dog out and back in again, and as I'm walking towards the kitchen, he's standing in front of the fridge presumably looking for something to make for dinner.

"Hey," he says, turning. "While you were getting changed, I called Vince. Invited him over. He said I could still sit at the table while you guys play happy families, though."

My face blooms a hot crimson and I set my hands flat on the black kitchen counter. "Jackson, seriously. Stop it. It's not funny anymore."

"Aw, come on, bitsy. Vince just wants to-"

"No!" I say, and raise my voice higher than I intended, which makes Peyton fuss in the high chair attached to the counter. "Geez, no, I'm sorry. But… no."

He sighs, expression crumbling as he watches me go comfort the baby. I lift her out and place her on my chest, and she wraps her arms as best she can around my neck. I rub her back while keeping my eyes on her father, who's getting out ingredients for dinner with his figurative tail tucked between his legs.

We don't talk much while we eat because the air is thick with crackly tension. Both of us talk to Peyton and feed her little bites that she can handle, but the conversation doesn't flow.

After dinner, we clean up the dishes and put them in the kitchen while Peyton plays on the baby rug with Corky lying nearby. "I got this," Jackson says, wiping his palms on his lounge pants.

"You cooked," I say. "I should clean. At least, let me help."

"Nah," he says. "If you wanna put her to bed, I can handle it. Double-team."

"Okay," I say. "Sure. Come on, Peanut Butter. Let's go night-night."

I swoop the baby up from the floor and she snuggles close to my neck, fingers spread wide over my sternum. I change her diaper, get her into pajamas, and sit on the rocking chair with the dog at my feet while Peyton takes a bottle.

"We gotta get you used to these," I say, looking into her round eyes - seafoam like her daddy's. "No more Mommy's milk."

As if she understands what I'm saying, one hand finds its way to the collar of my shirt as she detaches from the nipple of the bottle.

"Ah-ah," I say, then pull it back up. "Here. Ba-ba. Not Mama."

"Mama," she says with a smile, finding herself incredibly amusing.

"No, no," I say, grinning as I encourage the bottle towards her lips. "This is just as good. I know you like it."

"Mama, mama, mama," she says, babbling, and turns her head away from the bottle when I try to give it to her one more time. She gets a good grip on my shirt again and haphazardly moves her little fist around, letting me know exactly what she wants.

I sigh. "Okay," I concede, then pull my shirt and bra down to oblige my baby. As I stroke her curls and watch her eyes drift shut, I can't force myself to feel guilty for allowing it. She won't be this little forever.

What's important to me is seeing her so up-close. Her face with its precious features - those long eyelashes, plush lips and soft swells of her cheeks. Having her this near to my heart makes my chest expand with love for her.

She falls asleep almost instantly, anyway, and stays that way when I lift her away from my chest. I hold her close for a moment, her cheek squished against my clavicle, and close my eyes.

"My perfect Peyton," I whisper, dragging my fingers up and down her tiny back. "My perfect little Peanut."

Almost as if summoned, Jackson appears in the doorway with a soft expression on his face. I wave him over with a flick of my head, and he steps inside.

"Come say goodnight, Daddy," I tell him, and he bends to kiss the back of her head - what he can reach.

"I love you, Peanut baby," he says, then walks with me as I lay her down in the crib.

After we turn her mobile and white noise machine on and light off, the two of us walk into the hall together and head towards our room. It isn't late, but I'm exhausted. The day, while uneventful, was long. I'm feeling the effects of it now.

I feel the way he's looking at me without glancing over, though, and I need to do something about it. I don't like going to bed angry, or even frustrated.

I sit down on the side of the mattress, elbows on my knees, and hunch forward. Of course, Corky follows like always and turns in three circles before getting comfortable at the foot of the bed. I massage my temples when I say, "I'm sorry for snapping."

My words catch Jackson's attention. He lifts his head and his eyes find me, centering and taking pause.

"Thanks," he says, then strips off his shirt. He's always warm, no matter the season or temperature of our house. "I'm sorry for being a dumbass about it, too. That was out of line."

"Thanks," I say, then shrug. "I just don't want anyone getting the wrong idea."

"I know," he says.

I stay where I am as he comes over, lifting a knee onto the bed and crawling to my side. I feel his hands on my shoulders first, kneading them in a way only he can. I hadn't realized how tense they were until he started, and now I let my head fall to one side as he turns me to putty in his fingers.

"Feel nice?" he asks.

I nod. "Mm-hmm."

He lowers to kiss the side of my neck slowly, breathing through his nose onto the sensitive skin. He opens his mouth just slightly and runs his tongue over my thrumming pulse, moving to wrap his arms around my shoulders from behind. I know what he's doing - he feels guilty for how he acted earlier and he's making up for it. I don't mind, though. I've already forgiven him; it was a stupid almost-fight, but I'm not in the mood to turn down sex.

"If I remember right, I'm pretty sure I owe you for this morning," he murmurs, lips moving against me.

"You do," I say, then he reaches lower to pull the hem of my tank top gently and discard it behind us.

"Refresh my memory," he says, lying me down and inching my sweatpants off. "Where was I?"

He pulls my underwear down my legs and I reach up and flick the bedside lamp on - I always enjoy seeing him during sex. His facial expressions are half the excitement for me. Plus, I don't like being surprised. I like knowing what he's doing.

"You were about to give me some amazing head," I say.

"If my memory serves, I already was," he says. "I just hadn't gotten you there quite yet."

"Guess you'll have to work me back up," I say, and he chuckles darkly before bending his neck and peppering kisses over my inner thighs and outer lips. He makes sure no area goes untouched, swiping over with his fingers what his mouth can't reach, and only licks me after I'm good and worked up.

"Oh, baby," I whisper, running my fingers through his hair while he yanks my hips closer to his mouth. "You're so good to me."

He smiles against my heat, buried up to his nose again. In some aspects, I'm in complete control with the position we're in - but in others, he is. The way I feel is in the palm of his hand, almost literally. He has the power to push me over the edge, but also the power to keep me away from it, too.

"You taste so good," he says, coming up for air and dropping kisses over the front of my legs.

"Yeah?" I breathe. "What do I taste like, baby?"

"You taste like my wife," he says, smiling as he pushes three fingers inside me with no warning at all. My mouth falls open, eyes rolling back, and he propels himself upward to give me a heady kiss on the lips. "You taste like that," he says.

I moan as he sinks back down, opening my body and presenting it to him. I extend my arms out to either side and lift my back from the bed while he sucks hard on my clit, then dig my knees into his sides. I work my hips quick and rough against his face, but he holds them down with one strong arm acting as a belt against my lower belly. I love feeling powerless as he manipulates my nerves and gets me to climax. It's what does it to me almost every time.

"Oh, Jackson, shit!" I yell, perspiration dotting my hairline and collarbones. "Shit, I'm close. Get me there, baby, come on. Come on, come on, come on… oh my god…!"

My voice breaks at the top as my orgasm pulses through me - ebbing and flowing through my muscles and nerves, swimming in my chest and behind my eyes. He doesn't stop, either, as it washes over me. Instead, he keeps sucking and fucking me with his fingers, and I have a second orgasm right after the first - one that rattles my hips and renders me speechless through most of it. Not at the end, though, when I let loose a shattered scream at the top of my lungs.

Almost directly following the shriek, though, is a much younger cry. It's tinny, sounding through the baby monitor, but it's present and persistent.

"Damn it," I pant, chest still heaving. My body still throbs with the orgasm; it hasn't completely left yet.

"I got her," he says. "You stay here and try to remember your name, bitsy-baby."

I manage a halfhearted, exhausted smile in his direction, and try to find my way back to center before he comes back with Peyton. Peyton, who's grumpy and rubbing her eyes, whining to be in my arms. Luckily, I've found a new pair of underwear and a college t-shirt of Jackson's to make myself decent.

"Baby woke up 'cause Mama's a screamer…" Jackson says, sitting down. Peyton immediately crawls out of his arms and into mine, where she snuggles close. If possible, she gets even closer when I lie down, sandwiched between myself and her father.

I smirk softly and reach to rest a flat hand on his chest. I open my eyes and look at his perfect profile, the profile I wake up to every morning, and stretch to give him a kiss. I don't mind the mouthful of beard that comes with it.

"Love you," I whisper, as the baby is already drifting off between us.

He glances over, a smile in his eyes. "Love you, too," he says. "And our little cockblocker."

I snicker quietly, pressing an errant kiss to the baby's forehead. "Do you really want another one?" I ask, playfully. "Another baby to interrupt our sex life?"

He turns on his side to face both of us, resting a heavy, comforting hand on the dip of my waist. "If they're all as perfect as you," he says. "I want a million more."