Rekindled Flames and a Daring Question

I couldn't stop staring at Jaxon. His eyes were closed, forehead still pressed against my belly, hands trembling against my skin. This fierce, broken man was on his knees before me, all his walls crumbling. Little Bean kicked again, as if sensing his father's presence, and a strangled sound escaped Jaxon's throat—half laugh, half sob.

When he finally looked up at me, tears streaked his face. "I don't deserve this," he whispered.

"You do," I said firmly, running my fingers through his hair. "You both do."

Jaxon rose to his feet, his hands never leaving my belly. He stared at me with such naked vulnerability that my heart ached. Then, before I could speak, he pulled me close and kissed me.

This wasn't like our usual kisses—desperate, hungry, aggressive. This was tender and reverent, almost worshipful. His lips moved against mine as if I were something precious, something sacred. I melted into him, my hands sliding up his chest to feel his heartbeat hammering beneath my palm.