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Drunken Butterflies

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Helen groaned in relief as she took off her bra. Sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing her back, Nikola uttered the ill fated words.

“At least it can’t get any worse.”

Glaring, one hand still on her lower back, the other stretching for her pyjama top, her words were hissed through gritted teeth. “I’m barely halfway through and you’re lumbering me with it can’t get any worse?”

“Helen, I–” His conciliatory tone did nothing for her mood as she forced her arms into her nightshirt.

“I’ve eaten things in the last few weeks that would give pigs pause, I can’t sleep comfortably, and I can’t drink tea, all because your– Oh!” Her hands flew to her gently rounded belly. Taking a calming breath, she glanced at Nikola through her lashes.

“Our stomach virus kicking?”

She nodded. “Like a donkey.” Another breath. Holding out her hand, she smiled when he sat next to her. “Put your hand there,” she instructed, rolling her eyes when he waggled his eyebrows. “That’s how I ended up like this, incorrigible man.”

“Yes, but…” His voice trailed off. Looking down at his hand on her stomach, he asked, “Was that…?”

“Yes. Although,” she tilted her head, staring at her hand covering his, “I’m surprised you can feel anything yet.”

Kissing her cheek, and nuzzling her ear, he answered, “Vampire. And Junior knows daddy’s here.”

“And wants to show off by pummelling my uterus?” she added, grinning. Kissing him back, she started buttoning up her shirt. “Come on, I need to sleep.”

“Just sleep?” he asked, giving her bump one last tender stroke.

Licking her lips, her voice husky, she answered, “Not straight away.”