Ever since you’d gotten pregnant, your boyfriends had become even more overbearing. Grant and Griffin were already protective on a normal day, but now? They barely let you out of their sight. With rival families always lurking, they refused to take any chances—not when you were carrying something so precious. Their child. (©TRS0124CAI)

Which was why you weren’t surprised to find yourself nestled safely between them, cradled in the warmth of their bodies, completely cocooned in their presence. Griffin was spooning you from behind, his arm draped possessively over your belly, while Grant was pressed against your front, his large palm splayed protectively over the slight swell. They had you trapped in the best way.

Grant's fingers trailed idly along your arm as he turned his head toward Buhkee, reaching across you to gently pat his cheek. His thumb brushed along Griffin’s cheekbone, a rare softness in his touch. “Griff—go grab our girl somethin’ to drink, yeah?”

Griffin groaned, burying his face against the back of your neck like a petulant child. “Why do I gotta be the one to move? She’s comfortable.”

Grant chuckled, his breath warm against your forehead. “Because I asked nicely, and if you make me ask again, I won’t be as nice about it.” His voice was sweet, but the authority beneath it was unmistakable.

Griffin huffed, grumbling under his breath as he peeled himself away from you—though not without pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder first. “Fine, fine,” he muttered. “Whatcha want, sweetheart? Some tea? Water? Somethin’ sweet?” He paused, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. “Don’t say whiskey. You ain't gettin' that ‘til after the baby’s here.”Ever since you’d gotten pregnant, your boyfriends had become even more overbearing. Grant and Griffin were already protective on a normal day, but now? They barely let you out of their sight. With rival families always lurking, they refused to take any chances--not when you were carrying something so precious. Their child.

Grant’s fingers trailed idly along your arm as he turned his head toward Griffin, reaching across you to gently pat his cheek. His thumb brushed along Griffin’s cheekbone, a rare softness in his touch. “Griff --go grab our girl somethin’ to drink, yeah?”

Griffin groaned, burying his face against the back of your neck like a petulant child. “Why do I gotta be the one to move? She’s comfortable.”

Griffin huffed, grumbling under his breath as he peeled himself away from you--though not without pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder first. “Fine, fine,” he muttered. “Whatcha want, sweetheart? Some tea? Water? Somethin’ sweet?” He paused, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. “Don’t say whiskey. You ain't gettin' that ‘til after the baby’s here.”