Max did as I asked, and I felt as he slipped first one finger inside of me, and then a second. “The camera, Petal,” he said, and I remembered the phone sitting on the mattress next to me. Max pressed his mouth to me again, lips wrapped around my clit as he sucked and sucked, even humming. My hands shook as I aimed the camera at him, touching the screen with trembling fingers as I took photo after photo.

Max made a little noise each time the camera clicked, and the thought that this was what was getting him off—that I would look at these later and think of him and this and his sounds—made it hard not to flip him over and fuck him right then.

With two fingers pumping in and out of me, he turned his head, sucking and pressing kisses into the pale skin of my thigh, and me nearly screaming as the single day’s growth of beard brushed against my clit. It was so much. He looked up at me, eyes meeting mine as his tongue peeked out, and I moved to focus the camera again, to capture that moment, when another text flashed across the screen.

How do you heat the milk? it read. Hanna says we do it under water but I told her we can do it in the microwave provided we use a digital thermometer and warm it to body temperature or 98.7 degrees. WHO’S RIGHT SARA

It took me three attempts to finally type out a simple LISTEN TO HANNA before I threw the phone down and had to bite my forearm to keep from screaming.

Max had pulled away a bit, concerned that something might be wrong, but I waved him off.

“It’s fine it’s fine,” I said, embarrassingly breathless. “Don’tstopohgodplease. Keep,” I started, but had to lick my lips, and suck in another desperate lungful of air. “Keepgoingplease please please. I’m so close.”

Max redoubled his efforts, licking and sucking my clit, and somewhere, through the fog of what was happening, I heard him groan, heard the sound of his hand working over his cock.

“Oh God . . . are you?” I started, attempting to push myself up and look, but the phone went off again.

I groaned in defeat, so close I could cry.

She’s not taking it, it said. Are we sure she needs to eat this much? There’s no way an actual human could eat this much. When you figure in her size in comparison to how many ounces of fluid she consumes . . .

“What the fuck does he want now?” Max said, and pushed himself up on his hands.

“Anna won’t eat for him,” I started, and Max let his cheek fall to my hip. “Max, I’m beginning to think this isn’t going to work. I’m never going to have an orgasm and you’re going to have to adjust to a life of blue balls.”

“Fuck that,” he said. “Give me five more minutes, I can do it, I swear.”

But it was no use. I wanted him—God, did I want him—but now all I could think about was my tiny baby crying at home, hungry.

We both lay there for a moment, trying to calm our breaths and . . . other things, before we got up.

“We’ll get the hang of this, Petal,” Max said, climbing up my body so he could kiss my forehead. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

I went to reply to Will, to tell him we were on our way home, but instead stared in horror at my screen. Somehow, while juggling the camera and texts . . . holy shit, I texted Will a picture of Max’s head between my legs.

“Oh . . . oh, my God,” I groaned, handing Max my phone so he could see what I’d done. “I should not be in charge of the camera anymore.”

I rolled into the pillow with another groan as Max read Will’s reply and burst out laughing: Okay . . . that was unexpected but message received. Take your time. We’ll figure out the milk thing.

I’d seen photos of Niall Stella, so of course I was prepared for the resemblance between my brother-in-law and my husband—same lighter brown hair, same warm brown eyes, way too pretty to be fair—but what I wasn’t prepared for was the impact of having not one, but two Stella men standing in the doorway of our apartment.

Niall let a black leather laptop bag slip from his shoulder, and straightened to his full height, before smiling widely at his brother.

He was just as tall as Max, but a bit more on the slender side. Years of rugby had left Max with broader shoulders and arms and legs defined by ropes of thick muscle. Niall was definitely built, but leaner, the type of build with wide shoulders and narrow hips. A body designed to wear a suit.

From the way he walked into the apartment, it was clear he was comfortable in his own skin, but he was quieter, missing that boisterous quality that seemed to seep into a room whenever Max entered it. In its place was a gentle confidence and a touch of vulnerability that made me want to push Max out of the way and hug Niall myself.

Niall had been unable to come to the States for our small, last-minute wedding ceremony—he’d been in the middle of a divorce, a new job—but had promised to come as soon as he was able. I knew he and Max, being only ten months apart, were the closest of the siblings, and Max had been more excited for this visit than he’d wanted to let on.

Max loved Will and Bennett—and there wasn’t a situation in which I could imagine him not doing whatever it took to help out his boys—but it had nothing on the embrace he gave his younger brother. The two men wrapped their arms around each other in an all-encompassing hug, and maybe it was the hormones talking but it’s possible the closed eyes and small smile on each of their faces might have left me a bit teary. Maybe.

Max whispered something in Niall’s ear I couldn’t make out, before he clapped him on the back and pulled him inside. It was clear that Max had been even more worried about his brother than he realized.