Joe had shrugged. "Call me 'Breed.' It's what I am."
Already, though they hadn't even graduated yet, people were calling him Breed Mackenzie. The name would be painted on his helmet, and a lot of people would forget his real name.
Mary had given him this. She'd pushed and prodded, fought for him, taught him. She'd given him his life, up in the blue.
Mary turned into Wolf's arms. She was nude, and his big hand kept stroking down her pale body as if searching out signs of her as-yet-invisible pregnancy. She knew he was worried, but she felt wonderful and tried to reassure him. "I've never felt better. Face it, pregnancy agrees with me." He chuckled and stroked her breasts, lifting each one in turn in his palm. They were fuller now, and more sensitive.
He could almost bring her to satisfaction just with his mouth on her nipples.
"But this is the last one," he said.
"What if it's another boy? Wouldn't you like to try for a girl just once more?"
He groaned, because that was the argument she'd used to talk him into getting her pregnant this time. She was determined to have her four children.
"Let's make a deal. If this one is a girl, there won't be any more. If it's a boy, we'll have one more baby, but that's the limit, regardless of its sex."
"It's a deal," she agreed. She paused. "Have you thought that it's possible you could father a hundred children and they'd all be boys? You may not have any female sperm. Look at your track record, three boys in a row—"
He put his hand on her mouth. "No more. Four is the absolute limit."
She laughed at him and arched her slender body against him. His response was immediate, even after five years of marriage. Later, when he slept, Mary smiled into the darkness and stroked his strong back. This baby was a boy, too, she felt. But the next one—ah, the next one would be the daughter he craved. She was certain of it.