He fucks me like we have all the time in the world, like his only task is to worship me. One hand is between my legs, the other splayed over my stomach. There is the smallest hint of a curve, barely noticeable unless I’m naked, but Jensen treats it like I’m already glowing in the third trimester, and not still in the first.
“Harder,” I gasp, pushing back against him. He’s so deep it feels like he’s thrusting into my chest and my body chases the pleasure he’s dangling in front of me. “Please.”
“You want harder?” He chuckles. “My greedy little fertile goddess wants me to fill her with my seed again and again. You want to feel me dripping out of you, Mia? You want me to plug it up there so you can sit at your desk all day filled with me?”
I stop breathing.
The filth coming out of his mouth is feral. But maybe I’m just as deranged because I love it. I need it.
My thighs clench, desperate to keep him where I need him. “I want all of it,” I whimper, becoming exactly what he said I am—greedy.
“Of course you do. You’ve always been hungry for what only I can give you.” He picks up the pace, his strokes punishing, like he wants me to feel him imprinted into my bones. Every drag of him sends sparks along my spine until I can’t think and I become nothing more than a vessel for him to take as he pleases.
“Jensen.” His name spills out of my mouth, garbled and frantic. I don’t even know what I’m asking for.
His breath is hot on my neck as he slams into me over and over. “You think one baby is going to be enough?” He pants like he’s run a marathon. “I’m going to keep you pregnant and glowing. Keep you mine. My perfect little baby-maker.”
There’s a blinding, brutal snap as my walls clamp around him, heat and fire pouring through me simultaneously. The sound I make as I come isn’t human. It’s primal and desperate relief.
My vision rolls. I’m floating outside of my body. Too hot even though goosebumps erupt on my arms and my hair is damp, stuck to my forehead with sweat. My frantic pulse is like a runaway train rushing along the tracks.
Jensen thrusts one last time and lets out a strangled groan into my neck as he spills inside me. There’s a warm pulse as he fills me, just as he promised. And then all I can hear is our combined ragged breaths as we try to calm our racing hearts.
Everything feels sensitive. Raw. Overstimulated.
Jensen cups my stomach like he’s checking on our baby while he’s still buried inside me. Between his kisses, he murmurs, “You undo me, Mia.”
I twist so that his mouth can find mine, and he slides his tongue past my lips. The way he kisses me feels like a confession, like he’s pouring every sin we just committed into this touch.
“Your pretty cunt is the only place I belong,” he continues. “Fuck, baby. Thank you for giving me this.”
He’s gentle in a way he wasn’t moments ago, and it ruins me. It always surprises me how he can jump between intense and soft so quickly.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
“I love you more.”
He nips my lip—a warning. “Impossible.”
An hour later, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, my stomach churning. Jensen splits his gaze between making toast and watching my every move.
“You okay?” he asks carefully.
He’s trying, really trying, to give me space, but that need to control things still weighs heavily on him. It goes against his nature to step out of that role, so when he frames it in a way that gives me control, it makes my chest swell.
“I’m a little nauseous, but I’m okay.”
The muscle in his cheek flexes, like he’s half a beat from calling Dr. Patel, but he nods tightly and focuses on buttering the toast. “If you get worse or you can’t manage it?—”
“I’ll let you know.” He slides the plate in front of me and I smile. He’s cut the toast into triangles, and added a little pile of fruit on the side. It’s cute.
He sits next to me and then, without warning, he pulls me onto his lap.
I gasp as his arms band around me, holding me in place. “What are you doing?”
“I want you close while you eat.”
I blink as he slowly lifts a triangle toward my mouth, giving me a chance to say refuse.
