“Jensen?”
Her voice carries through the penthouse and I’m up and moving toward the bedroom with an urgency that doesn’t match her tone. She doesn’t sound distressed, but she’s seven and a half months pregnant and can find trouble in an empty room.
And I’m on edge.
I step into the bedroom, expecting blood or fire or some kind of trauma, but instead I find my wife, my beautiful fertile goddess of a wife, standing in the walk-in.
Her back is to me, her gaze locked on the floor-to-ceiling mirror in front of her, and I freeze the minute I lock eyes with her.
She’s wearing a red silk dress that shows the perfect round curve of her belly. It pushes against the fabric in a way that makes me instantly gravitate toward it. I don’t even realize I close the space between us until my hands are already spanning the place where our daughter is growing.
Mia looks divine. Ripe and glowing. Her makeup is soft and understated, her hair curled in loose waves that tumble over her shoulders. There’s a pair of heels in front of her, and I clamp my mouth shut so I don’t comment on the fact I don’t want herto risk wearing them. I’m trying to learn to do better. To be less overbearing. But it’s not easy when every instinct in my body wants to protect her, and our daughter.
Her gaze follows mine, and she arches her brow, waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, she does. “I won’t fall.”
My mouth finds hers, my hands bracketing the side of her belly. “I know. I won’t let you.”
I pull back a fraction, taking a second to admire how good her tits look in this dress, too. It dips down at the front, and I take my time admiring how swollen and big they are.
“You done ogling me?” she teases.
I cup her breast, silk soft under my fingers. “Sweetheart, when you look like this, what do you expect me to do?”
Every time I look at her, I get this sense of overwhelming satisfaction that I fucked a part of me into her. I know she thinks I’m joking when I say I’m going to keep her pregnant for as long as she allows me to, but I’m not. It awakens something primal in me to see her like this.
Mia’s always been strong and fierce, but there’s a vulnerability there now that she’s pregnant, and every part of me wants to take care of her.
I want to rub her feet when she’s sore.
I want to make sure she eats, and hold her hair when she’s nauseous.
I want to wrap my arms around her in bed, my dick buried inside her like it has been every night since the argument we had early in her pregnancy.
She’s become my sin and my salvation.
My greatest obsession and my only desire.
I could die looking at her. That growing belly is proof that she gave me the greatest gift. That she let me inside her body.
And every day I fall more and more in love with her.
Every stretch mark is a symbol of what we’re building together. Every swell. Every part of her that’s softer. That’s all because of our love for each other. It’s written into her skin.
She whimpers, her head tilting back as I dip my fingers under the dress, gently rolling her nipple between my fingers.
“We’ll be late for our reservation.” She bites her lip, as if that can hold back her cries if I choose to drag one out of her.
“They’ll wait.”
The sounds she makes are dynamite. It’s like she’s lit my fuse and it only burns for her. I knead her breast, my thumb swiping back and forth over her nipple. Her boobs are not nearly as sensitive as they were in the first trimester, but I’m still careful. I don’t want to hurt her or cause her any discomfort.
“Why did you call me in?”
“Oh,” she blinks dazed and I smirk as she tries to gather herself. “I can’t reach the back of my dress.”
I pull my hand out of her dress and brush her hair to the side. She’s got the zipper up almost fully. She’s just missing the last few inches she couldn’t reach.
I drag it up slowly, teasing, savoring every brush of my fingers against her skin. And then I kiss her bare shoulder.
