I sniffed. “Yeah, a walrus.”
He chuckled. “No. I see a beautiful woman carrying my daughter and giving every other pregnant woman a run for their money.”
“That’s not what the mirror says.”
“Fuck that stupid mirror.” He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the side of my neck. It wasn’t sexual, but it did feel right. “You’re beautiful. You hear me?”
I sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
He said it again, slower. “You. Are. Beautiful.”
I nodded because my throat felt tight and closed in. I couldn’t get the words out. Tears began spilling again. I didn’t feel beautiful at all, but the fact that he thought I was felt reassuring. I built a career being strong for other women, and in this moment, I couldn’t muster any of that strength for myself. But I didn’t have to. I didn’t have to fake a smile or pretend—I could fall apart, and Gage would be right there to catch me.
He kept holding my belly up, rocking us back and forth to the music. His thumbs splayed gently over my skin as he slowly let my belly down. I could feel his breath against my ear, cool and minty from the gum he was chewing. He kissed my hair, my cheek, and then the edge of my jaw. His kisses were cautious, as if places like my lips had yellow tape on them. He wasn’t trying to cross a line, but my body yearned for him to do so.
My hands drifted up without me telling them to, finding the back of his neck. I massaged there, feeling the tightness in his muscles—or better yet, the resistance. He began to mouth the words of the song on my neck, his lips warm and smooth.
?? “When she touches me, I’m wishing that they were your hands.” ??
He raised his face to place his cheek against mine, and we both stared into the mirror as he continued to sing the words.
?? “And when I'm with her, it’s only 'bout the sex. With you, I had a bad romance.” ??
Returning his lips to my neck, his kisses got a little less innocent, a little more lingering. I felt heat slide under my panties, and between my legs began to bloom.
He whispered, “And if I could just trade her in, I would.”
His hands slid from under my belly to my hips, and he began to knead slowly. This type of massage was taught in Lamaze—not only did it relieve trauma, but it could also bring on themost fruitful orgasm. I wondered which one Gage was trying to accomplish at this moment.
He slowly pulled me back, flushed against him, and I could feel how much he wanted me too.
“Cause nobody compares to you, no, yeah.” That last line came out more like a statement than a melody.
“Gage,” I whispered, but I had a feeling it came out more like a moan.
“Lift your leg and let your foot rest on here,” he nodded towards the seating bench.
Doing as I was told, I lifted my leg and allowed my foot to rest flat on the bench. Gage pressed his thumb into the groove where my thigh met the side of my pussy, tracing firm and lazy expert circles. He was well into what our Lamaze instructor called the Pelvic Bloom Massage. Those circles turned to movements of up and down, causing my lips to spread, my clit to swell, and my nectar to fill between my petals.
“Ahh,” I moaned softly.
“Gage, what are you doing?”
He used his free hand to slightly spread my other leg apart and used his index and middle finger to apply the same pressure and motion to the other side. I felt my body give way as I leaned deeper into his chest.
“Oh my, Gage, wait” I could barely catch my breath, let alone make out a sentence.
“Shhh, relax, mama,” he whispered with a smirk. “Look how beautiful you are—elevated like this—skin warm, breath labored, and lips slightly parted. Your hair is so full and long, your nails are strong and shiny, and your eyes look like stars. Don’t ever call yourself anything less than perfect, you hear me?” He gently bit my neck.
“Yes, yes, I hear you,” I breathlessly responded.
“Don’t close your eyes, Mahasin. Look at youself, look at us in this mirror,” he ordered as he continued his pressure building massage on my thigh gaps. “You think I’d give you my first everything if I thought you were less than perfect?”
“No,” I moaned.
I placed one of my hands on top of his and did my best to guide them to the bottom of my panties to rub my pussy. He purposely grazed between my lips on top of my panties as if he was only doing that to return his fingers to their original position. He could pretend like he didn’t know what he was doing, all he wanted, but I knew better.
“Let’s keep it safe, Dollface. I don’t want you to be the bad person. I’ll take on that role alone,” he said. “Just relax and let me help you release… your tension.”
