I lowered myself into the water before I could spiral further. The heat wrapped around me instantly, seeping into my aching muscles, my sore back, my swollen feet. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the edge of the tub.
A few minutes later, I heard Prime come back. I opened my eyes to watch him undress. The candlelight caught the definition of his chest, his abs, those arms that had held me through the worst moments of my life. He stepped out of his sweats and boxers, and I let my eyes travel down.
Seven months pregnant and this man still made my mouth water.
He climbed into the tub behind me, settling so I could lean back against his chest. His legs bracketed mine, his arms wrapped around me from behind, hands coming to rest on my belly.
“This feel good?” he asked.
“You have no idea.”
His hands started moving. Slow circles on my belly, massaging the tight skin where our daughter was growing. His thumbs pressed into the small of my back, working out knots I didn’t even know were there.
“Tilt your head back.”
I did, and I felt him reach for something. Then warm water poured over my hair, and his fingers were in my scalp, massaging shampoo through my coils.
I almost cried.
It was such a small thing. But no one had washed my hair in… I couldn’t remember how long. And his fingers felt so good, working in slow circles, scratching gently at my scalp.
“I love taking care of you, Zai.” His voice was low. Tender.
“I appreciate it.” My voice cracked.
“You know, I got you. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”
The tears came then. Not sad tears—release tears. Weeks of fear and loneliness and trying to be strong pouring out of me in the safety of his arms.
He didn’t tell me to stop. Didn’t try to fix it. Just held me, kept massaging my scalp, let me feel whatever I needed to feel.
When the tears slowed, he rinsed my hair and pressed a kiss to my temple.
“Better?”
“Yeah.” I wiped my face. “Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
“Don’t apologize. You been through hell. You allowed to feel it.”
His hands drifted down to my shoulders, kneading the tension there. Then lower, over my arms. Back to my belly.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said against my ear.
“I’m huge.”
“You’re growing our baby. That’s beautiful.” His fingers traced one of the stretch marks on my side. “Every part of you.”
I tensed.
“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t hide from me.”
“They’re everywhere now. My hips, my stomach, my thighs…”
“Good.” He kissed my shoulder. “More proof. More evidence that you’re doing something incredible.” His fingers traced another mark, then another, almost reverently. “These are mine too. This belly is mine. These hips are mine.” His hands slid up to cup my breasts, fuller and heavier than before. “These are definitely mine.”
I laughed through the last of my tears. “You so greedy.”
“When it comes to you? Always.”
