But he turns my world upside down when he puts me on the bed.
The bed that I sleep in.
The bed he used to put me down on back when I used to be so sick. But he’s never gotten into it. He looms over me now. His shirt made even more wrinkled by my fisting fingers, his lips appearing wet and swollen due to my kisses and his eyes all burned with lust for me.
Burned with all the things that he thinks about.
Because I’m pregnant and my body’s changing.
And so when he kneels at the foot of the bed and goes for the waistband of my pajama pants, I don’t stop him. I don’t feel shy when he strips them off my legs and goes for the zipper in his hoodie.
He lowers it, all hastily now, without any finesse, and I know it’s because he’s excited.
He’s excited and eager to see me in my new body.
But when he reaches to the bottom of the zipper and his fingers grab the hoodie to part it so he can see my naked skin, his jaw clenches. And I know it’s because he hates it at the same time.
He hates this eagerness because he’s making my body change.
He’s responsible for my swollen belly and my aching tits.
So I grab hold of his hands that are fisted in the fabric and make him do it. Make him part the hoodie that’s covering me from his eyes. So he can see.
So he can revel in what he did to me.
And he does, I think.
He does when his body moves with his breaths and when his lips part and his eyes grow hooded. He revels in my slightly bigger belly and wider hips. My swollen, rounded breasts and darker nipples, as I lie there on my back with his hoodie parted and spread, my braid almost undone and fanning over my head.
But then I realize that he’s never even seen them before.
My naked body, let alone my naked tits.
So I tell him, “I… I used to be smaller.” I swallow when his eyes lift up. “My breasts. Even smaller than this, and my nipples were… were a lighter shade of pink. My hips were smaller too. I’m not… I’m not your tight little ballerina anymore.”
The bones of his wrists that I’m still holding flex. “No, you’re not. You’re my gorgeous, glorious,pregnantFae. And you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect that it hurts. Here.” And he puts his fist on his chest to show me like I showed him.
All I can do is go lax on the bed and whisper his name. “Reed.”
“Show me where I hurt you,” he demands, his eyes piercing.
And I do it.
I have no shame when I let go of his wrists and creep my one hand up to my breasts and squeeze one. “Here.” My other hand goes down my swollen belly and touches my pussy.
I don’t stop there though.
I don’t just touch it, I rub my lips, wet and soft, making my hips jerk under his eyes. I part those lips like he parted my hoodie to show him my fairy hole, like he calls it, and whisper again, “And here.”
Making him growl.
There’s no mistaking the sound that emerges from him.
He growls at the sight of my spread-open pussy, the pussy that he thinks is hurting because of him, and I see determination wash over his gorgeous features.
He brings his eyes, all dark and predatory and protective, to mine as he grabs my naked thighs. As he makes my legs fold up at the knees and hooks the arches of my feet to the edge of the bed.
Then without taking his eyes off me, he moves his hands.
