My hands drift lower, exploring the gentle swell of her belly before sliding between her thighs. Her skin is slick from the water, hot and trembling beneath my touch. I find her clit with practiced precision, circling in deliberate strokes that have her hips jerking forward. I shift to light taps and gentle brushes, each movement intentional, each one meant to drive her higher without giving her everything she craves.
She arches, desperate for more, and the sound that breaks loose from her nearly undoes me.
I press closer, my mouth at her ear. “Not yet, baby. I want you begging for me.”
The shudder that slides through her tells me she’s close to breaking, but I hold steady, forcing myself to take my time. Every touch is intentional, a vow etched into her skin. Each caress carries the words I don’t know how to speak out loud.
That she’s mine.
That I’ll worship her until she finally believes it.
That she’ll never have to do this alone.
By the time we’re done with the shower, she’s trembling and pliant beneath my hands, lashes fluttering against her damp cheeks. I twist off the water and reach for a towel, drawing it over her in careful sweeps, unwilling to rush a single second. Not the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, or the gentle rise of her belly where our child grows.
I drop to my knees in front of her, pressing my lips to her stomach and the steady beat of life beneath it.
“I still can’t believe our baby is in here,” I whisper.
Her fingers slip into the damp strands of my hair. Her touch is both gentle and tentative, as if she’s afraid the moment will vanish if she holds on too tightly.
“Neither can I,” she murmurs. “It still feels surreal.”
I meet her gaze. “This isn’t a dream. And I’ll be here every step of the way.”
She doesn’t respond as her eyes search mine. The silence between us feels like a promise waiting to be spoken out loud.
I rise to my feet and brush my thumb over her cheek. “Go lie down so I can finish what I started.”
She moves toward the bedroom on unsteady legs, her body trembling. I follow a few steps behind, fighting for composure that’s quickly slipping away. Every ounce of restraint I have feels stretched thin, pulled tight enough to snap.
I stop in the doorway and take in the sight of her spread out across my sheets. The muted light from the hallway spills over her, turning her skin a rich, golden hue.
For a second, I’m frozen in place. It runs through my head again that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And that somehow, against all odds, she’s mine.
The air between us feels thick enough to touch. I halt at the edge of the bed, drawn to the trust in her eyes and the quiet, willing surrender in the way she waits for me.
“Look at you,” I rasp. “You’re a fucking sight to behold.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. The only sound is our uneven breathing as I climb onto the bed, closing the space between us one inch at a time.
The moment stretches, turning heavy and electric. I reach out, tracing a path along her thigh, her hip, and the dip of her waist, committing to memory everything about what’s unfolding between us. Her skin is warm and damp beneath my fingers. Every shiver sinks straight into me, uncoiling something deep inside.
My mouth finds her knee before drifting higher. She trembles, whispering my name like it’s both a plea and a prayer, and I swear I’ve never heard anything sweeter.
I pull back just enough to stare at her, needing her to see the truth in my eyes. “You have no idea what you do to me. Or how much I want to take care of you. Both of you.”
As I lower my head, I realize this woman, this life we’re building, is everything I’ll ever need. Everything I never knew I longed for.
By the time I reach her inner thighs, she’s quivering with need.
My tongue slides between her lips in long, unhurried strokes, only wanting to savor her taste. Her gasp breaks the silence as her hips jerk. My mouth lifts into a knowing smile as I take my sweet damn time, driving her higher. I circle and tease, brushing barely-there passes over her clit until she’s shaking with pent-up frustration.
“More,” she pleads. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging and urging as her body arches against me. “Please, Oliver.”
Her desperation shreds the restraint I’ve been clinging to, and a guttural sound tears from me as I press deeper. “I’m going to lick this sweet pussy until you’re screaming my name.”
And then I make good on that promise.
