"And a father who will teach him how to survive."
"Yes." His hand slides down my body. "Now let me show you how much I appreciate you."
"Adrian—"
"You said I should be softer." His mouth finds my neck. "But right now, I need to be anything but."
For a moment, we just lie there. Processing. His childhood trauma. My fears about motherhood. The weight of what we're about to become.
Then his hand slides down my body, and I understand. This is how he processes. How he reconnects after vulnerability.
His kiss is demanding, possessive, reclaiming control after being so vulnerable. And I let him. Because I understand. Because opening up like that cost him something. Because this is how he processes emotion—through touch, through claiming, through reminding us both who we are.
His hands are everywhere. Pushing up my nightgown. Spreading my thighs. Finding me already wet.
"You're always ready for me," he growls against my throat.
"You're always touching me," I counter breathlessly.
"Because you're mine." He positions himself between my legs, the head of his cock pressing against me. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Adrian. Always."
He pushes inside in one hard thrust, and I cry out at the fullness. At thirty-three weeks pregnant, everything feels more intense. More sensitive. More overwhelming.
"Fuck," he groans. "You feel incredible."
He moves slowly at first, careful of my belly, but his control is fraying. I can feel it in the tension of his muscles. The way his breathing gets ragged.
"Harder," I tell him. "I won't break."
"The baby?—"
"Is fine. The doctor said so." I push him away from me, groaning as he slips out of my body.
"What?"
I get on my knees, turning around so I'm on all fours. Butbecause I know my husband likes to watch, I move so that I'm facing the end of the bed where our mirror is.
"Sera..." His large hand caresses my ass, and I shiver remembering how his cock felt inside my ass.
"I need you, Adrian. Please." I feel my wetness slipping down my thighs.
He groans, grabbing a pillow and placing it under my stomach. The care he takes with me makes me clench in need.
"What a dirty girl you are, my pretty little wife." He swats at my ass, and I yelp slightly in surprise. "Presenting your ass to me." He slaps me again, and I groan. "Like a bitch in heat."
He presses a finger into my ass, and I cry out.
"Do you want me to fuck your ass?"
He's barely touching me, but I'm so ready I can't answer.
He doesn't care. His hand comes down on me again, and I gasp. "Adrian," I cry. "Please."
