He nodded.
We lay down. Him on top of the covers. Me under. Space between us.
After a while he spoke. Voice low.
“I heard the heartbeat today.”
“Yeah.”
“It was… real.”
I didn’t answer.
He shifted. Closer. Hand hovered over my shirt.
“Can I…?”
I didn’t move.
He lifted the hem. Slow. Exposed my stomach. Flat. Soft.
He pressed his cheek there. Warm. Stubble rough.
“Hey, little one,” he whispered. “It’s me. Your dad.”
My throat closed.
He talked. Quiet. Told the baby about trains. About music. About how he’d fuck up but try not to.
His hand moved. Circled my skin. Slow. Gentle.
Then lower.
Fingers slipped under my waistband. Found me.
I gasped.
He didn’t stop.
Two fingers slid inside. Slow. Deep. Curled.
I arched. Bit my lip.
He moved. Steady rhythm. Thumb on my clit. Circles. Pressure.
“You’re wet,” he murmured against my skin. “For me.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
He kept going. Faster. Deeper. Crooked fingers hitting that spot.
I came quiet. Shaking. Tears in my eyes.
He pulled out. Kissed my stomach once.
Then lay back.
We fell asleep like that.
