"Been hard since we got alone again." I pulled the belt free of the loops and dropped it. Moved to the button of my trousers, unhurried, my fingers still working inside her. "Walkin’ around all night with you. Dancing with my pregnant wife. Feeling you against me." I got the button open. The zipper. "You have any idea what that does to a man?"
"Please—" Her hips rolled toward my hand. "Please, I need?—"
"I know what you need." I curled my fingers and she cried out. "You need to come for me one more time first."
"I can't?—"
"You can." I pressed my thumb to her clit and she grabbed the quilt. "You've been doing it for months, darlin'. One more." I worked her—fingers deep, thumb in tight circles—and watched her face. The way her mouth fell open. The way her back arched. The way her hands twisted in the quilt like she needed something to hold. "Come on. Let me feel it."
She broke apart.
Harder this time—clenching around my fingers so tight I groaned, her whole body shuddering, my name coming out of her in pieces. I worked her through it, every wave, my thumb on her clit until she was pulling at my wrist with both hands.
"Stop—too much—Gage?—"
I pulled my hand free. Brought my fingers to my mouth and watched her watch me do it.
Her chest was heaving. Her eyes were wrecked.
"You're going to kill me," she said.
"Not tonight." I shoved my trousers down and stepped out of them. Stood at the foot of the bed and looked at her—bare and trembling, belly round, legs still open, my ring on her finger. "Tonight I'm going to take very good care of you."
She looked at my cock. Looked at my face.
"Then get up here," she said, "and do it."
I took her by the hips and dragged her to the edge of the bed.
She gasped—half laugh, half something else—and grabbed my forearms to steady herself. I looked at her laid out in front of me, belly round between us, and I shrugged out of my shirt.
Fuck…fuck, she was perfect.
I put one knee on the mattress, angled in, and lined myself up against her.
"Okay?" I said.
"If you don't—" She rolled her hips toward me. "Gage."
I pushed inside.
Slow. All the way. Felt her stretch around me and held there, my hands gripping her hips, watching her face go slack. She was so wet, so warm, still clenching from the last two and gripping me like she had no intention of letting go.
"God—" Her head dropped back.
"Look at me," I said.
She looked.
I pulled back and drove forward and watched her mouth fall open. Her pretty, round breasts bounced at the thrust, nipples peaked from me playing with them. "Feel that?"
"Yes—"
"Feel how deep I am?" I spread one hand across the side of her belly—the full round curve of it, warm under my palm—and something moved through me that wasn't just want. Something older and more permanent. "My wife." I rolled my hips and she grabbed my forearm. "Say it."
"Your—" She lost it when I did it again. "Your wife?—"
"That's right." I found a rhythm. Deep, measured strokes, the angle doing exactly what I needed it to do—hitting her right, watching her take it. My hand stayed on her belly. "My wife." I drove forward and she cried out. "Mine."
