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That was the only kind of tension I allowed in our bed.
With every swipe down her ass, I made sure my fingers dug into the edges of her pussy, tugging her labia apart with the gesture.
She fidgeted each time, and I took advantage of the view by watching her slickness increase with my touch.
“I think my butt’s relaxed now,” she whispered after a good couple minutes of doing that.
“Yeah?” I asked, ignoring her to trail my hands up her sides and to tickle the plumped out curves of her tits. Palpating the skin there, I waited until she started squirming to ask, “You ready to turn over?”
She hummed, and I hooked my hands around her shoulders and gently toppled her over so that she was flat on her back.
Already Bump was making that uncomfortable too, so I didn’t let her head fall back against the mattress and quickly propped her up with the pregnancy cushion.
When she was leaning against it, I edged back and sighed with delight at the sight before me.
“You’re supposed to think I’m fat and gross,” she said dazedly.
“Fat and gross?” I arched a brow. “That’s what you see when you look in the mirror?”
She shrugged, but I noticed her eyes didn’t stay on mine.
With a shake of my head, I told her, “I see the body that’s giving life to my family. I see new curves and newer erogenous zones.
“I see tits I want to fuck, a pussy I want to live in, and an ass and hips that let me haul you about the bed.”
“You do?” she asked shyly, and honestly, she was so rarely shy that it took me a second to recognize it.
When I’d married her, she’d been young. Naive. Kept that way by her father, sheltered and cosseted but not with love. Not out of love, either. She’d been a prisoner if anything.
When she came to me, she’d been bruised, and I’d realized that Antoni Vasov had beaten her to get her down the aisle.
Ever since that moment, when she exploded into my life, I’d been reeling.
That didn’t change.
Didn’t stop.
Love was a weakness, I’d come to learn, but I embraced it.
A man like me didn’t do anything by halves, and that was why I cherished her.
And because of that, she blossomed.
Every year, she grew stronger.
More sure of herself.
More comfortable in her own skin.
With college, she’d grown even more confident, more mature and more self-aware because of her education.
That my kid was the reason her self-esteem wobbled agitated me like nothing else could.
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to Bump and told her, “I do. That’s exactly what I see.”
She bit her lip and wiggled. The move spread her legs and I took advantage of that to reach down and to slide my fingers through her folds.
Slick from her juices and the oil, I touched her clit.
