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“You already have so much going on…” She dropped her shoulder, putting distance between them.
“Don’t do that,” he warned. “Don’t push me away.”
Jules reminded herself of Marisol’s advice to be vulnerable with Ben and to accept his support. She hated being a burden.
What if the situation were reversed?
The thought came out of nowhere, first bringing the image of Ben with a huge baby bump which made her smile at the ridiculousness of the idea, then making her realize that if her husband was in some kind of situation necessitating every ounce of her energy and every minute of her time, she’d willingly give it.
“I feel selfish,” she admitted. “Like you’re the one paying the price because I insisted on trying over and over again.”
“Jules, you gotta stop telling yourself that.” Ben inhaled deeply through his nose, chest rising and then slowly falling as he released the breath. “I want this baby just as much as you.Weare having a baby. You carry Skye, and I’ll carry you.”
Tears trickled down her face, thoughts and feelings whirling like a tornado.
Gratitude that their marriage had survived.
Humility to be loved so deeply and with such commitment.
Peace of mind, knowing she didn’t have to handle this on her own.
Excitement at the future awaiting them.
Surmounting them all, a compulsion to feel Ben inside her. To affirm their emotional connection with the most intimate of physical unions.
He must have recognized the shift in her mood because his eyes narrowed and his hands dropped to her hips.
She reached behind her neck and untied the halter. A second tie at her waist loosened the rest of the dress. She sat astride Ben, a wisp of silk the only thing between her and ecstasy.
Licking his lips, he settled her against the mound of pillows so she had plenty of support. He dragged her panties off, breathing in the scent of her arousal with a wicked glint. His shorts and boxers disappeared, and he knelt on the edge of the bed, then froze.
“I have an idea.” He dashed out of the room and down the stairs, buck naked. A second later, he charged back upstairs. Positioning himself at the foot of the bed, he waggled his cell phone at her.
“You can’t be serious.” Jules grabbed a decorative pillow to shield her nudity.
“Not nudie shots,” he chuckled. “More like those boudoir photos Vickie got.”
“You haven’t seen them, have you?” Her brows dipped suspiciously.
“No.” He laughed outright. “You told me about them. ‘Sensual and tasteful,’ is how you described them.”
“Whyever—”
He raised a hand, silencing her. “You are gorgeous. You’ve never looked sweeter or more feminine or more ripe. Your breasts are so full, and your huge belly cocoons the greatest miracle any human can accomplish. I want you to see this and remember this.”
Tilting her head, she considered his words.
“I love that idea. But let’s hire a professional. Vickie can give me the name of the photographer she worked with.” She reached out for him. “I have other needs that only you can fulfill.”
She rolled on her side, widening her legs so he could tuck a pillow between them. Wriggling to get comfortable and make sure her belly was supported, she looked over her shoulder into Ben’s eyes. His erection, hot and hard, nudged at her from behind. He angled his cock, smoothing sliding inside and settling into a rhythmic, unhurried pace. His fingers plucked a nipple, pulling a moan from deep inside her.
He was careful, attentive, tuned into the subtlest reaction, having learned that pregnancy blurred the line between pleasure and pain. When she stiffened, her breasts suddenly hypersensitive, his hand glided along her side and over her hip to find her hot, wet center.
With the muted symphony of the Michigan summer night filtering in through the windows, the faint music from the kitchen, and their own contented sighs and whispers, Jules and Ben came together.
6
32 Weeks
