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My back ached from standing too long and holding up my shield to hide my belly. The baby felt like they had their head jammed into my bladder and their toes prodding my ribcage. If I got any bigger, I was going to pop—spectacularly and gruesomely. It felt like that might be a relief.
Loïc was watching me, despite my efforts to hide my discomfort and irritability. As I’d gotten closer to my due date, he’d been constantly hovering, protecting—it was obsessive, loving, and strangely cute.
Arching, I tried to get the knot out of my lower back. It had been aching for a couple of days and was starting to drive me batty. The weeks of Braxton Hicks contractions weren’t helping.
“I need to pee,” I declared, not bothering to wait for a natural pause. I shucked off my shield and handed it to Loïc, then strode off set.
Not very professional, but I needed a break and peeing was a good excuse.
I’d insisted on working until the baby was born, trying to finish as much of the season as I could beforehand, but I also hadn’t thought I’d still be pregnant a week after my due date. It was starting to feel like the baby was planning to attend online university from in there.
“Are you okay?” Loïc asked, trotting after me, still carrying the shield.
The rest of the cast and crew had to be annoyed at the delay.
“The baby is doing a headstand on my bladder.” I made my way down the hall, feeling an overwhelming desire to escape and be alone.
“One minute,” Loïc said, voice low. I whirled to find him close. He backed me against the wall, the dark promise in his eyes giving me goose bumps.
“What do you want?” I asked crankily.
“You. Always you.” His suggestive smile made me blush. How could he still be looking at me like I was a sex goddess when I felt more like a sloth goddess? “Do you need rest?”
“No. I’m fine.” Even to my own ears, I sounded like a grouchy toddler three hours after bedtime.
He put his hands on the wall to either side of my head, trapping me. “Have I ever mentioned the pregnancy version of your Rose Red leathers is hot as hell?”
“About a million times since Monday. Before that? I don’t trust my ability to count that high.”
“Mmm.” He put his face in my hair and inhaled my scent, which always made me melt.
“I thought we agreed to stop sneaking off for quickies at work. It’s rude.”
He slipped his hand into my leather bodice, groaning quietly at the feel of my breast in his hand. Biting his bottom lip he squeezed, then caught my mouth in a too-sexy-for-work kiss. He found my nipple and crushed it ruthlessly, sending a wave of pain-filled lust through my body. My belly cramped, the way it sometimes did when I orgasmed lately, and I whimpered into his mouth, trying to ignore the tense sensation in my stomach. While he had my mouth busy, he wedged his thigh between mine, and pressed it against my tingling pussy.
I gasped, trying to push his leg away.
“Loïc! Someone might see.”
“They’re all jealous they can’t have you.” His painful pinching grip on my overly sensitive nipple made me mewl with pain and need.
“Making everyone wait is rude,” I reminded him, my whisper faint and unconvincing.
He sighed theatrically and kissed me again. “I suppose you have a point.” His groan of frustration echoed through my body. My stomach was so tight with the need to orgasm, it was uncomfortable. With a naughty smirk, he twisted my nipple one last time before pulling his hand out of my bodice, and I sobbed with lust. My belly cramped harder, refusing to be left out of the equation even for a moment. I winced and cradled it, wrinkling my nose.
“Maybe we could go out to the trailer for a few minutes,” I suggested, feeling guilty for even bringing it up.
He glanced down at my hand on my belly. “Braxton Hicks?”
“Yeah.” It had been over a month of them, including a trip to the hospital because we’d thought I was in labor about three weeks ago. “They’re relentless today.”
“But the same as usual?” He frowned in consternation.
“Yes. I think I need to sit down soon, too.”
“Hungry?”
“Still full from lunch.”
