Gold light seeped through my closed eyes. Too soft to wake me, but warm enough to trick me into reaching for him, his chest, weight, the heat of his skin. I burrowed deeper into the pillow, clutching it close until my thighs cinched tight around the shape, pretending it was solid, steady, his. My hips gave a lazy roll, a half-yawn dragging into a half-moan, pressure sparking low where need had simmered all night.
Then I froze. The friction bit too sharp to belong to cotton. I tilted against it again, testing, and a shiver jolted up my spine. Pajama bottoms. Gone
I cracked an eye, peeking over the mound of my belly, round and smug beneath the blanket. Bare thighs clung damp to the pillow I straddled. Heat throbbed between them, thick and insistent, coaxing me to stay like this; rock, slide, drift back under with release humming in my bones.
I pressed down harder, chasing warmth, until my body rebelled. The pressure spiked sharp, not the sweet throb I wanted but a bladder-deep ache, twisting cruel as it stole the pulse of desire. A whimper broke against the pillow, caught between need and despair, ridiculous even as it burned.
With a groan, I kicked free of the blankets. Heat vanished, air biting at bare skin. Goosebumps prickled even as my nipples tightened, traitors to the chill. Seventy-eight degrees, he’d claimed. “Perfectly reasonable.” Reasonable, my ass.
I heaved upright, graceless as a hatchling turtle scrabbling toward surf. One hand braced beneath my belly, the other gripping the doorframe. Toes snagged on a heap of fabric, my pajama bottoms, abandoned mid-night. The memory tugged a smirk from me: stripping in the dark, cursing another endless bathroom run.
The mirror caught me mid-waddle, and I nearly snorted. Hair skewed into a crooked bun, cheeks flushed, belly looming like a smug monument. Naked, of course. Not some glowing goddess. More like a prima donna with bedhead and a bladder mutiny.
By the time I reached the toilet, the stream was already spilling. My head tipped back as a laugh slipped out, relief flooding through me so sharp it left me dizzy. When it ended, a shiver rattled down my spine, and the low ache lingered in my pelvis, not empty, not satisfied, just restless.
I wiped, flushed, washed. My gaze stayed locked on the bed like it was a lover sulking, waiting. If I hurried, maybe I could still steal its warmth. I dried my hands, tossed the towel, and launched into what passed for a sprint, closer to a snail’s gallop. Pajama bottoms got nudged along with each step, herded toward the hamper until at last I braced myself on the mattress, ready to reclaim it.
Climbing back in was a spectacle of gracelessness: belly first, then knees, then a flop that left me panting like I’d just run track. I gathered the pillows, wedging and stacking, building my nightly fortress. Every morning it collapsed. Every night, I swore I’d perfected it. Still, when the cushions caught my weight and eased the throb in my hips, relief struck sharp and sweet.
For a moment, I only breathed, pulse slowing as warmth seeped back into chilled skin. My belly loomed, round and defiant against the ceiling. Then a flutter stirred inside. A tiny kick, quick as a jab, like the baby was in on the joke.
I smirked, palm sliding over the swell while my other hand drifted lower, grazing my thigh. Heat pooled there, a restless tug that wouldn’t let me settle. I thought of my husband, his mouth roaming greedy and slow, the way he could make me ache just kissing the inside of my knee. My fingers brushed through damp curls, heat blooming sharp under my touch. The thought came reckless, hungry: I could call him, beg him to come home, let his voice in my ear push me over…
My breath hitched. The idea flared like fire, then settled sticky as honey, dangerous in how it refused to let go.
My thighs pressed together under the blankets, restless. I bit my lip, willing the pulse to quiet, but it only sharpened, mocking with every beat. I reached for the nightstand, grasping, only to find it empty. My gaze slid to the dresser across the room, where the phone’s black screen waited, smug and out of reach. I groaned and kicked the sheets in childish protest. Too far.
The thought of calling him burned, then curdled. He had deadlines, people leaning on him. I imagined the sound of his voice in my ear, imagined him tethered here to this swollen body that already asked too much. My chest pinched, throat tightening, the want collapsing into something sharp that felt like shame.
I forced the ache aside and found my clit. The bud jolted at the first touch, a spike racing up my spine. I lingered, circling, until my clit jolted sharp under my touch. My other hand cupped a breast, thumb grazing the tender peak. Pain sparking, then melting into heat that dragged through me until my hips bucked, belly heaving like it conspired in my need.
I tried to build rhythm, rocking and circling, but my belly loomed between me and my own hunger, shoving my arm into awkward angles. I shifted, spreading wider, then tipping to my side, but every change pinched until the pleasure thinned to sighs, need collapsing under irritation.
“Seriously?” I huffed, glaring at the swell of my own body. My breath stuttered hot with frustration. “Seven months pregnant and I can’t even jerk off right.” The words spilled half-laugh, half-growl, sharp enough to sting before a grin broke through, mocking me with my own absurdity.
Then the answer flashed, cruel and obvious: the nightstand. My guilty relic, waiting like a confession in the drawer.
I wiggled and shuffled sideways across the sheets, belly and breasts swaying with every effort. The blanket slipped off in the scramble, cool air rushing in to bite at overheated skin. Goosebumps popped along my arms, less applause than a jeer, as my hand slid into the drawer and closed around what I’d been wanting.
I pulled it out: cheap, silver, plain, a little dings-and-all rod with a twist knob at the base. I flopped into the middle of the bed, sprawling like a queen reclaiming her throne, holding it up like something sacred. The memory of stealing it from Spencer’s in a reckless teen blur made a sharp laugh bubble up, fond and a little cruel, a reminder that sometimes I still needed saving.
Please, I begged without sound, fingers tightening around the plastic. Just enough juice to finish me off, I mouthed to the ceiling.
I twisted the knob, breath caught, waiting.
Nothing.
A flutter of panic skittered through me. “No, no, no, come on, purr for me.” I smacked it against my palm, coaxing like a stubborn pet. For a moment, it only sputtered, faint and cruel, tightening my chest until I thought I’d scream. Then the buzz steadied. Relief burst out as laughter, greedy and sharp, teeth flashing in the dark.
I dragged it down the slope of my belly, tracing the round curve like a pilgrimage, lower and lower, until plastic met the slick heat between my thighs. The instant it kissed my clit my whole body jolted. Tingling shot through me, chest clenching, toes curling, a moan spilling sharp. The ache that had gnawed all morning unraveled into shocks of pleasure that shook through bone and breath, too fierce to hold in.
The vibrator did everything my clumsy fingers couldn’t. I sagged back into the pillow fort, though it felt more like a crumbling wall, barely propping me up as my legs sprawled wide. I gave in to its steady hum. My free hand climbed to a breast, cupping and squeezing until the sting at the peak melted into hot relief. My eyes slipped shut, and I let myself conjure him, his mouth trailing down my thighs, his hands gripping my hips, his weight pressing me into the mattress until the absence cut like a bruise.
A whimper caught in my throat, tight and aching. I needed him. The thought tasted sharp, like hunger laced with hurt.
Then another thought struck, wicked and molten. What if it wasn’t only him? What if our cocky, broad-shouldered neighbor slid in beside him, both of them stretching me, filling me, wrecking me? The image blazed up, bold and obscene, so hot it tore a gasp from me. My hips jerked, body thrumming, orgasm clawing close, toes splaying wide. For a heartbeat, I swore I could feel them both—too much, too perfect—
The vibrator slipped from my grip.
“Shit!” I groaned as the toy slipped from my hand, buzzing down over slick folds before settling between my thighs. I lunged for it, only to jolt when the humming tip nudged lower, pressing where I hadn’t meant. A yelp tore out of me, laughter tumbling after, sharp and helpless. Frustration tangled with hilarity until I was writhing, scrabbling at the sheets while my belly turned every reach into clumsy farce.
A voice cut through my flailing. “Need a little help?”
My head snapped up, cheeks blazing. He stood in the doorway, broad and steady, chuckle rolling low in his chest, eyes gleaming with amusement and hunger. Embarrassment burned hot, but the pulse between my legs only throbbed harder, traitor to pride.
I wriggled, biting back a squeal as the stubborn buzz teased my backside. His gaze lingered, and the heat climbed higher, spreading down my throat until my chest burned hotter than the rest of me. But my hips shifted anyway. “Wh–what are you doing here?” I gasped, breath ragged, words flimsy armor against the way my body strained under his gaze.
He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world, bare legs under a t-shirt and boxers. My eyes darted, traitorous, to the thick outline straining at the fabric. My cheeks burned hotter for staring, but I couldn’t tear away.
“It’s Sunday,” he said with a low grin, voice rich with tease. “Figured I’d let my wife sleep in, maybe make her breakfast.” His gaze swept slow over me, the tossed blanket, my flushed skin, the toy buzzing shameless between my thighs. “Didn’t know I’d find my little horny monster making her own meal.” The words bit sweet and cruel, leaving my chest tight with wanting.
The pet name lit through me, hotter than shame, sweeter than pride. I pulled a mock scowl, lips twisting. “Shut up,” I pouted, cheeks blazing. “I don’t need your help.” The protest rang hollow, hips wriggling in open betrayal.
“Mmhm.” He crossed his arms and sank deeper into the frame, motionless. Not a blink, not a twitch. Just that infuriating patience that always undid me.
The silence pressed close, broken only by the hum buzzing at my backside. It made me twitch and squirm as if bound, thighs pressing tight on instinct. My teeth found my lip, holding back the plea that burned behind it.
He tilted his head, grin sharp with mischief, and for a heartbeat I thought he’d keep me there forever, writhing under his gaze. Then he shifted, slow and deliberate, as if to leave. My stomach plunged before air rushed back into my chest.
“Wait,” I blurted, cheeks blazing. I tried to square my shoulders, pride stiff in me even as my body begged. “You can help. But not because I need you. Because you’re dying to help me.”
His laugh rumbled low, short and knowing, brushing my protest aside like it weighed nothing. He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.
He crossed the room in a torturous prowl, each step measured. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, tilting me toward him until I could breathe him in, soap and skin thick in my lungs. My heart skittered when he leaned close, lips parting, hungry for his kiss.
But he stopped just shy, his breath brushing mine, cruel as a caress. Then the vibrator pressed to my clit, a buzzing kiss that stole my breath and replaced it with fire.
I gasped, back arching, laughter spilling ragged with the shock. “You bastard,” I choked, the words splitting between curse and moan.
He only smirked, eyes glinting, letting my protest dangle before he dropped a single, taunting, “Oops.”
The toy moved in slow, deliberate circles, each pass tightening the ache until it clawed at me. I writhed, muttering curses and endearments tangled together, clawing at the sheets while he dragged it out, savoring. Every flick, every press shrank the world to the steady hum and the low ripple of his chuckle.
I teetered at the edge, desperate and wordless, when his mouth closed on my neck. Teeth grazed, then bit, sharp enough to rip a gasp from me before the sting melted into heat. Release hit in ragged waves, nerves sparking, muscles clenching helplessly as his laugh rumbled against my throat.
At the crest, the vibrator vanished. The sudden loss tore a whine out of me, needy and shameless, hips jerking in frantic search of the hum that had abandoned me. The emptiness burned, sharp and hollow.
My answer came, not in plastic but flesh. His fingers slid down, threading through the wet curls at my center. They traced my folds with maddening care, circling and coaxing, teasing the shudders still trapped in my body. Each stroke soothed and provoked at once, grounding me in touch even as it kept the hunger alive.
I collapsed into the pillows, lungs dragging for air, body still humming. His lips never left me, drifting from my throat to my jaw before fastening on my earlobe. He tugged, teeth scraping, words spilling hot into my ear—filthy, impossible promises that made me shiver and clench, my body sparking back to life.
For a moment, I melted under it, nerves shot and thighs quivering while his fingers circled slow between my folds. Then I tilted my head, fumbling for the back of his neck. My grip trembled, clumsy, but my voice cut sharp through the weakness.
“I want another,” I breathed. It should have landed like a threat, but the plea bled through, soft and wrecked. “And you’re gonna give it to me.” The words left me shaking, shamed and thrilled in equal measure.
He laughed low against my skin, a sound that promised nothing but trouble. God help me, the ache only deepened, as if my body had already answered for him.
I watched him strip, devouring every inch of bare skin as it appeared. Want tightened hot inside me while I rolled to my side, dragging a pillow between my knees and another beneath my belly. I glanced back over my shoulder, lips curling into a cocky smirk. “C’mere. You know what works best.”
His grin flashed, dark with heat, though his movements stayed careful as he slid in behind me. The mattress dipped, his chest settling warm against my back, one arm winding around like it belonged there. I sighed, melting into the hold as the thick length of him nudged at the curve of my ass, insistent, impossible to ignore.
Instead of pressing forward, his hand swept over my belly, cradling its weight as if it were fragile treasure. His thumb traced slow circles over the faint silver arcs. My throat tightened, heat and embarrassment knotting until I had to swallow hard.
I froze, heat flooding my face, chest tight with the urge to turn away. But he held me steady, lips brushing the back of my shoulder like a promise I couldn’t slip past.
“God, look at you…” His voice broke on a pause, soft and fierce at once. “Every line, every mark—fuck, I can’t stop wanting you.” The words pierced through me, sharp enough to make my eyes sting.
My throat hitched, a laugh tangling with the threat of a sob. Then he pressed forward, sliding into me inch by inch. The stretch stole my breath, heat rushing down my spine until my lips parted on a gasp, body clenching tight around him.
I reached back, fumbling until my fingers caught his. His forehead dropped to the nape of my neck as he pushed deeper, steadying me even as I trembled in his hold.
He slid into me with a patience that made my chest ache, each inch measured, careful. His breath spilled hot against my skin, whispering shivers through me while his hand steadied my belly as if I might shatter. Every shallow thrust reverberated with restraint, so careful it drove me twitching with impatience even as I melted into it.
I yielded, eyes fluttering shut, heat pouring through me until it tangled with something sharper, tenderer. My hand clutched his at my middle, pressing it tighter. “God, you’re so careful with me,” I whispered, voice shaking. “It makes me feel fragile. I hate it. And I love it.” The words scorched, humiliating and sweet, raw enough to ache in my chest.
He kissed the curve of my shoulder, murmuring against my skin. “Fragile? Then why do I feel like the one in danger?” The tease cut under my skin, flipping shame into something I could bite down on.
A laugh slipped free, soft and giddy, slicing through the ache. I glanced back, smirk tugging at my lips. “That’s because you are.” The words landed like a dare as I tipped my hips back into him, savoring the moan that broke loose, rough and helpless.
His fingers spread over my belly, dragging slow as if to steady me, but the tremor in his grip betrayed the strain. I rocked harder, slow at first, then teasing, each push wringing another sound from him. His breath caught hot at my neck, ragged and needy, and the quiver in his chest told me I was the one unraveling him.
I smirked, mock-innocent, wicked. “Who’s fragile now?”
That was all it took. His hand left my belly, sliding down to the slick heat between my thighs. Fingers parted me with practiced ease, thumb circling my clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, so sure it sent a shiver of frustration through me even as it lit me up.
I jerked against him. “Cheater,” I panted, laughter snapping in half around a moan that betrayed me.
He chuckled low against my spine, smug, fingers merciless in their rhythm. Each stroke drove me higher, deliberate until language broke into gasps.
Then his thumb pressed hard to my clit, every stroke locked to the brutal drive of his hips. The shift was sudden, reverence gone, patience burned away. Raw need pounded through me until my body shook with the shock of it.
The room filled with us—wet, heavy, obscene. Each slap of flesh ricocheted through me, slick and shameless, every sound searing into my ears and chest. My face buried in the pillow, muffling moans that fractured into cries as the bed rattled like it might split apart. I barely caught my breath before I arched back, hips crashing into his. The angle was devastating, perfect.
His cock struck that spot that stole my breath, jolting lightning through my body. My hands clawed up the sheets to the headboard, white-knuckled as each thrust drove me taut against the frame.
“Fuck.” The word ripped free, raw and wrecked. My body bowed, trembling, then broke open in release. Heat surged white-hot, merciless, my walls clenching and pulsing, dragging him deeper, milking every last shudder until I was nothing but the quake of it.
His groan rumbled low in my ear, guttural, animal. His rhythm faltered, thrusts splintering into erratic jerks before one final, brutal slam. He came undone, spilling hot inside me with a shudder that shook us both. His weight collapsed over me, heavy and consuming, breath ragged at my neck as I clung to the headboard, trembling through the aftershocks like it was the only thing keeping me whole.
When he pulled free, I gasped, nerves screaming, body twitching at the sudden hollowness he left behind. Warmth spilled down my thighs, proof of him, and I sagged into the pillows, chest heaving, eyes slipping shut as exhaustion tugged me under.
But he hovered close. His hand caught my chin, tilting me up just as his mouth crashed onto mine. The kiss was ravenous, all teeth and hunger, stealing what breath I had left. I whimpered into it, clinging to his shoulder while his other hand soothed down my side, gentle where his body had just wrecked me.
We broke for air in jagged gasps, only to collide again, lips urgent until the pace softened. Heat ebbed into sweetness, rough edges easing. His mouth lingered, brushing, nibbling, kissing me like he was discovering me again, as if I were fragile treasure.
Tears pricked hot behind my eyes. For months, my body had dragged me down with aches and demands, yet here he was, steadying me with a kiss, shouldering the weight I could never set down.
I tried to roll toward him and got stuck halfway, grunting in frustration. His chuckle rumbled, and he slipped a hand under my hip, guiding me until I flopped into place. We laughed together, soft and breathless, the clumsiness itself turning intimate as I rolled to face him.
His forehead hovered close, his smile stretched wide enough to ache, his eyes brighter than the sunlight spilling through the curtains. Heat burned my cheeks as tears stung, too much to hold back.
We lay there tracing each other’s skin with lazy fingers, the air warm and quiet, the stillness rich with afterglow.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, gentle enough to undo me again, and brushed his thumb across the damp line of a tear. I chuckled, half-embarrassed, half-overwhelmed, leaning into his hand because fighting it felt impossible.
His palm drifted down to my belly, settling there with such care it pulled a sting behind my ribs. He pressed gently, anchoring me with his warmth. “You hungry?”
I grinned, arching a brow. “Depends what you’re offering.”
He laughed, low and warm, giving me that look that always promised trouble. “Food, monster. Actual food.”
I opened my mouth to tease, but the baby cut me off with a solid kick beneath his palm. We both startled, then burst into laughter, his grin spreading until it lit his whole face. “Guess that’s a yes.”
I caught his hand and pressed it more firmly to my belly. For a heartbeat, the three of us connected. His palm steady, the kick sure, my body holding them both.
After we’d lain tangled a while, I pushed up with a groan. “I need a shower,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose at the damp sheets clinging to me. “Messy, sticky—not the glow they sell in magazines.”
“Still fucking gorgeous,” he said with a smirk, hopping out of bed in all his naked glory. On his way out he caught my hand, steadying me as I rose. I rolled my eyes at the gesture, but my fingers tightened around his anyway.
I swatted his bare ass as he walked off. “Bring me chocolate-covered bacon!”
His laugh echoed down the hall, leaving me smiling as I hauled myself upright. My hand brushed the rumpled sheets, and there it was. The vibrator. I picked it up, twisted the knob. Nothing. A crooked grin tugged at my lips. Figures it would quit right when things got good.
I set it back on the nightstand and padded toward the bathroom, still tingling, still glowing.
The light flared bright and bare. I blinked at the mirror, at the woman gazing back, hair wild in its crooked bun, lips swollen from kisses, skin marked with the places his mouth had claimed me. My belly curved heavy and round, stretch marks glimmering like silver seams.
My hand rose, tentative, tracing the map of my body. Not in lust, not in hunger, but reverence. This was me: different, altered, strong in ways that left my muscles sore and my heart stretched thin. The flicker of shame crept close, whispering that she wasn’t the girl she once was. My throat tightened, eyes threatening to turn away.
Then memory answered. His hands. His words. The way he pressed into me, filled me, laughed against my skin. The way he looked, like I was radiant, like I was his. My body still hummed with him, every nerve remembering.
I smiled at her—at me—wrecked and glowing. The shame thinned, burned away by warmth.
I peeled back the curtain and stepped into the shower. Water hissed, steam curling around me as the curtain swayed shut, sealing in the heat and carrying me forward.
