Leo comes up behind me while I’m standing at the window, looking out at the dark garden. His arms wrap around me, his hands settling on my belly where they seem to naturally gravitate these days.
“Hi,” he murmurs against my neck.
“Hi,” I say back, leaning into him.
“How are you feeling? Tired? Do you need to rest? Should I?—”
“Leo,” I interrupt, turning in his arms to face him and linking my arms around his neck, playing with the hair there. “Stop worrying. I’m fine.”
His brow furrows. “You’re seven months pregnant and you just stood through a wedding and reception,” he points out. “You have to be exhausted.”
“I am,” I admit. My whole body hurts. “But also…I don’t want this day to end yet.”
His eyes soften. “It doesn’t have to.”
He kisses me then, soft and sweet, his hands sliding up to my face. When he pulls back, he starts slowly working the buttons on the back of my dress.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs. “Please.”
I let him undress me with painstaking care, his fingers gentle on each button and bit of fabric. He kisses each new piece of skin as he reveals it—my shoulders, my back, the curve of my neck.
When the dress falls away, I’m left in just my maternity underwear, and I suddenly feel self-conscious.
I’m as big as a house. My belly is impossible to ignore. My breasts are bigger. And hips are wider. I’m all swollen ankles and stretch marks and?—
“You’re so beautiful,” Leo says, his voice full of awe.
“I’m a whale,” I counter.
“You’re carrying my daughter,” he says firmly, his hands sliding over my belly. “You’ve never looked more beautiful to me.”
He guides me to the bed and helps me lie down on my side, the position we’ve discovered works best now that my belly is so big. He strips off his own clothes then climbs onto the bed behind me, pulling me back against his chest.
His hands roam over my body, and he cups my breasts, which aredefinitelymore sensitive. He strokes down my sides to my hips and slides over my belly, feeling our baby move and kick under his palm.
“She’s really active tonight,” he murmurs, his lips against my shoulder.
“She knows it’s a special day,” I say breathlessly as his hand continues its exploration, moving lower.
When his fingers slide between my legs, I’m already soaking wet. Pregnancy has done something to my sex drive, making everything more intense and sensitive.
Or maybe that’s just Leo. Maybe it’s always been like this with him.
He works me slowly with his fingers, building me up gradually, watching my face in the mirror across from the bed. I can see us reflected there—his body curved around mine, his hand moving between my legs, my face flushed and wanting.
“Leo,” I breathe. “Please.”
“Not yet,” he murmurs, his fingers curling inside me that makes me gasp. “I want to make this last.”
He takes his time, bringing me right to the edge and then backing off. Again and again until I’m writhing against him and ready to murder him.
“Leo, I swear to god if you don’t finish what you’ve started, I’ll be a widow,” I snarl.
He chuckles against my neck and finally,finallypositions himself behind me. He places one hand on my hip, and the other slides under my belly to support it. Then he’s pushing inside me. The stretch of him filling me makes me gasp and my back arch.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
“More than okay,” I moan. “Move. Please.”