Maggie
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom, turning sideways to examine my reflection.
Almost eight months pregnant and I looked huge.
My curves now had curves on top of them.
My belly was round and prominent, stretching the fabric of Rhett’s old T-shirt that I’d claimed as maternity wear.
Behind me, reflected in the mirror, I could see my husband sprawled across our bed, one arm behind his head, watching me with those silver gray eyes that still made my knees weak.
“What are you doing?” he asked, amusement clear in his voice.
“Looking at how huge I am.”
“You’re not huge. You’re pregnant. There’s a difference.”
“I’m definitely huge.” I turned to face him, gesturing at my stomach. “I can’t see my feet anymore. I had to ask you to tie my shoes this morning.”
“And I enjoyed every second of it.” He sat up. “Come here.”
I waddled over—there was no other word for how I moved these days—and let him pull me down to sit on his lap. One of his big hands immediately went to my belly, spreading wide, and I felt the baby kick in response.
“See?” he said, his mouth by my ear. “The baby knows it’s daddy.”
“The baby kicks me all the time. I don’t think it’s a recognition thing.”
“Sure it is. Our daughter knows her old man.”
We’d found out two weeks ago that we were having a girl. An expression I had never seen before had crossed Rhett’s face when we’d seen the ultrasound. In that moment, any lingering doubts I’d had about his love for me—for our child—had vanished like the morning mist.
“You know what I was thinking about?” I said, leaning back against him.
“What’s that?”
“About how different things are now. A year ago, I was terrified of you. I thought this big, bad land baron would gobble up my ranch and I’d never have a home of my own.
” I had shared a little of my past with him and, like the man he was, he’d vowed never to let me feel that way again.
His over protectiveness was something I loved so much about him.
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest into my back. “You were never terrified of me.”
“I was. You were so intense and bossy and you kept saying all those... things.”
“Those things?” His hands slid up from my belly to cup my breasts, which had gotten significantly larger with pregnancy. And so sensitive. He’d made me come last night just by sucking on them. “You mean like how I wanted to taste every inch of you? How I wanted to make you scream my name?”
Heat flushed through me despite my huge belly and swollen ankles. “Yes. Those things.”
“It’s called dirty-talking, darling.” He pinched my nipple, making me gasp. I told myself to focus, to not get side tracked by his touch. I’d been working up the courage to say this to him for weeks. I didn’t know if it was the pregnancy hormones or what. “Now I... I want to try.”
His hands stilled. “Try what?”
“Try talking like that. To you.” My face was already burning. “I want to be able to say the things you say to me.”
There was a pause, and then Rhett was laughing. Really laughing, his whole body shaking with it.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing because you’re adorable.” He kissed my mouth. “And because I’ve been waiting for this.”
“You have?”
“Hell yes. Do you know how hot it was the night you asked me to give you a baby? My shy little virgin asking me to fill her up with my cum and knock her up?” His hands moved back to my belly. “Go ahead. Try it.”
I struggled to get up, but he held me in place. “As if,” I huffed.
“Easy. Now say what you’re thinking. What you want.” His voice dropped lower. “What you want me to do to you.” He nibbled on my ear. “Or better yet, what you want to do to me.”
Naturally his words brought me back to full on arousal. I took a deep breath. I could do this. I was a grown woman, married, pregnant with this man’s baby. I could tell him what I wanted.
“I want you to... to touch me.”
“Where?”
“You know where.”
“Say it, Maggie.”
“My... my vagina.”
Rhett’s whole body shook with suppressed laughter. “Baby, no. That’s not dirty talk. That’s a biology textbook.”
“Well, what am I supposed to call it?” I twisted to look at him.
“How about what I call it?” His grin was wicked. “Your pussy. Your sweet, tight pussy that I love fucking.”
My face went nuclear. “I can’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it sounds so... crude.”
“It’s supposed to sound crude. That’s the point.” He lifted my head with a finger beneath my chin. Let’s try again. Tell me what you want.”
I bit my lip, thinking. “I want you to... put your mouth on my breasts.”
“Better. Keep going.”
“And... and suck on them?”
“Mmm. What else?”
This was harder than I thought. “I want you to touch me between my legs.”
“Where between your legs?”
“On my... on my clit.” The word came out barely above a whisper.
“Louder.”
“On my clit,” I said more firmly.
“Good girl. Now tell me what you want me to do with my cock.”
Oh God. “I want you to... to put it inside me.”
“Inside where?”
“Inside my...” I couldn’t say it. I just couldn’t.
“Say it, Maggie. Inside your what?”
“Inside my pussy.” It came out in a rush, and I immediately buried my face in his shoulder. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Rhett was laughing again, but this time he pulled me close, his hand stroking through my hair. “That was perfect.”
“You’re still laughing at me.”
“I’m laughing because you’re so fucking cute when you’re trying to be dirty. But I’m also hard as hell hearing those words come out of your mouth.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He took my hand, pressed it against the front of his jeans where he was definitely aroused. “Feel that? That’s what you do to me. Even when you’re blushing and stammering and calling it a vagina.”
I laughed despite my embarrassment. “I thought I’d gotten better at this. At the whole... sex talk thing.”
“Baby, you have gotten better. You know what you said to me last week?”
“What?”
“You said, I need you inside me right now, without any prompting. That’s progress.”
“That’s not very dirty though.”
“It was when you said it while we were at the feed store.” His grin was pure sin. “Almost bent you over the truck right there in the parking lot.”
My face heated at the memory. “You did take me home pretty fast after that.”
“Damn right I did. My pregnant wife telling me she needs my cock? I’m not made of stone.” His hands went back to my belly. “Although I thought I’d fucked all the shyness out of you by now.”
I swatted his shoulder. “Apparently not.”
“Well, we’ve got a little time until the baby comes. Plenty of time to practice your dirty talk.” He shifted us both so I was lying back against the pillows, him beside me. “In fact, let’s practice right now.”
“Now?”
“Now.” His hand slid under my shirt—his shirt—and up my stomach to cup my breast. “Tell me what you want.”
I took a deep breath, trying to channel even a fraction of his confidence. “I want you to take my clothes off.”
“Good start. What else?”
“I want you to touch me everywhere.”
“Where specifically?”
“My breasts. My... my pussy.” The word came a little easier this time. “I want your fingers inside me.”
“Fuck, yes.” He was already pulling my shirt off, tossing it aside. “Keep going.”
“I want you to make me come. With your mouth.” I was getting into it now, my body responding to his touch and my own words. “And then I want you inside me. I want to feel your cock filling me up.”
He made quick work of my underwear—the only other thing I was wearing—and settled between my thighs. “Is that... is that good dirty talk?”
“That’s perfect dirty talk.” He kissed me hard. “Now let me show you how much I liked it.”
And he did. Thoroughly. Multiple times.
Later, when we were both sated and I was dozing against his chest, his hand making lazy circles on my belly, he said, “You know what?”
“Hmm?”
“I think you might be even better at dirty talk than I am.”
I cracked one eye open. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not. Hearing you say those words in your voice, with that little bit of shyness still there?” He groaned. “Hottest thing ever.”
“I’m pregnant and huge.”
“You’re pregnant and beautiful.” He kissed the top of my head. “You’re carrying my baby, Maggie. Nothing’s sexier than that.”
“You’re biased.”
“Damn right I am. You’re my wife.” His hand splayed possessively over my belly. “My beautiful, sexy, dirty-talking wife who’s giving me a daughter.”
I smiled, snuggling closer. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” A pause. “Now tell me again what you want me to do to you.”
“Rhett! We just—”
“I know. But I like hearing you say it. Come on, baby. Practice makes perfect.”
I laughed, but I told him. And he made good on every single word.