Chapter 27 #2
He spends a long time there, moving between both breasts with focused patience.
Licking slow stripes across the sensitive undersides, then latching on again to suck with that same precise rhythm.
One of his hands stays low on my side, thumb stroking the curve where my belly starts to swell.
He never rushes. He reads every small shift in my body and answers it instantly.
My nipples are flushed when he finally kisses down the slope of one breast. His breath is warm against my skin.
He presses several slow kisses along the upper curve of my belly, mapping the tight roundness with his mouth while his hands continue to gently hold and support my heavy chest.
I thread my fingers through his hair and hold him there as afternoon light falls across us from the south window.
Every touch feels like a decision he has already made and will not unmake.
His hands never leave me. One stays supporting the heavy weight of my breast while the other traces the side of my stomach with careful fingers, learning the exact shape of the swell.
Reeve lowers himself to his knees in front of the bed. He looks at my body for a long moment, gray eyes moving slowly over every changed inch. Then he leans in and kisses the center of my belly with surprising gentleness.
He doesn’t rush. He kisses lower, then to the left, then to the right, open-mouthed and deliberate, as if every part of this new landscape matters.
“You’ve been carrying this for months under constant pressure,” he says against my skin, voice low and even. “Your body has adapted. Your mind has adapted. I’ve watched it happen.”
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my pants and underwear and slides them down my legs.
I step out. He folds the clothes neatly and sets them aside.
Then he guides me to sit on the edge of the bed before spreading my thighs wide.
He settles between them like he has all the time in the world.
The first touch of his tongue is slow and exploratory. He licks a long stripe up my center and pauses at my clit, testing.
When my hips twitch, he locks onto the rhythm I need, sucking gently while two fingers slide inside me. He curls them with perfect precision, searching until he finds the spot that makes my breath hitch. Then he stays there, consistent and unrelenting.
He reads me like code. Every time my thighs tense, every time my breathing changes, every small sound I make, he adjusts. He adds a third finger when I start rocking against his mouth.
He sucks my clit with steady pressure while his fingers stroke that perfect spot inside me. The pleasure builds slowly but powerfully, thick and deep. When it finally breaks, I come hard against his tongue, one hand gripping his hair as my body shakes.
Reeve stays with me through every wave, gentling his movements but never pulling away until I’m limp and panting. Only then does he rise.
He removes the rest of his clothes with efficient, economical movements and folds each piece. His body is lean muscle and quiet strength. His cock is hard, flushed, and already leaking at the tip.
He climbs onto the bed and arranges me carefully on my side, facing him. He lifts my top leg over his hip so we’re pressed close together, my belly safely cradled between our bodies. The position lets him look directly into my eyes the entire time.
He lines himself up and pushes in slowly. Inch by inch. He watches my face as he fills me, breathing steadily with me until he’s buried to the hilt.
For a long moment, he simply stays there, letting me adjust to his thickness, his hand resting flat and protective over my belly.
Then he begins to move.
His thrusts are deep and controlled, rolling with powerful certainty rather than speed.
Every stroke feels intentional. He keeps perfect eye contact, studying my reactions, changing the angle slightly until my mouth falls open on a moan.
His hand never leaves my belly. His thumb strokes slow circles over the tight skin as he fucks me.
“You’re strategic,” he says quietly, voice rough but clear. “You assess threats. You weigh outcomes. I’ve watched you do it for weeks.” He thrusts deeper, grinding against me on every forward motion. “That mind of yours is what I choose. Not just this body. Not just the baby. You.”
The pleasure builds again, slow and devastating.
He keeps the same measured pace, never faltering.
One hand supports the heavy weight of my breast while the other stays anchored on my belly.
He leans in and kisses me deeply, tongue moving with the same deliberate rhythm as his hips.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine, breathing with me.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.
I can’t form full words. I just press closer. He understands instantly. He shifts his angle, driving deeper, grinding against my clit with every thrust.
The hand on my belly presses firmer, possessive in its protection.
I come again, harder this time, clenching around him as waves of pleasure roll through me.
Reeve groans low, buries himself as deep as he can, and follows me over the edge.
He pulses inside me, long and steady, while his hand stays flat on my stomach the entire time.
We stay connected for several long minutes, breathing together.
Eventually, he eases us onto our backs. His arm stays around me. His hand remains flat on my stomach, warm and steady over the curve. We both stare up at the ceiling while the afternoon light slowly fades across the room.
“Does permanence scare you?” I ask quietly.
“Terrifies me,” Reeve answers, voice calm and honest. “Choosing it anyway.”
“Me too.”
This isn’t freedom. This is another form of binding. I want it anyway. The wanting and the trap coexist.