Chapter 26
[Neve]
Ireach around my back to unlatch my bra.
The doctor recommended I start wearing the nursing one to get comfortable with the fit.
It’s the least sexy article of clothing I own.
And when I struggle to reach behind me, Tate slides his hand up my back and pinches the material, instantly releasing the clasps.
The bra falls forward, and I shake my arms to free it.
Then I stand there. Engorged breasts. Swollen belly. Naked. Bare as I’ve ever been.
Only the slip of underwear that cuts into my hips, buried beneath my stomach, remains.
Tate steps back, staring at all of me, and there’s a lot to see. He admires my breasts, which pebble tighter under the heat of his gaze.
But the real shiver comes from the way Tate takes his time to glide his gaze over my round belly. The stretched skin. The pop of my belly button. His expression reads like he truly hasn’t ever seen something so marvelous, so wonderful, so beautiful.
“Seeing you with my baby inside you might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He says it with so much reverence and awe, I can’t argue with him.
My doubts before we started the game came from comparison I rarely feel.
I couldn’t shake how different Lisa and I looked.
How different I’m certain we are in temperament and personality.
And since Tate and I were first drawn together by attraction, I questioned how attracted he might still be to me. As I am. In this state.
But while Tate described versions of me, our past, on New Year’s Eve, and our present, with me pregnant, he also hinted at future me, after baby.
Captivating. Who uses such a word? And yet, I feel it in the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s caught under a spell. Mesmerized. Intrigued, in the best possible way.
Pregnancy has been a frustrating, flabbergasting, incredible journey, and the way he’s looking at me right now makes all the body changes almost worth it.
And the longer Tate stares, the faster my heart races. Breathing becomes difficult and it has nothing to do with what feels like a tiny foot pressed into my sternum. It’s all Tate. The way he’s memorizing every curve and inch as he said.
I run my hand over my stomach out of habit and Tate places both his hands on my belly as well, rubbing over the sides and around to the middle, then back down again.
Like touching me adds to that mental image, etching me into his memory.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so exposed, while truly seen at the same time. So worshipped. So cherished.
Slowly, he lowers in front of me, so his head is level with the bump. Then he kisses me and kisses me, spreading those kisses over the stretch marks and around to the sides and underneath the curve. He doesn’t miss a single inch.
And while I’m certain he’s awed by the baby inside me, this feels more personal. More reverent of me and my body, and the changes I’ve endured. The changes he adores.
Still on his knees, he sets his cheek to my stomach, like he can hear Little Wrench inside me. Hear her heartbeat.
“She isn’t moving right now,” I whisper, struggling with all the emotion in my throat.
He simply hums, and I comb my fingers through his hair, raking back the longer pieces near his forehead.
And we stay like this for several minutes. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so aware of the presence of two beings. Him and me.
Eventually, he presses a final kiss to my belly button, then stands. He runs his hands down my arms and slips his palms against mine before he leans his forehead against me.
“Upstairs, baby.”
I nod and pull back, taking a step around him, while keeping our hands joined until we reach the door to the game room. Then I drop one hand and lead him toward the staircase.
I haven’t been upstairs, but I take a lucky guess that his room is the last one in the hallway. Two other rooms are open, but one remains closed, and the faint scent of fresh paint lingers.
I’m not deterred as I bring him into the room with muted sand and stone colors. He has a wooden headboard with matching nightstands bookending the large bed.
When I turn to face him, the back of my knees press against the edge of the bed.
“I can’t exactly get on my back,” I tell him as if he isn’t aware.
He cups my jaw and leans in, kissing me like he doesn’t care. He’ll take me in any position that works. And I kiss him back because I’m scared and excited and anxious to make this good for both of us.
He pulls away from my lips and moves down my chin, then under it to my neck.
He bends his knees to lower to one breast, cupping the heavy swell to lift it a little, then lowering his mouth to do the rest. He twirls his tongue around the nipple, sucks hard, and pops off the tender, sensitive breast. He repeats the attention to the other one.
All the while, whichever hand is free, roams along my side, over my hip, and around to my backside, squeezing me there.
I kiss his neck and his shoulder as best I can before he brings his mouth back to mine, kissing me with more hunger this time. His tongue is a strike of lightning. His teeth a gentle rush of thunder. He showers my lips with his before breaking the kiss.
“How do you feel about getting on all fours?”
“I can do that,” I whisper, running my hands up his chest and over his shoulders, like I can’t get enough of touching his skin.
“But first, what’s your favor?”
“Who says it’s a sexual one?”
He arches a brow like he knows me better. “O-kay.”
I smile and slide my hands to his waistband. “My favor is . . .” I hook my fingers into his waistband and run my knuckles along the definition of his hips. “Taste me.”
His brows rise before his smile grows. “Gladly.”
With his hands on my hips, he guides me to sit on the edge of his bed. He folds down to his knees, then he spreads my legs as wide as they’ll go. My knees nearly kiss the edge of the bed.
“Tip back,” he says, pressing at my chest and I lower to my elbows.
I’m still wearing my underwear, but it’s worthless right now. The fabric is soaked.
Tate finally remembers this piece of unshed clothing, so he removes the scrap and returns my legs to their open position.
He stares at where I’m wet and needy. “So much prettier than I remember.”
That night is relatively dark. Now, inside his room, one nightstand lamp illuminates the space. I’m typically not a lights-on kind of girl, but I want to see Tate’s face. I don’t want to miss a single expression on those cheeks or gleam in his eyes.
He runs his hands up my inner thighs, then gently spreads where I’m swollen. The first lap nearly sends me off the bed. He clamps my legs down and further digs in, dipping deep, slicing me open.
I drop my head back, whimpering encouragement and gratitude.
This hasn’t happened in so long I’d almost forgotten what it feels like.
How good he is at it. His tongue, an expert on my body.
His lips, a sculptor of sensation. He kisses me with intention before he moves the tip of his tongue to one extra-sensitive spot and adds his fingers, dipping them easily inside me.
“So full,” I whisper. “So good.”
He smiles against me, liking the praise.
“Want to be a good boy for me?” I tease.
His responding flick silences me, but he chuckles. “Among other things.” He blows against where I’m weeping with need.
“Like what?” I wonder aloud, but he only hums in answer, continuing his mission.
He licks and he sucks, until I’m a sloppy mess.
One leg begins to bounce, and he hitches it over his shoulder.
I reach for his hair, digging my fingers into the length and tugging.
This spurs him faster, until I’m riding a wave when I’ve never been a surfer.
The orgasm is long and lush, and spreads through me. I rock against his mouth, using him to make this last until nothing’s left. Until I’m wrung out. I collapse on the bed, arms flung wide.
Tate crawls up my belly with kisses, slowly standing as he continues a trail over the middle of me until he’s between my breasts. Then, he sucks at one again before moving to the other. I slip my hands into his hair once more, and pull his face to me, bringing our lips together.
The kiss is dirty. Salt and musk. Wet and mess. Tongue and teeth restart my engine.
I pull back and roll, pressing up on all fours before crawling further up his bed.
Tate is right behind me. The hairs on his legs brush the back of my thighs. The heat of his chest hovers over my back. The hard length of his cock lands against my backside.
He presses more kisses down my spine, forcing me to my elbows. My forehead rests on the mattress.
When he gets to my ass, he bites one cheek hard and my head pops upright. “Hey.”
He clutches himself, running the tip through my crease, teasing me as he coats himself in my essence.
“Gonna slip right into you,” he warns, his breath heavy.
“I look forward to it,” I sass.
He lightly slaps one cheek, then positions himself at my entrance, easing into me.
“Tate.” I gasp. Despite expecting him, wanting him, he feels even bigger than I remember.
“So good,” he grunts, gliding forward, filling me inch by inch.
“Sweet goddess, Tate,” I cry out louder, as he continues to fill me, until he’s fully seated
He stills a second, both of us breathing heavily. “You okay?” he asks, his hand slipping to the side of my belly. Always concerned about me and the baby.
“I’m good.” The statement hardly encompasses my feelings. I feel torn apart and put back together. I feel restored, refurbished, rejuvenated. I feel more alive than ever before, and I want him to move.
“Tate.” I rock forward, and he pulls back, but we meet in the middle again, as if neither of us wants to let the other go. We clash and we crash, until we’re moving as one.
The room fills with the sound of our skin slapping and the jerky symphony of me gliding over him.
“Neve.” He chokes, clutching at my hips, kneeling tall behind me. “I wish you could see this. See how I fill you. See how well we fit.”
“I feel it,” I cry out.
“Do you? Do you know how much I want you to feel me?”
I nod against the mattress. He thrusts harder to emphasize his point.
“Yes,” I cry. “Like that.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
I don’t want that either, but he isn’t talking about my heart. “You won’t.”
He moves faster, the slide a delicious friction. He bends forward, wrapping his hand beneath my belly and running the tips of his fingers against my clit.
“I’m good,” I mutter.
“And I want you to be better.” He pinches my clit. “I want to feel you let go around me.”
“Holy autumn,” I whimper, as he hammers into me and flicks at that nub until I’m rocking on the bed, nearly out of my mind, trying to draw him deeper.
“Tate,” I whimper, slipping my fingers between my thighs as well, meeting his.
“Yes,” he commands. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
And I crash over the edge again. A bundle of rocks cascading off the cliff, plummeting to the shore below. The fall is sweet. The descent a rush. And I continue to tumble until he chokes on my name.
He slams into me, gripping my hips to hold me in place, as he explodes inside me.
My entire body lights up, knowing if I wasn’t already pregnant, I certainly would be from the depth of his cock and the strength of his release.
He slumps over me, keeping his weight braced on an extended arm beside mine. His fingers stretch over the back of my hand, and he twists our fingers together. He peppers my shoulder with kisses and smooths his other hand down my back while remaining inside me.
“I don’t want to let go,” he whispers, like it isn’t inevitable. He’ll eventually slip out of me.
But then I worry that he means something else. Something I can’t think about right now as we remain attached.
He runs his hand over one cheek and between my legs, cupping me after he pulls out, like he’s holding in what he released. What has already taken inside my body.
“You’re having our baby, Neve,” he says with wonder, like he wasn’t already aware.
“Yes, I am,” I whisper, lowering my head to the mattress.
“Thank you,” he says.
His gratitude nearly breaks my heart.