Chapter 18 Zainab #2
When the tears slowed, he rinsed my hair and pressed a kiss to my temple.
“Better?”
“Yeah.” I wiped my face. “Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
“Don’t apologize. You been through hell. You allowed to feel it.”
His hands drifted down to my shoulders, kneading the tension there. Then lower, over my arms. Back to my belly.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said against my ear.
“I’m huge.”
“You’re growing our baby. That’s beautiful.” His fingers traced one of the stretch marks on my side. “Every part of you.”
I tensed.
“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t hide from me.”
“They’re everywhere now. My hips, my stomach, my thighs…”
“Good.” He kissed my shoulder. “More proof. More evidence that you’re doing something incredible.
” His fingers traced another mark, then another, almost reverently.
“These are mine too. This belly is mine. These hips are mine.” His hands slid up to cup my breasts, fuller and heavier than before. “These are definitely mine.”
I laughed through the last of my tears. “You so greedy.”
“When it comes to you? Always.”
We stayed like that until the water started to cool, him touching me everywhere, whispering against my skin, reminding me that I was wanted. That I was beautiful. That I was his.
When he helped me out and wrapped me in a towel, I felt more like myself than I had in weeks.
“Lay down on the bed,” he said. “On your side.”
The bedroom was all shadows and candlelight. Through the window, I could see the bell tower silhouetted against the night sky. The sheets were cool against my heated skin.
Prime grabbed a bottle from the nightstand. He poured oil into his palms—rose-scented, I realized when the smell hit me—and rubbed them together to warm it.
Then he started on my feet.
I moaned. Couldn’t help it. His thumbs dug into my arches, working out the aches from carrying all this extra weight. Weeks of standing in that jail cell. Months of my body working overtime to grow a human.
“Feel good?”
“So good. Don’t stop.”
He worked up to my calves, my thighs, taking his time with every inch of skin. By the time he reached my hips, I was practically purring.
His hands smoothed over my belly, spreading the oil in slow circles. He paused whenever he felt the baby kick, smiling against my skin.
“She active tonight.”
“She knows her daddy’s here.”
He pressed a kiss to my belly, right where her foot had just been. “Hey, baby girl. Daddy’s taking care of Mama right now, okay? Go to sleep.”
She kicked again, like she was talking back.
“Already stubborn,” he laughed. “Just like her mama.”
His hands moved higher. Over my breasts, so swollen and sensitive now that even his light touch made me gasp. My nipples were darker, wider, and when his oil-slicked fingers circled them, I arched into his touch.
“These changed,” he murmured, rolling one between his fingers.
“Everything changed.”
“I noticed.” He kissed the curve of my breast. “The line down your belly.” Kiss. “The way you smell different.” Kiss. “Sweeter.” Kiss. “The way your body’s getting ready to feed our daughter.”
His mouth closed over my nipple and I whimpered.
“Prime…”
“I got you, Goddess. Just relax. Let me make you feel good.”
He kissed me then. Deep and slow, his tongue sliding against mine. He tasted like home. His hands kept moving—one on my breast, one sliding down over my belly, lower, lower…
His fingers found my center and we both groaned.
“Damn.” His voice was rough. “Zai, you soaking wet already.”
I was. The pregnancy had done something to me—everything was more sensitive, more swollen. I’d been wet since the bath. Hell, I’d been wet since he started washing my hair. My body was desperate for him in ways I couldn’t even articulate.
“Please,” I whispered. “I need you.”
“I know, baby. I’ma give you everything you need.” His fingers slid through my wetness, spreading it up to my clit. “But first I gotta taste you. Been weeks since I had my mouth on you.”
He kissed down my body—my neck, my chest, pausing to pull each nipple into his mouth until I was squirming. Over my belly, pressing one more kiss there.
“Cover your ears, baby girl.”
I laughed, but the laugh turned into a moan when his mouth finally reached where I needed him.
His tongue was hot and wet, lapping at me slow at first, tasting me like I was something precious. My thighs fell open wider, giving him better access, and he groaned against me like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
“Missed this pussy,” he murmured. “My pussy.”
“Yours,” I breathed. “All yours.”
He sucked my clit into his mouth and my hips bucked off the bed. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open, holding me still while his tongue worked me over. Two fingers slid inside—easy, I was so wet—and curled up to find that spot that made me see stars.
I came embarrassingly fast. Weeks of stress and loneliness and fear exploding out of me. I cried out his name, my thighs shaking around his head, my whole body trembling through it.
He didn’t stop.
“Prime— wait— I can’t—”
“You can. Give me another one.”
His tongue flicked faster, his fingers pumped deeper, and I felt another orgasm building before the first one even finished. The pregnancy had made everything more intense—I was wetter than I’d ever been, more sensitive, and when I came the second time, I soaked his face.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “That’s my girl. So fucking wet for me.”
By the time he finally kissed his way back up my body, I was boneless. Floating. I could taste myself on his lips and I didn’t even care.
“I need to feel you,” I whispered. “Please. I need you inside me.”
“I got you.”
He helped me roll onto my side, facing away from him. Spooned up behind me, one hand on my hip, the other reaching around to cup my belly protectively.
I felt him at my entrance. Hot and hard and thick, the head sliding through my wetness.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured against my ear. “We can stop whenever you want.”
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He pushed in slowly. So slowly. Giving my body time to adjust, time to stretch around him. The pregnancy had made everything tighter, more swollen, and I felt every single inch of him.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel different. Tighter. Wetter. So fucking good, Zai.”
He started to move. Slow, deep strokes that made me feel full in a way I’d been craving. His hand stayed on my belly, protective even now, and something about that made my heart crack open.
“This still mine?” he asked, stroking deeper.
“Yes—”
“Say it.”
“Yours. I’m yours, Prime. All of me.”
“That’s right.” He kissed my neck, sucked at my pulse point. “This pussy is mine. This belly is mine. This baby is mine. You are mine. And I’m never letting you go again.”
I reached back, gripping his hip, pulling him deeper. He groaned and picked up the pace—still careful, still gentle, but hitting spots that made my eyes roll back.
“Harder,” I begged. “Please—”
“Can’t hurt you. Can’t hurt the baby—”
“You won’t. I need it. Please, Prime, I need—”
He gave me what I asked for. Deeper strokes. Firmer grip on my hip. His fingers found my clit again, rubbing in tight circles while he fucked me from behind.
“You gonna come for me again?”
“Yes— I’m close—”
“I feel you squeezing me. This pregnant pussy so good, Zai. So wet and tight and perfect.”
The pressure built higher, higher, until I couldn’t hold it anymore. I shattered with a cry, my walls clenching around him, milking him.
“Fuck— Zai— I’m—”
He buried himself deep and groaned against my neck, spilling inside me. I felt him pulsing, felt the warmth spreading, and it triggered another small aftershock that made us both moan.
We lay there after, tangled together, his hand still on my belly. Our daughter kicked against his palm like she was saying goodnight.
“I love you,” he said. “So fucking much.”
“I love you too.”
He cleaned me up after. Warm washcloth between my legs, so gentle it almost made me cry again. He got me water, made me drink the whole glass. Then disappeared and came back with a plate of leftover Roscoe’s because he knew I’d be hungry again.
I ate a cold waffle in bed while he rubbed my feet, and I thought this is what it’s supposed to feel like. Being taken care of. Being loved.
When I finally drifted off, I felt safe. Whole. Home.
But sometime in the dark hours of the night, I woke up.
Prime was snoring softly beside me, one arm still draped over my waist. The candles had burned down to nothing. Through the window, the city lights still glittered below us.
I stared at the wall, eyes bouncing to the ceiling—stone arches, because castle—and let my mind wander where it had been trying to go all day.
Thad.
He was still out there. Still breathing. Still living his life like he hadn’t put a bullet in my sister’s chest. Like he hadn’t stolen Zahara from this world, from Yusef, from me.
The police never found him. Never even came close. They’d identified my sister’s body as mine and closed the case. Wrong victim, case closed, sorry for your loss.
But I knew who he was. I knew his face. I knew he worked for that underground gambling operation where I used to serve drinks and keep my mouth shut.
I knew he was the one who pulled the trigger.
My hand drifted to my belly, where my daughter was finally still.
I had a family now. A real one. Prime, Yusef, this baby girl who would be here in two months. I had people who loved me, who needed me to be free, to be alive, to be present.
But I also had a dead sister who deserved justice. Who deserved more than a cold case file and a grave with the wrong name on it.
Thad had to pay.
I didn’t know how yet. Didn’t know when. But I knew it had to happen.
I looked at Prime sleeping peacefully beside me and decided not to tell him. Not yet. He’d try to stop me. Try to protect me. Try to handle it himself.
But this was my sister. My blood. My debt to repay.
Tomorrow, I’d start figuring out how.
Tonight, I closed my eyes and let sleep pull me back under.
For now, that was enough.