I used to think I’d grown used to this feeling—the soft heaviness of early pregnancy, the way my body warmed and stretched in quiet, miraculous surrender. But at fifteen weeks, I knew this wasn’t the same.
Not that I was new to it. We’d had children. Many. My belly had been rounded and full so many times, I could read its signals better than any scan. And this… this was more.
It wasn’t just fullness. It was pressure. Pulse. A stirring that came not from just one small presence, or two, but more. I could feel them.
I lay on my side in the bedroom, hands resting on the gentle slope of my abdomen. He walked in from the shower, towel slung low, his eyes catching mine with that same mischievous heat he always had. Father of my children. Keeper of my body. Holder of one delicious, maddening secret.
“You know how many,” I said softly, tracing lazy circles over my skin. “I can feel them in there. Squirming. Multiples again.”
He grinned, walking slowly to the edge of the bed, every inch of him dripping with restrained desire. “I do know.”
I arched a brow. “And you’re still not going to tell me.”
He knelt by the bed, palms sliding under my shirt, lifting it to expose my belly. His hands were warm, rough with work, tender with knowing. “You didn’t want to know the sex last time. Let me keep this one.”
“You’re evil,” I breathed, half-laughing, half aching.
“I’m patient.” He kissed low, right where the skin began to stretch. “And you’re irresistible when you’re this full.”
He pressed his cheek to my belly. “They’re crowding each other already,” he murmured. “Just like last time.”
“More than last time?” I asked, tilting my hips toward him, heart pounding.
“Could be,” he said, his lips sliding lower, his breath hot on my skin. “Could be less. You’ll just have to wait…”
I gasped as his mouth moved with intent, teasing the soft skin at the top of my thigh. He knew exactly how to touch me—how different my body became in pregnancy. Sensitive. Needy. My nipples ached. My core pulsed. The whole of me felt like a vessel on the edge of overflowing.
“I’m already stretched,” I whispered, breath hitching. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“You’re made for this,” he growled, shifting up, his body hovering over mine. “You always take everything I give you. And you still want more.”
I moaned as he entered me, slow and deep. Every thrust was deliberate, filling, possessive. His hands gripped my hips as if he needed to anchor himself to me, to this growing curve that held his newest secrets.
Each movement pushed me higher, the tension rising fast. I could feel the tightness of my belly between us, the undeniable presence of life swelling inside.
“How many?” I gasped, clenching around him.
He stilled inside me, leaned down, and kissed my throat. “More than you think.”
Then he moved again, hard, slow, claiming every part of me until I shattered around him, crying out his name, the secret still safe behind his smile.
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