Zayne knows it is impolite to stare, but he seems to care less about manners lately ever since his beautiful pregnant wife started showing.
Knowing she is pregnant is entirely different from seeing her pregnant.
At first, the bump was small. Just a small curve easily unnoticed or dismissed as bloating. She had let him feel it. Insisted, actually. His large hand was dragged over the curve, and he had marveled at the little changes, feeling like everything felt so much realer now, and yet, somehow, this was still a secret between them both.
Then, almost as if it had happened overnight, the slight curve became a clear bump. Still small enough to show that she was early in her pregnancy, but obvious enough that a glance at her and people knew she was expecting.
The congratulations had poured in alongside curiosity and excitement. Zayne brimmed with pride.
A bundle of joy is on the way.
They know this baby is his.
He had knocked up his pretty little wife.
What they didn’t know, though, was how much he had wanted to impregnate her. How badly she needed him to pump her full of his seed over and over again. He had kept her stretched around him, full of his cock. Hours upon hours that pretty little cunt was his to enjoy.
He had kept breeding her, had her so cockdrunk, she was slurring her words, begging and pleading over and over again for him to put his baby in her. To share the same desire made this all the more erotic for him, hearing such filthy pleading that mirrored his own dirty fantasies.
Now, those very fantasies are coming true.
Day after day, he is witnessing before his very eyes what he had done to her.
And he smiles, eyes unknowingly lingering on her longer than normal, drifting south only to rest on that beautiful belly. It’s so much bigger now. The fabric of her clothes hugs it so snugly, outlining the shape, and when she unconsciously rests her hands on it, he is short-circuiting, imagining all of the pretty dresses he is going to lavish her with.
So fucking pretty.
She is his.
That baby in her belly is also his.
Both of them are his.
It is so impolite to stare, but fuck manners. He wants to ingrain into his memory the image of her like this. Perfectly round and swollen, her womb heavy with his child. Her breasts wanting to spill from her dress, so full of milk for his baby, but also so, so tender and sore, needing him to offer her relief.
Pretty. So fucking pretty when she sits on him, straddling him and her belly presses against his stomach, her sensitive nipple at his mouth. That first moment when he sucks the little nub has her squealing his name in pain, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He doesn’t stop, not when those cries turn into moans, and she is rubbing herself against him, her growing wetness staining his pants.
Zayne hums softly, encouraging her, wanting her to need more of him like he needs her. Briefly, his eyes close, his mind clouding with a growing lust, delirious with sweet, sweet fantasies of her.
He wants her like this always.
Heavy with his baby and always close to him. He needs to taste her, feel her—wants to know just how sensitive she is now, how much she is aching for his own touch.
Sharply, he inhales, hearing that whimper, feeling her wetness against him.
He frees his mouth from her nipple, smirking for a second, eyes darkening as he takes in her needy doe-eyed expression. No panties. Undergarments have become so cumbersome to wear recently. In the comfort of their home, she has forsaken such articles of clothing, especially when she desires more from him than just this relief.
He is already so hard because of her, and she is extra sensitive, more easily aroused.
She’s so pretty as she frees him from his confines, eagerly aligning him to her entrance, and with one fluid motion, she sinks down on him, moaning as his thick length fills her to the brim.
So fucking pretty, he wants to groan, unable to tear his eyes away from her aroused expression, cheeks all flushed rosy with shameless desire, mouth opened wide, his name just a breathy gasp away. His breath hitches, feeling her warm walls wrap around his cock. Hazel eyes follow her movements, gleaming—calculating. His voice, thick and heavy with arousal, praises and encourages her as she steadies herself with one hand on his shoulder, and the other is cradling that still growing belly.
Wordlessly, she starts bouncing on him, taking him again and again. She feels so fucking good, and he marvels at her own endurance, matching his own perverted desires so magnificently. The room is filled with the lewd sound of their fucking, her gasps and moans in tandem with his own groans and generous praises as they both give in to their needs and desires.
However, despite wanting to chase her orgasm—wanting to please him, too—she starts to slow, the growing weight of her belly made her tire more easily. When her rhythm falters, Zayne grips her hips with his large hands, and he thrusts up, surprising her, his name immediately spilling from her lips in a squeal before turning into a desperate mantra matching in time to his rushed movements.
The way her belly brushes against his stomach, her heavy breasts bouncing in his face after every powerful thrust had him losing his last remnants of control. Harder and faster, he forces himself into her, drawing her closer and closer to her release. Delirious with pleasure, she is mewling his name, urging him on until a strong wave of pleasure courses through her and she is taking him with her over the edge.
Their breathings are unsteady, the sounds of their heartbeats thrumming in their ears. Her chest is rising and falling, her hand gripping her belly, and she is glistening, expression dazed by the immediate afterglow.
Again, Zayne smiles, unable to look anywhere but at her. It’s so impolite to stare, but she is so, so fucking pretty all aglow with bliss and love for him.
He wants to kiss her so much, wants her to know how much he loves her, how happy she makes him, but he also wants to never take his eyes off her. Not when this moment is so brief. Not when this time is so fleeting and precious.
A picture lasts a lifetime, so perhaps it is time Zayne should pick up photography. Just a little hobby. Something they could both enjoy together, and when it comes to photographs, it isn’t impolite to stare. No, he could spend hours just admiring how beautiful she looks, completely glowing for him—because of him.
[ from osmanthus to snowdrop ★ Masterlist ★ Snowdrop Masterlist ★ AO3 ]
𝚆hispers have been following the two around for days now. Weeks, even. It seems Jennifer has a certain knack for disguise. It doesn't surprise her that she's able to fit in everywhere, [IT'S NOT LIKE IT WAS DIFFICULT BACK AT HOME EITHER.] But in a world full of limousine carpools to school every morning, Sunday obligations for nothing but brunch, and lingerie that costs more than her Mom's car, she can't help but surprise herself: fitting in with Louis Vuitton & Dior patrons, while dressed in Juicy Couture and Von Dutch. Appreciated by none other than, New York City's very own "IT-GIRL!", Jennifer finds it trivial to be doubting her own wardrobe choices. That's precisely why she's happy with her pink corset top, micro-denim Diesel skirt, and suede fringe-trimmed boots ─ although the latter doesn't count. [THEY WERE A GIFT FROM SERENA HERSELF.] Her hair is blow-dried bouncy tonight, in hopes that when photographed with Serena Van Der Woodsen, her raven locks will eclipse the blonde's effortless volume, and all eyes will swoon for her instead. A strange way of thanking her for her hospitality, taking Jennifer under her wing like that, but the blonde should already be familiar with: [THE SCORN OF A WICKED BRUNETTE.] *
𝑰t's not even midnight yet, and Jennifer's wasted. With a beast residing within, you'd think the lightweight could handle her liquor, but it's quite the opposite. The high is different to a human's however, considering that the room may be spinning, but she's still fully aware of her surroundings. She can tell Serena's past the point of no return, [IT'S NOT SO DIFFICULT TO GET SERENA AT THAT LEVEL!] but Jennifer finds it somewhat endearing. Perhaps it's the soft coo of her voice, or the way her eyes become siren-like once intoxicated, causing a flutter or two within the demon's stomach ─ she appreciates the way Serena looks at her. It reminds her of a past lover, (one she refuses to dwell on.)
@serenvy, 𝔖erena: " I'm way too drunk to lie to you. "
𝐆lossy lips spread, a smile appearing onto fresh skin. The way her eyelashes flutter, cyans peer bright, & there's a sheen glow from her cheekbones ─ [JENNIFER'S RECENTLY FED.] Which means, tonight is purely for the sake of fun. ❝ Whaaaaat. And here I thought, you would never lie to me. ❞ Her voice becomes softer towards the end, not exactly quiet but more so, restrained & sweet. Their knees graze against eachother under the table, a hot-pink fingernail twirling around her cocktail straw. She's had four Cherry Tequila Swizzles, and is prepared for another, but not until she gets the nod from "S". Before anything can continue, Jennifer must distract once again, a mix of alcohol & a white powdery substance causing herself to play. ❝ If it makes you feel any better, I never slept with him either. Last I heard, he took a charter back to LA. ❞ [THAT'S NOT TRUE ─ HE'S ROTTING IN THE BACK OF HER APARTMENT.] Jennifer takes a maraschino cherry from the bottom of Serena's glass, and lets it hang between her two teeth, the gloss of her lips sticking to it tight. Cyans peer up at Serena once again, and she can see that someone's spotted the both of them from behind. She enjoys the chase, the (minor) fame, the decadent attention. So she milks it, the fuzzy warmth of the busy bar doubling.
❝ Looks like we've got an audience. ❞ Voice is low, unamused, tamed. That is, until she gently slips the cherry out of her own lips, and lets it hang between herself and the blonde. Without realising, Jennifer's moved a little too close to Serena, lips inches apart. She doesn't mind, and she's sure the blonde doesn't either – [IT'S NOT LIKE THEY HAVEN'T DONE THIS BEFORE.] ❝ What do ya' say, S? ───
