I blink open at the mix of lust and appreciation I hear in his voice. His eyes are trained on my breasts, which are now two cup sizes bigger and braless, the way he likes them. His gaze rakes down over my belly, and a shiver slides down my spine to pool between my legs.
The lust I saw in his expression earlier dissolves into pure, raw admiration. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He leans down, and his huge hands palm our baby beneath my skin. His lips dance over my belly, randomly dropping kisses and whispering words meant for only our child. Heat fires my eyes, and I fight to hold back the emotion that his gentle and reverent touch brings.
I fork my hands through his short hair, grabbing at strands, scraping my fingernails along his scalp, and holding him to me so desperately that I can’t help but wonder if I’m hurting him.
He groans and uses his tongue to trace my belly button, which is no longer a deep hole, but is now punched out with the pressure of our growing child.
“Yes . . .” The word falls from my lips as I encourage him to go lower.
He smiles against me, clearly enjoying the way his attention has me writhing and wanton.
“It’s not funny.” The pulling ache of my body and the need to be filled completely by the man I love is painful. Tears spring to my eyes, but the slick wet feel of his tongue moving lower drowns my urge to cry.
“Always take care of you.” His words are muffled against my skin, his tongue tracing along the dark line that leads from my belly button to disappear beneath my panties. He tugs at the elastic of my pants, but doesn’t remove them, only goes lower until I feel the heat of his mouth exactly where I need him.
My fists grip the comforter, and I brace my feet against the bed to lift my hips, pressing into his mouth. He alternates between nipping and running the flat part of his tongue against the sensitive flesh.
Everything from my heart, my womb, between my legs, all of it throbs with the thunder of my pulse. I grab at his hair, push him down, press up, anything, but none of it is enough through my clothes.
A tiny noise, half growl, half whimper, rumbles from my lips before I give up. He chuckles, that sexy sound that would make a lesser woman fall to her knees and beg—is that not what I’m doing?
“Easy, Mouse . . . let me play.” He continues his torture, raking his teeth along my inner thigh until my legs fall wide open. He pushes up to his knees, his hands gripping the outer part of my thighs, and gazes down at me. “How you could get more beautiful, I don’t know, and yet you do.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. How can he see me as beautiful now? My breasts are bigger, but they look like road maps with the blue veins that’ve appeared with pregnancy, red jagged stretch marks on the sides of my hips ensure I’ll be self-conscious in a bikini for the rest of my life, and I’m huge. Not everywhere, but if I give birth to less than a nine-pound baby, I’ll be shocked.
As if he could read my mind, he dips down and kisses every mark, pushes up and palms my breasts, dragging his lips from one to the other and painting them with worshipful kisses. “Nothing sexier than seeing my baby growing big and strong inside the woman I love.”
Another wave of sadness washes over me, and I want to cry. Stupid hormones. This is the way it’s supposed to be, and it’s so far from what I had when I had Axelle. I have to believe that even now our unborn child feels the love of his or her father and thrives from the warmth of his touch and comforting voice. Axelle never had that.
God, in what ways could that have affected her? If her biological father knew he had a daughter, would he be interested in her now? Could he make up for all she never had?
“Cut that shit out.” The low grumble of Blake’s voice followed by his firm grip on my thighs calls my eyes. He scowls down at me from his kneeling position between my legs. “Whatever you’re thinking about, stop.”
“What?” My act at nonchalance is a big fat fail, as his scowl grows tighter.
“Stay with me, here, not wherever you went in your head.” His hands move down my thighs and hook the elastic of my pants.
“I’m here, Blake.” The words fall from my lips on a whisper, and his biceps flex as he lifts my hips to remove my leggings and panties.
His gaze falls to between my legs and a moment of panic overtakes me. I haven’t been able to actually see what things look like down there, but gauging from the flare of his eyes, I’d say it’s not as bad as I imagine. He mumbles something about “dude doctors” that drips in sarcasm, and I stifle the urge to laugh. Just his eyes alone have my body so heated that I squirm in a silent plea for his touch.