***
"Did you have fun with my father?" Kate asks, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She's freshly scrubbed, her cheeks flushed pink, damp brown hair piled on the top of her head. She's wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and a thin tank top made of material so thin it barely covers her breasts, her nipples on full display under the fabric. It's dressed down and comfortable, and...sexy as hell.
I walk up behind her and pull her against my hardness. "He's not my favorite person in the world, but yes, it was fine."
She turns her head slightly, and I press my lips against her neck, breathing in deeply her scent. She squirms when I kiss her neck, goose bumps dotting her arms almost immediately to my touch. "Talking about my father turns you on?" she asks.
"Seeing you in that little tank top turns me on," I say. "How was Ella? Did she behave herself?"
Kate sighs. "She wants her wedding planner to come in and help," she says. "I mean the wedding planner would be kind of nice. Everything is really all planned, but the last minute stuff adds up. She says it would ease my stress."
"Are you stressed?" I ask, my hands on her belly, meandering up to her chest.
She moans when I touch her breasts. "They're so sore now," she says.
"You know, a massage is great for stress relief," I say, cupping her breasts in my hands. They're heavier, so much more swollen than during the first part of the pregnancy, and completely arousing.
"By massage, you mean 'sex,' right?" she says, laughing. But her voice hitches at the end.
"I mean a full-body rubdown," I tell her. "I promise to spend extra time on your breasts."
Kate laughs. "You know I might fall asleep if you do that."
During the last trimester, Kate has been so tired she's practically narcoleptic. I swear the woman can nod off standing up now. She fell asleep during our meeting with the minister officiating the wedding – snored too, right in his office.
"I'm definitely aware of that," I say. "Strip. I require nudity for my massages. I promise, no funny business. I won't even try to hump your leg."
Kate laughs, but she's naked and lying on the bed before I've even taken off my shirt. I make good on my word, too, rubbing her back as she lies naked on her side, her leg slung over her giant pregnancy pillow. It's big enough to be a third person in bed, so we call him Bob. Bob the pillow.
I think she might be more fond of him than me.
"What Rose said earlier, about the baby being low," I say. "You don't think the baby will come early, do you?"
"Huh-uh," she murmurs, moaning when I rub her neck. "We're totally okay. Rose is superstitious."
"I'm going to call the obstetrician just to check," I say.
"He already cleared us," she says softly, as I pull her up to a sitting position, and then back against me, my legs wrapped around her. She lies back on my chest, and the moans she lets out when I bring my hands to her breasts is practically painful.
"Am I hurting you?" I ask.
"No," she says. "Oh God, don't stop."
My cock immediately springs to life, hard against the small of her back. "Does that feel good?" I ask, cupping her breasts in my hands, squeezing and massaging them as gently as I can.
"It feels amazing," she says, her head against my chest. She doesn't say anything for a few minutes, then speaks out of the blue. "Are you nervous?"
"Of course not," I tell her. "I have no doubts about the wedding or you. We talked about this earlier."
"That's not what I mean," she says. "Are you nervous about being a father?"
Did I just internally panic when Rosa hinted that the baby might come early? Yes
"No," I start. "Okay, a little. I've never been around babies. What if we can't change his diaper? Or we drop him?"
Kate laughs, the sound melodic and certain. She's suddenly the epitome of calm, a hundred and eighty degree turn from earlier when we were driving. "We'll figure it out," she says, her breath slow and regular, her chest rising and falling under my hands. "Wait. Do you think it's a boy?"
"I don't know," I tell her, my fingertips lightly brushing over her nipples, already hard.
Kate groans. "I think you'd better stop doing that," she whispers.
"Oh yeah," I say, feeling like an idiot. "Stimulates labor. Shit."
Kate laughs. "I meant because you're making me wet," she says. "They're so sensitive."
"Oh. Well in that case…" I give her breasts another squeeze, careful to keep my fingers away from her nipples.
Just in case. New father anxiety and all.
Then I slip my fingers between her legs. "You are very wet."
"From all that touching," Kate says. She turns her head to look at me out of the corner of her eye, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. It's the same gesture she used to make when I first met her. She wore that uniform, the same Brighton Academy uniform everyone else wore, but she didn't look like everyone else. Somehow that uniform was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen when she was wearing it.