Tommy’s belly was a hard, warm weight between them, eight months round with twins, her skin stretched tight and gleaming with sweat.
Fred moved inside her with a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust pressing his hips firmly against the curve of her stomach.
Her head was thrown back against the pillows, her mouth open on a silent gasp, her hands gripping the sheets beside her hips.
The room was dark, just the streetlight through the blinds painting stripes across her swollen breasts, across the sheen on her skin.
He watched her face, watched the way her eyes squeezed shut and her lips formed his name without sound.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice rough, breathless.
Her eyes opened, glazed, finding his in the half-light.
“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, not breaking the rhythm, his cock sliding deep, then almost out, then deep again. “A year ago. You were my best friend. You were a dude.”
A shudder ran through her, her cunt clenching around him.
“And today,” he said, leaning down, his lips brushing her ear. “Today you’re my heavily pregnant wife.”
The word ‘wife’ did something to her. A low moan broke from her throat, and her hands came up to clutch at his shoulders, her nails digging in.
“Say it,” he breathed, fucking her a little harder, a little deeper, the wet sound of their joining filling the quiet room.
“I’m your wife,” she gasped, the sentence fracturing as he hit a spot that made her back arch off the bed.
“You’re my wife,” he repeated, a vow, a claim, his hips driving the words into her. “Carrying my babies. Full of me.”
Her legs tightened around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper still. The size of her belly forced an angle that pressed him impossibly deep, and he could feel the resistance of her cervix, the firm roundness of the life inside her pushing back against his thrusts.
“Fred—”
“I know,” he grunted. The heat was building, coiling low in his gut, his balls tightening. Her pussy was so slick, so hot, gripping him like a fist. “You close?”
She nodded, frantic, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Please. I need—don’t stop.”
He didn’t stop. He pistoned into her, the slap of skin growing louder, her cries pitching higher. One of his hands slid from her hip to cradle the underside of her belly, holding the weight, his thumb stroking the taut skin.
Her orgasm hit her like a seizure. Her whole body locked, her mouth a wide ‘O’ of silent shock for a second before the sound tore out of her—a raw, broken sob. Her cunt clenched around his cock in rapid, fluttering pulses, milking him.
It dragged his own climax out of him. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he came, a guttural groan ripped from his chest. He pulsed inside her, jet after jet of hot cum filling her, marking her, claiming her all over again. He could feel it, the heat of his release mixing with her own, the absolute fullness.
He collapsed forward, careful of her stomach, catching his weight on his elbows. His forehead pressed against hers. They were both breathing like they’d run for miles.
His cock, still semi-hard, still buried inside her, twitched with the aftershocks.
Her hands came up, framing his face, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. Her eyes were wet.
“Again,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
He huffed a laugh, breathless. “Give me a minute.”
“No.” Her hands slid into his hair, fisting gently. “Now. I want to feel it again.”
He was spent, his body heavy. But the look in her eyes—that hungry, desperate need—was a command. He began to move again, a slow, shallow rock.
She sighed, her eyes closing, a smile touching her swollen lips.