The late afternoon silence had grown oppressive, my thoughts turning heavy and despondent. A restless energy pulled me from the mirror to the seat by the window. And for no reason at all, my mind drifted to Rose. I've been thinking of her so much lately. It took me years to forgive her, but now I see my life could never have become what it is without her.
The gentle sound of the door opening broke my reverie. It was my husband. He walked toward me, his presence immediately filling the quiet room.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked.
I was settled in the chair, my seven-month belly a pronounced curve beneath my white shirt and shorts. Our eyes met, but I was too lost in my daze to return his smile.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but insistent.
I tried to smile. "It's nothing. Really, I'm okay."
He closed the distance, his gaze holding mine. "You are the strongest person I know, which is how I know that 'nothing' is everything right now." He took my hand. "Don't worry. I promise you, we will find her."
My eyes had drifted back to the window, feigning interest in the world outside. The soft afternoon glow illuminated the garden, making the flowers blush in the light, each one a keeper of its own secrets. In that moment, the love I felt for him was a physical force, so vast it stole my breath. I marveled at my sheer luck, not just to be alive, but to be alive and known so completely by him.
I felt his movement behind me, his presence a familiar warmth as his arms encircled my swollen belly, his hands resting protectively over our child. Then, his lips found the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, and a cascade of shivers raced down my spine. A low, wanting heat bloomed deep within me. It had been so long. His embrace was a sanctuary, but the desire it sparked was a dangerous, thrilling current. I leaned back against him, a soft sigh escaping my lips, even as my mind issued a frantic warning. I wanted him with a desperate, aching urgency, but my body was not entirely my own. The safety of our baby anchored us, a sacred boundary we could not cross.
He always knew. It was a language that existed just between us, a silent current where my thoughts flowed directly into his understanding. I turned to face him, my smile an unspoken testament to a gratitude too vast for words.
I lifted my hand, my long fingers combing gently through his soft blonde hair, sweeping the stray strands from his eyes. As our eyes locked, a profound and absolute security settled over me. A feeling I had spent a lifetime searching for. His palms, soft yet sure, rose to cradle my face, and in that touch, I felt utterly wanted and cherished. When he whispered, "You are so beautiful," the words unraveled me. I rose onto my toes and closed the distance, my lips finding his in a kiss that felt less like an action and more like a completion.
I knew, with a certainty that lived deep in my bones, that this man loved me and would move heaven and earth for me. His response was immediate and passionate. His mouth welcomed mine, and the taste of him so familiar and intoxicating, filled my senses. We kissed with a desperate, tender intensity, a collision of souls where nothing else existed but the feel of his warm tongue against mine, the sound of our shared breath. I felt the hard tension coiling in his arms as they wrapped around me, a testament to the desire he was holding in check. We stood there, anchored only to each other, for a small, perfect eternity.
His arousal was unmistakable, a tense heat pressed against me. We kissed again, the hunger between us deepening into something more primal. Emboldened, I let my hand drift slowly downward, slipping inside the waistband of his pajama pants. I felt a shudder run through him, a tremor of pure, restrained desire. He wanted me desperately, yet his consideration for me and our baby held him in check. My fingers traveled further, cupping the warm, heavy weight of his sac. I gave a gentle, knowing squeeze.
A low, guttural groan escaped his throat. "Woman... what are you doing to me?" he managed, his voice ragged between feverish kisses.
It was not a question that required an answer; it was a surrender. I had him completely, exquisitely under my spell. My fingers continued their gentle exploration, and with every teasing stroke, his kisses grew more fervent, his control fraying at the edges. A thrill of power and excitement coursed through me, a sensation potent enough to be deeply satisfying on its own. Slowly, I withdrew my hand, only to let it slide upward, taking the rigid, hot length of him firmly in my grasp. With my other hand, I tugged deftly at the drawstring of his pants, loosening them until they pooled in a soft heap at his feet. Then I brought my palm to the nape of his neck, my touch softening to a tender caress against his skin.
We kept kissing until the world dissolved into a haze of sensation. I felt intoxicated, my hand working his rigid length, my own body thrumming with a desperate, unfulfilled ache. The very fact that I wanted him so badly and couldn't have him only fanned the flames of my own excitement, a delicious and torturous game. For a long while, my hand moved in a vigorous, knowing rhythm, coaxing him to an even harder, more urgent state. I could feel his climax building in the desperate intensity of his tongue tangling with mine, in the sharp, fractured catch of his breath. Then, a shudder wracked his entire frame, and a low, trembling groan escaped his lips as he reached his apex against my hand.
He slumped forward, resting his forehead on my shoulder, his breathing heavy and warm against my neck. "No fair," he murmured, his voice thick with spent pleasure.
A slow, triumphant smile touched my lips. "Did you enjoy that?" I whispered.
He tilted his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the sensitive skin beneath my ear. "I love you," he breathed, the words a sacred vow against my skin before his lips found mine once more in a tender, sealing kiss.
Later that evening, after a dinner I barely tasted, I wove my fingers through his and proposed a shower. He let out a soft, knowing laugh. "An hour-long shower?" he mused, the corporate lawyer in him instantly calculating the lost time. "I have a merger agreement to review before the morning." It was the protest of a man for whom every minute was a billable unit, but it was a weak one. For all his success in the courtroom, he had never learned how to build a defense against me.
He followed me into the master bathroom, a sanctuary I had designed to be a retreat from the world. Smooth, veined marble and warm, polished gold accents created a sense of serene opulence. The soft, ambient lighting was my choice, it flattered the art on the walls and promised calm. It was a space that spoke of our shared life, a blend of his success and my eye for beauty.
With a turn of the polished gold knob, the rain showerhead erupted with a cascade of perfectly heated water. The air instantly bloomed with the delicate fragrance of lavender and jasmine from my favorite bath oils, a scent I had chosen for its power to soothe. Steam rose, pluming around us like a private cloud. As we stepped into the spacious enclosure, the body jets embedded in the tiled walls activated, delivering a targeted hydrotherapy that could soothe the most stubborn knots of corporate stress from our shoulders.
I closed my eyes, letting the warm cascade caress my skin, washing away the last vestiges of melancholy. The true surprise, the profound gift, was that Stephen never left. He spent the entire hour with me, understanding that this simple pleasure had become a rare luxury since my confinement. He had even commissioned a teak bench, wide and smoothly crafted, so I could sit safely beneath the water, a testament to his constant, quiet care. There, in our steamy sanctuary, we washed each other's bodies with a slow, reverent tenderness. Our hands, slick with soap, traced the familiar landscapes of each other's skin as we talked in hushed, hopeful tones about our baby, our future, and the life that was quietly taking shape between us.
