It gets more complicated

I didn’t pull away.

Jess’s pregnant belly stayed pressed against the hard length of my cock, warm and firm through the thin fabric of the T-shirt. Her breathing had changed. Deeper. A little shakier. The hand covering mine on the side of her stomach tightened, then slowly guided my palm lower, across the tight curve, until my fingers rested just above the waistband of the borrowed shorts.

“I keep thinking about last night,” she whispered. “How you just… let me be against you. No flinching. No looking away. I’ve been so careful for months and then you put your hand on it like it was allowed.”

I turned my head enough to speak against her hair.

“It is allowed.”

She made a small sound and shifted her hips. The soft underside of her belly dragged slowly over my cock. Not accidental this time. Deliberate.

“I want to stay,” she said. “Not just today. Longer. If you’ll let me.”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Stay,” I told her. “As long as you need. Days. Weeks. However long it takes. I want you here.”

The words came out rougher than I intended. Jess turned in my arms carefully, the high curve of her stomach pressing fully against me now. Her eyes were dark, pupils wide. The T-shirt had ridden up high enough that most of her bare belly was against my stomach and the hard ridge of my cock.

“I’ve been so fucking horny,” she admitted, voice low and almost ashamed. “All the time. Since about month three. It’s constant. I wake up wet. I go to sleep wet. Every time the baby moves it makes it worse. And I couldn’t do anything about it properly because I was always terrified someone would walk in or see or… know.”

Her hand slid down between us and pressed over the thick shape of my cock through my clothes.

“I’ve only got myself for months,” she whispered. “And even that felt risky. I’m so tight it’s almost uncomfortable sometimes. Like my body’s just… waiting.”

I kissed her.

She made a soft, broken sound into my mouth and kissed me back like she’d been starving for it. Her belly stayed heavy and warm between us. I slid my hand down the bare curve of it, feeling the tight skin, the life underneath, then lower, under the waistband of the shorts. No underwear. Just soft, swollen heat and slick wetness when my fingers found her.

Jess gasped against my mouth.

“Fuck—yes—”

She was soaked. And tight. When I pressed one finger into her the resistance was immediate, plush and gripping, her walls fluttering around the intrusion like they hadn’t been stretched in a long time. She clutched at my shoulder and pushed her hips forward, trying to take more.

“Please,” she breathed. “I need it. I’ve needed it for weeks.”

I worked her open carefully—first one finger, then a second—while my other hand stayed on the high, firm dome of her belly. She was trembling, thighs already shaking, the soft weight of her breasts pressed against my chest. Every time I curled my fingers she clenched hard around them and made these quiet, desperate sounds that went straight to my cock.

When I finally shifted her onto her back against the cushions and pulled the shorts down, she lifted her hips to help. The T-shirt stayed on, rucked up above the full curve of her stomach. I shoved my own clothes down just enough, rubbed the head of my cock through her wet folds, and pushed in.

The tightness punched the air from my lungs.

She was so fucking tight. Hot, slick, and gripping me in rhythmic pulses the second I started to sink into her. Her belly rose between us, impossible to ignore. I braced one hand on the couch and the other on the side of that tight, pregnant stomach as I worked deeper, watching the way the skin stretched and shifted with every careful thrust.

Jess’s head tipped back. Her mouth fell open.

“God—Ryan—it’s so much—”

I fucked her in slow, deep strokes, letting her feel every inch, watching the way her belly moved, the way her full tits shifted under the T-shirt. She was already close; I could feel it in the way her cunt kept fluttering and clamping down. Her hands gripped my arms, nails digging in.

“Harder,” she whispered. “Please. I won’t break. Just—don’t stop touching it—”

I kept my hand on her belly and gave her what she asked for. Deeper. A little harder. The wet sound of her pussy taking me filled the quiet apartment. Her eyes were glassy, fixed on my face, then on the place where my cock disappeared into her under the heavy curve of her stomach.

Something shifted in her expression—need and relief and something rawer.

“Daddy—”

The word slipped out of her on a broken moan, unexpected and shaky, like it had surprised even her.

She froze for half a second, eyes wide, then the next thrust dragged another one out of her.

“Daddy—fuck—please—”

The sound of it hit me like a live wire. I groaned and buried myself to the hilt, hand spreading wide over her pregnant belly as her cunt clamped down hard around me. Jess came with a soft, shocked cry, thighs shaking, walls pulsing tight and rhythmic around my cock while the word kept falling out of her mouth in broken little gasps.

I followed her over the edge with a rough sound, grinding deep and spilling inside her while her belly stayed warm and firm under my palm and she clung to me like she was afraid I might stop.

We stayed locked together afterward, breathing hard. My cock still twitched inside the tight, wet heat of her. Her hand covered mine on the side of her stomach, keeping it there.

Jess’s voice was small and shaky when she finally spoke.

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t pull out.

“I know,” I said quietly.

Her fingers tightened over mine.

“But I don’t want you to stop.”