Macysquealswhenshenotices me sitting on her bed. She grabs her towel, the big ass ones she had me buy, and holds it close to her body. Her coils are pinned back away from her face, showcasing her shocked depression highlighted by the bathroom lights behind her.
“Shaddy, why are you sitting here in the dark?” She taps the lightswitch beside her and the chandelier above the bed turns on.
I lift the diluted coconut oil solution. “Time for your massage.”
She averts her eyes and I just know she’s squeezing them thick ass thighs together. She does it every time I corner her, just like I brick up every time I stretch her out.
“Do we really have to do it every day?”
“Yes, Mace. I don’t want them to cut you, but if they do, I don’t want you to rip from pussy to ass. That happens, you know.”
She rolls her eyes and starts walking toward her closet. “Fine, let me–”
I stand and reach her before she gets to the door. “Nah, you don’t need to cover up. C’mon, it’ll only take a second.”
She can’t look at me in the face, but she nods and lets me lead her back to her bed. I place my hand on her towel and she wraps hers around my wrist, shaking her head.
“Don’t–”
“Don’t ever hide yourself from me, Mace.”
I wait her out, and eventually, she drops her hands. I grip her towel and unravel it, letting it puddle at her feet so I can take her in.
She’s thirty-four weeks pregnant. Her deep ebony skin is stretching to hold our daughter, while her already big ass titties damn near rest on her high, swollen stomach. My hands itch to touch her, caress her, hide her from this fucked up world, and when my eyes shift up to catch hers, my heart damn near stalls.
Trust, uncertainty, and something else I don’t wanna name swim in her dark brown eyes. A better man would walk out now. She can’t trust me. She can’t catch feelings for me. Mace doesn’t catch feelings for no nigga. I can’t be the first one.
That’ll make it that much harder when I eventually leave this world.
But the part of me not corrupted by the big feelings I hold in rejoices. That part becomes possessive and love drunk. This woman who doesn’t need anybody, looks at me as if she needs me. This woman, this genuine, beautiful, amazing woman, trusts me with her everything.
“Lay down,” I mutter. Her delicate throat moves as she turns and climbs onto her bed.
I grab the towel off the carpeted floor and fold it before placing it where I want her to lay. She crawls onto it and then lays on her back, feet planted on the comforter, legs spread like I like it.
I kneel on the bed in between her legs, never taking my eyes off hers. She knows the drill by now. I can’t think of this as anythingelse but helping her. I can’t get lost in her curves, her lips, or that pussy that I’m starting to think is made for me.
But I can get lost in her eyes. I can try and figure out everything that makes her tick, everything she doesn’t show the world.
I pour a generous amount of the diluted oil into my palm before rubbing my hands together. “Had a good day?”
She nods and licks her lips as I start rubbing her thighs.
“She been kicking?”
Mace smiles at that, until I lean down and start rubbing her taint. “Ye-yeah. She’s very active in the afternoon when I’m eating. I think she’s sleep now,” she ends on a gasp.
She gasps every time I slide a finger inside of her. She gasps, then widens her legs, and then her eyes roll back until she catches herself and returns her gaze to me.
Only then do I go to work.
I still pay attention to her perineum. I was serious about my baby girl not ripping her, since both Mace and her sperm donor got big rock heads. But when that’s done, I always get her off.
Sometimes twice. Last week I played with that pussy until she was crying.
If this is the only way I’ll ever be inside of her, I damn sure will make it count.
“Shaddy,” she gasps when I graze her spot. My other hand cuffs her mound and I let my thumb strum her clit.
