Chapter160 You’re so soft. So full here

Chapter160 You’re so soft. So full here
Chloe

Looking back over the past few weeks since we returned from the hospital, I could trace the pattern clearly now. What had started as simple bad timing had slowly become something I could no longer ignore.

At twenty weeks, my body had already grown heavy with pregnancy. My breasts were full and heavy, the skin stretched tight and almost painfully sensitive. My belly was a smooth, prominent curve, and my hips had widened in a way that made Julian’s gaze darken every time he looked at me.

That morning I woke to the slow drag of his palm across the swell of my belly. He stirred behind me, and I felt the hard press of him against my lower back. His breath hitched the moment he registered how warm and yielding my body had become.

One large hand slid upward and cupped the underside of my breast, his thumb brushing once over the peaked nipple. The touch sent a sharp, liquid pulse straight between my legs. Julian exhaled roughly against my shoulder, the sound low and masculine, almost pained.

I could feel how tightly he was holding himself back—the rigid line of his abdomen against my spine, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they mapped the new fullness of my chest.

“Chloe…” His voice was gravel. “You’re so soft. So full here.”

I arched into his hand instinctively. His hips rocked forward once, a slow, unconscious grind, and I felt the thick, heavy length of him nudging against me.

Heat flooded my core. I reached back, fingers sliding into his hair, and felt the tension vibrating through every muscle in his body.

He kissed the side of my neck, then lower, his mouth open and hot. One hand stayed on my breast while the other slid down over the curve of my belly and between my thighs. The moment his fingers found how wet I already was, a deep, guttural sound tore from his throat.

He shifted behind me, one strong thigh nudging mine apart. I felt him line himself up, the blunt head of him pressing insistently against my entrance. His breathing had turned ragged, the heat of his body radiating against my back.

Just as he began to push forward, his phone rang.

Julian went completely still. For a heartbeat I felt the way his entire body trembled with denied need, the thick press of him still poised at my entrance.

Then he exhaled a frustrated breath that sounded almost like a growl and pulled away.

“It’s work,” he said, voice hoarse. He reached for the phone, but not before I caught the way his hand shook.

I lay there, thighs still parted, body pulsing with unfulfilled want as he answered. The call was short. When he hung up, he pressed a lingering kiss to my bare shoulder, but his eyes were already distant.

“I have to go downstairs. I’m sorry.”

He left the room still visibly hard, the front of his sleep pants tented. I pulled the sheet over myself, the ache between my legs sharp and insistent.

It was the first time. I told myself it was coincidence.

By twenty-two weeks, my body had grown even more lush. My breasts were noticeably larger, the areolas darker. My belly had rounded into a clear, firm curve that Julian seemed obsessed with.

When he returned early from a short trip, he looked at me like a man starving.

The moment the bedroom door closed, he was on me. His hands slid under my blouse and cupped both breasts, groaning low in his throat at the weight of them. His thumbs brushed over my nipples and I gasped, arching into his touch.

“Fuck, Chloe,” he muttered, voice thick with want. “They’re so heavy… so warm.”

He lowered his head and took one peaked nipple into his mouth, sucking gently but with clear hunger. My hands fisted in his hair as heat pooled low in my belly. He was hard against my thigh, the thick ridge of him pressing insistently through his trousers.

We moved to the bed. Julian stripped me slowly, his eyes dark and reverent as they traveled over every new curve. When he finally settled between my thighs, I could feel the tremor in his arms.

His cock, hot and heavy, rested against my inner thigh. He wrapped one hand around the base and guided himself to my entrance, the blunt head parting my folds.

His breathing was labored. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He looked down at where our bodies nearly joined, and a low, possessive sound rumbled from his chest. Just as he started to press inside, the house phone rang.

Julian’s entire frame went rigid. His forehead dropped to mine, and for a moment I felt the violent frustration rolling off him in waves. His cock twitched against me, still poised at my entrance, but the spell was broken.

He reached for the phone with visible reluctance. The call was short, but when he hung up, his expression was grim.

“It’s Kim,” he said. “I have to handle this. I’m sorry.”

He kissed me once, hard and frustrated, then left the room. I remained on the bed, legs still spread, the throbbing between my thighs almost painful.

This was the second time. The exact same moment. A cold, uneasy suspicion began to take root.

At twenty-four weeks, my body was undeniably pregnant. My breasts were full and heavy, my hips wider, and the curve of my belly made Julian’s hunger for me almost feral.

That evening he locked the bedroom door and looked at me like he was finally going to lose control.

He undressed me piece by piece, his large hands reverent but trembling. When I was bare, he ran his palms over the swell of my belly, then upward to cup both breasts, thumbs brushing the sensitive peaks until I whimpered.

His cock strained visibly against his pants, a dark patch already forming at the front.

Julian stripped quickly. The sight of him—broad shoulders, defined abdomen, and the thick, heavy length of him—made my mouth go dry.

He climbed onto the bed and settled behind me, one arm sliding under my belly to support me while the other guided my thigh upward.

I felt him press against my entrance again, hot and insistent. His chest was flush against my back, his breathing harsh and uneven. I could feel every hard line of his body, the way his muscles trembled with the effort of going slow.

The head of his cock nudged forward, stretching me, and I gasped at the overwhelming fullness already beginning.

A low, almost feral sound came from Julian’s throat.

Then he stopped.

Julian’s entire body went rigid against mine. For several seconds he didn’t move, his cock still pressed just barely inside me, his breathing ragged with frustration. Slowly, he withdrew. I felt the loss of him immediately.

“Julian?” I whispered, turning my head.

He sat back on his heels, one hand still resting on my hip. His voice was low and strained when he finally spoke.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. Every time I get this close, I keep thinking about what could go wrong. About hurting you. About hurting the baby.” He exhaled shakily.

“I thought I could control it after the first trimester, but I can’t risk it. I’d rather stop than risk either of you.”

He got up and dressed without another word, leaving me alone in the dark.

I sat up slowly, my body still burning and aching. My thighs were wet, my breasts heavy and tight, and the emptiness between my legs was almost unbearable. This time there had been no phone call. He had stopped on his own.

I stared at the closed door, frustration twisting hot in my chest. Twice the calls had come at the exact moment he was about to push inside me. Once he had stopped himself.

I stared at the closed door, frustration twisting hot in my chest.