CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTEEN
DAMIEN
The water beat down hard against my shoulders, scalding hot, but it did nothing to cool the fire raging under my skin.
I braced one hand against the tiled wall, head bowed, letting the steam fill the glass enclosure. My cock was painfully hard, thick and throbbing, jutting out angrily like it had a personal grudge against me. Every drop of water sliding down my body only made it worse. I could still taste Brielle on my tongue. Feel the softness of her lips, the way she had arched into me on the couch, needy and sweet and so fucking mine.
She drove me crazy.
Seven and a half months pregnant with our daughter, glowing like some kind of goddess, belly round and full, and she still looked at me with those big, hungry eyes like she wanted me to ruin her. The way she had tugged me back down earlier, whispering “I want you,” had nearly snapped every ounce of control I had left.
I wrapped my hand around my cock and squeezed, a low groan tearing from my throat. The relief was instant and nowhere near enough.
“Fuck…” I muttered under the spray.
My mind flooded with images of her. The way her breasts had grown fuller, sensitive, how she gasped when I brushed my thumb over her nipple through her shirt. The soft curve of her belly pressed against me. The little whimpers she made when I kissed her neck. I stroked myself slowly at first, gripping tight, imagining it was her tight heat instead of my fist.
I wanted to drop to my knees right there on the couch and bury my face between her thighs until she was shaking and soaking my tongue. I wanted to bend her over carefully, slide into her from behind while she moaned my name, one hand on her belly, the other in her hair. I wanted to fill her up, mark her, remind her exactly who she belonged to.
But I couldn’t.
The doctor’s warnings echoed in my head like a fucking curse. No deep penetration. No strain. Not after the scare. Not when our daughter’s safety was on the line.
“Shit,” I hissed, speeding up my strokes. My hips jerked forward involuntarily, fucking into my fist as water cascaded down my back. The frustration only made me harder. I was so pent-up it hurt. Days of holding her, kissing her, rubbing her swollen feet and massaging her back while pretending I wasn’t dying to be inside her.
I closed my eyes and pictured her on her knees instead looking up at me with those pretty eyes, lips wrapped around my cock, taking me deep while she moaned around me. My hand moved faster, rougher, thumb swiping over the head with every stroke.
I thought about the park today… how radiant she looked laughing in the sunlight, how the little girl had called me scary and Brielle had defended me with that bright, proud smile. How she had tucked that dandelion behind my ear and teased me until I was laughing like a fool. She was everything. My light. My wife. The mother of my child.
And I was so fucking hard for her it felt like I was losing my mind.
My strokes turned punishing. I braced my forearm against the wall, forehead pressed to the cool tile as I fucked my fist harder, chasing release. The tension coiled tighter and tighter in my gut, balls drawing up, every muscle straining.
“Fuck— Brielle—” I groaned, voice wrecked.
The orgasm hit me like a freight train. I came hard, thick ropes of cum spilling over my fist and onto the shower floor, pulse after pulse as I imagined filling her instead. My hips jerked erratically, a deep, guttural sound tearing from my chest. The pleasure was sharp and almost painful in its intensity, but it still wasn’t enough. It never was when it wasn’t her.
I stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard, water washing away the evidence. My cock was still half-hard, twitching like it knew it wasn’t getting what it really wanted.
I let out a low, bitter laugh and rested my head against the tile.
I finished washing up quickly, trying to get my head straight. When I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Eyes dark, jaw tight, body still humming with leftover need.
I dried off slowly, the towel rough against my still-sensitive skin, then pulled on a pair of loose black sweatpants and nothing else. I needed to feel her against me tonight…skin to skin, her warmth, the curve of her belly pressed to mine. No barriers. Just us.
The frustration from the shower still lingered low in my gut, a dull ache that refused to disappear completely, but I shoved it down. She came first. Always.
When I stepped back into the living room, the sight of her hit me like it always did like the first breath after drowning. Brielle was curled on the couch, surrounded by the gifts from the park, her hand resting protectively on her rounded belly. The late afternoon light painted her in soft gold, making her look ethereal, almost untouchable. Her hair was a little messy from the wind earlier, cheeks still flushed from laughter and the walk. She was reading one of the handwritten notes with a small, private smile that made my chest tighten.
God, I loved her.
She looked up as I approached, and her eyes widened slightly, darkening as they dragged over my bare chest and the low-hanging sweatpants. A faint blush crept up her neck. Good. At least I wasn’t the only one still affected.
“What do you wanna eat, Luna?” I asked, voice low and rougher than I intended. I stopped in front of her, towering over the couch, and reached down to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Order something in, or should I cook for you?”
She bit her lip, eyes flicking down to my torso again before meeting mine. “You’re really going to stand there half-naked and ask me about dinner? That feels like cruel and unusual punishment.”
I smirked, leaning down to brace my hands on either side of her on the couch, caging her in without touching. “You like it when I’m cruel to you.”
Her breath hitched. “Damien…”
I dipped my head and kissed her slowly, deeply, tasting the lingering sweetness of mango on her tongue. She melted into it immediately, one hand coming up to rest on my chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle there. The kiss turned heated fast — my tongue stroking hers, her soft whimper vibrating against my lips. I wanted to devour her. I wanted to drop to my knees and worship every inch of her swollen, beautiful body until she was shaking and sobbing my name.
But I couldn’t.
I pulled back with a low groan, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard. “Fuck, baby.”
I closed my eyes, fighting every instinct screaming at me to take her right here on the couch. 
Her fingers dug into my shoulders, breath coming faster. “Damien…”
“No baby” I said, voice rough with restraint. I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, letting her see the storm there. “Not until it’s safe. So right now, I’m going to take care of you the only way I can. Tell me what you want to eat. I’ll cook whatever you’re craving, or I’ll order the entire menu from your favorite place. Just say the word.”
She stared at me for a long moment, eyes glassy with want, then let out a soft, defeated laugh. “You’re impossible. Fine. I want your famous grilled cheese… the one with three cheeses and the spicy honey drizzle. And maybe some of those pickles on the side. And mango slices. Don’t judge me.”
I smiled, pressing one last soft kiss to her forehead before straightening up. “Never. Your weird cravings are my favorite thing about this pregnancy. Stay here. I’ll make it.”