Sometimes she thinks he knows with unnatural certainty what she needs; other times she thinks maybe all she needs is him, maybe the details don't matter as long as he's with her, touching her, inside her. He feels so good she could almost cry, but they've had enough of that. With every thrust she makes a small, desperate sound, needy and ecstatic. Overwhelming, this might be too much if it wasn't so good, so vital.

There are times when she wants to tell him she loves him but something holds her back. This is different; she doesn't have the words. Doesn't need them, maybe, when every inch of her aches for him, when she's clenching around his cock and panting. He must know how she loves him. The weight of her belly is a tangible testament to that.

Close, but not close enough, she urges him on to touch her clit, murmuring his name.