Page 24 of Beloved Beauty

Her breath hitches.

“I want to see you round and glowing, carrying our child. I want to watch you become a mother, the most beautiful one this world’s ever seen.”

A desperate sound leaves her lips, and I swallow it in another kiss.

“When the time’s right,” I say, thrusting again, slow and deep, “I’ll fill you up with so much cum you’ll feel it in your bones.”

She’s already trembling, clinging to me.

“Until then, we’re gonna keep practicing over and over, until your body knows mine like second nature.”

“God, you’re obsessed.”

“Damn right I am. I’m obsessed with seeing my baby inside you. And waking up to a little version of you—of us—running through the halls.”

She moans, raw and wrecked. “You’re killing me.”

Her head tips back as she comes undone in my hands—and I follow, the moment snapping white-hot between us.

We stay pressed together, breathing hard, still tangled and shaking. And when she looks up at me, eyes glassy, lips parted, I know that this is the only practice I’ll never tire of.

“I think about a little one with your eyes and maybe my stubbornness. Someone who’s a piece of both of us,” she says.

I laugh—hoarse and winded. “Poor kid.”

She smiles. “Lucky kid.”

The pace builds, but the reverence never fades. Every touch is a promise. Every movement a vow. Her hands roam over my back, nails digging in with every thrust.

“You’re mine,” I say against her mouth. “You were always meant to be mine.”

Her head drops back as she gasps, her body trembling around me. “Yours,” she echoes, voice breaking. “Always.”

The release hits us both—powerful and consuming. I hold her through it, kissing her shoulder, her temple, her lips.

We stay that way, tangled and breathless, her forehead pressed to mine.

Her fingers stroke my jaw. “Is the mirror still intact?”

I laugh, forehead still against hers. “If it isn’t, it was worth it.”

She kisses me, her smile warm and content. “That was intense.”

“That was everything.”

I let her down and pull her body against mine. My chest rises and falls against hers, both of us still catching our breath.

She looks up at me with sleepy, satisfied eyes. “You really want all that?”

“Yeah,” I say, brushing damp hair from her face. “More than anything.”

“Even diapers?”

I grin. “Even dirty nappies.”

And in that moment—naked, sweaty, heart full—I know one thing with absolute certainty: this is what life is supposed to feel like.

“I can’t wait to see a mini you running around here,” she whispers.

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