Chapter 3 3. Silent Language!

A thrill of power and excitement coursed through me, a sensation potent enough to be deeply satisfying on its own. Slowly, I withdrew my hand, only to let it slide upward, taking the rigid, hot length of him firmly in my grasp. With my other hand, I tugged deftly at the drawstring of his pants, loosening them until they pooled in a soft heap at his feet. Then I brought my palm to the nape of his neck, my touch softening to a tender caress against his skin.

We kept kissing until the world dissolved into a haze of sensation. I felt intoxicated, my hand working his rigid length, my own body thrumming with a desperate, unfulfilled ache. The very fact that I wanted him so badly and couldn't have him only fanned the flames of my own excitement, a delicious and torturous game.

For a long while, my hand moved in a vigorous, knowing rhythm, coaxing him to an even harder, more urgent state. I could feel his climax building in the desperate intensity of his tongue tangling with mine, in the sharp, fractured catch of his breath. Then, a shudder wracked his entire frame, and a low, trembling groan escaped his lips as he reached his apex against my hand.

He slumped forward, resting his forehead on my shoulder, his breathing heavy and warm against my neck. "No fair," he murmured, his voice thick with spent pleasure.

A slow, triumphant smile touched my lips. "Did you enjoy that?" I whispered.

He tilted his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the sensitive skin beneath my ear. "I love you," he breathed, the words a sacred vow against my skin before his lips found mine once more in a tender, sealing kiss.

Stephen POV

I walked into the room and saw my wife standing by the window. When she turned, our eyes met, and in that single, silent exchange, I felt a connection so profound it stole my breath. My heart hammered against my ribs with a terrifying, exhilarating certainty: this moment would be seared into me forever.

Thinking back, my heart clenches with the very same intensity I felt the first time I ever saw her. It was an undeniable pull, a recognition. In our embrace, the world simply fell away. Time stopped, leaving only the quiet truth of our souls intertwined. We found our universe in the simplest things, the brush of her hand, the private curve of her smile, a whispered compliment that carried the weight of my entire world.

The usual light in her eyes was gone, as if a shadow had fallen over her. Replaced by a pensive, distant look that made my chest tighten. I knew that look. Her thoughts were with Rose again. A pang of helpless guilt shot through me; I hated that I had no news to bring her, nothing to ease her mind except for the hope I clung to myself.

I crossed the room and moved behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. I buried my face in the cascade of her long black hair, breathing in her familiar scent. When my lips brushed the nape of her neck, I felt the almost imperceptible softening of her posture, a subtle tremor that was a secret signal between us. It was her body's silent answer to mine, and it made me smile against her skin. My hands splayed protectively over the swell of her belly. And then, as if our child understood the weight of this reconnection, there was a distinct, fluttering push against my palm. My breath hitched. A slow, wondrous smile spread across my face as the reality of it settled in.

"Did you feel that?" Saintilia whispered, her voice filled with awe and anticipation.

I could only nod, my voice lost to the swell of emotion tightening my throat. The sensation was beyond description, a profound and silent miracle unfolding beneath my hands. This was a first for me, an incredible threshold into a world I'd only ever heard about. I shifted my palms gently, hoping to capture every ripple and stir. And as if our child understood, more movements came, and a series of gentle rolls and nudges that played against my touch. Each one was a tiny message, a promise that our story was expanding, that a new chapter for our family was being written right here. 

A profound happiness settled in my chest. I was already desperate to meet the little one who was causing my wife so much discomfort. Other fathers had tried to explain this bond, but no story could have prepared me for the reality of feeling it myself. When she turned to face me, a fragile smile graced her lips, but the anxiety still clouded her eyes. 

I cradled her face in my hands, and I felt a slight easing of the tension in her jaw. In that moment, the intensity of my own feelings struck me with near-overwhelming force. There was no room for doubt. I was utterly, completely in love with this woman, and I made a silent vow to never let a day pass without reminding her. I could guess the worries circling in her mind, but right then, I wanted to command her entire focus. 

I needed her to think only of us. "You are so beautiful," I whispered, my thumb stroking her cheek. "Even more now, to me." I sought her gaze, willing her to believe the truth in my words. "This changes nothing. My love for you is forever."

Hearing those words must have pleased her because she suddenly closed the distance and kissed me. The swell of her belly was a sweet, tangible reminder of why we had to be careful, but it was no barrier to the hunger of our lips. She had me utterly captivated when her fingers swept through my hair, pushing the strands from my forehead so her gaze could lock with mine. My eyes, I knew, were already laying my soul bare for her.

She had always possessed an uncanny ability to disarm me. Since the pregnancy, our sexual intimacy had become a complex dance of caution and longing. It had been a long while for both of us, and I was resolved to wait with infinite patience. But my wife, as always, could sense the desperate ache for her thrumming beneath my skin.

Her hand slipped inside my pants, her touch a shock that softened into a gentle squeeze. My mind went blank, a smoldering rush flooded my senses. I was drowning, consumed by the need to feel every inch of her beneath my hands. Yet in these months of careful restraint, when her body demanded rest, she had become the architect of our pleasure.

From the stillness of her bed she ruled with quiet authority, turning limitation into intimacy. I was merely a follower, surrendering without question, yielding completely to her wishes. When her warm fingers wrapped around my length, the world dissolved into a blur. I was lost in the taste of her, in the deep, searching rhythm of our kiss.