The three months following the "renegotiation" had had become a nightly ritual of intimacy that had shifted from a medical necessity to a desperate, physical craving between Kiara and Vince.
It was a rainy Tuesday evening. Kiara was sprawled across the plush sofa in the master suite, her bump finally prominent and round. Vince was behind her, his large hands massaging her lower back.
"Better?" he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.
"Mmm. A little higher," Kiara groaned. "He’s heavy today, Vince. I feel like I’m carrying a bowling ball made of lead."
Vince shifted, pulling her back against his chest. He turned her face toward his, his eyes dark with that familiar, possessive glow. "You’re doing a perfect job. Only a few days left."
"I hope so. I want my ankles back."
Vince leane
