There's nothing he loves more than when MacKenzie is pregnant, the way her skin glows and her curves, always gorgeous, soften and her belly grows. She frowns and hates it, hates feeling awkward and hates that she can't fit in her regular clothes and has to concede to maternity wear; no matter how many designer Pea in the Pod dresses he buys her, she still bitches about it. He sneaks into the shower with her, big hands gliding over her curves, and the sounds she makes are the best part of all.
He slicks his hands up with soap and cups her breasts, teasing her nipples and grinning against the curve of her neck and shoulder when she turns her head and bites her lip to ward off a little moan. He kisses her there against soft, pale skin and lets his hand travel further over her belly and below, long fingers parting her and spreading her so he can get better access. He works one finger in and crooks it a little, liking the choked-off moan she makes, and he kisses her shoulder again as he starts rolling his thumb over her clit. When he feels her getting slick against his finger and her breath comes in short, sharp pants, he works in another finger and pumps them, rewarded when she cries out and tightens around his fingers; he scrapes his teeth against her neck hard enough to leave a little mark.
Mine, he thinks, a not-so-crazy thought in the steamy confines of his shower. He loves her.
He never stopped.