I position myself over him, one hand braced on his chest for balance. The head of his c**k nudges against my entrance, and I close my eyes at the sensation.
“Look at me,” Vince commands softly.
I do, our gazes locking as I sink down onto him inch by exquisite inch. The stretch is divine, my body still sensitive from my first orgasm.
“So perfect,” he groans, his hands finding my hips. “You’re f*****g perfect, Rowan.”
Once he’s fully seated inside me, I pause to adjust to the fullness, to the awkwardness of my pregnant belly between us. But Vince’s reverent expression—like I’m a goddamn fertility goddess rather than a sweaty mess—gives me the confidence to move.
I start slowly. My palms press against his chest, feeling the thunder of his heart beneath my fingers.
“You feel so good,” I
