Page 55 of Marrying the Pakhan

I stand near the foot of the bed while he moves toward me. There’s no hurry in the way he reaches for the hem of my shirt. He lifts it slowly, waiting for me to raise my arms, then draws it up and over my head. The air feels cooler against my skin. He sets the shirt aside instead of letting it fall. Then his hands go to the clasp of my bra.

“Turn around,” he says softly.

I do. His fingers work the clasp open with care, and he slides the straps down my arms. When the bra is gone, he rests both palms on my bare shoulders for a moment, just holding them there. I feel the warmth of his hands and the slight roughness of his palms. He turns me back to face him.

His eyes move over me without rushing. They pause on my breasts, which have grown fuller these past weeks, then lower to the small curve of my stomach that is only just beginning to show. I feel a flicker of self-consciousness and almost cross my arms.

He notices. “Don’t,” he says. “I want to look.”

“It still feels strange,” I admit. “Like my body belongs to someone else half the time.”

“It belongs to you. And to the baby. And to me, in the ways you’ll let me have it.” He steps closer. His hands settle at my waist, thumbs brushing the soft skin just above the waistband of my leggings. “I like every change so far. I like knowing I get to watch the rest of them happen.”

He eases the leggings down my hips along with my underwear. I step out of them. Now I’m completely bare, and he’s still dressed. He does not seem in any rush to change that. He walks me the last few steps to the bed and guides me to sit on the edge. Then he kneels in front of me, so we’re closer to eye level.

His hands rest on my thighs. He looks up at my face first, then lets his gaze travel down again, slower this time. “You’re warmer,” he says, almost to himself. “Your skin. I noticed it last week too.”

“Is that a pregnancy thing?”

“I think so.” He leans in and presses a kiss just below my collarbone. “I like it.”

He stays kneeling and begins to touch me with the same unhurried attention. One hand slides up my side. The other cups the underside of my breast, testing its new weight. His thumb brushes over my nipple, and I draw a quiet breath. Everything feels more sensitive than it used to. He notices that, too, and keeps the touch light.

“Tell me if anything feels like too much,” he says.

“It’s not too much. It’s just… more.”

He nods and continues. His mouth follows the path his hands have taken, kissing along the upper curve of my breast, then lower, taking his time.

When he draws my nipple into his mouth, the sensation is sharper than I expect. A soft sound leaves me. He makes a low answering sound in his throat and stays there, unhurried, learning the new responses of my body.

After a while he eases me further back onto the bed, so I am lying down. He stretches out beside me, still mostly dressed, and continues the slow mapping with his hands and mouth.

He spends long minutes on my breasts, then moves lower. When his palm settles over the small curve of my stomach, he goes still for a moment.

“Hi,” he says quietly, speaking more to the baby than to me. The absurdity of it makes me smile even as my throat tightens.

“You’re talking to it already.”

“I’ve been talking to it in my head since we found out.” His hand stays warm and steady over the slight swell. “Feels different doing it out loud.”

He leans down and presses a slow kiss to the same place his hand had been. Then another. The tenderness of it is almost harder to take than anything more urgent would have been. I slide my fingers into his hair and hold on while he stays there, breathing against my skin, as if he has nowhere else he needs to be.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are darker. He looks at me for a long second.

“I could do this for hours,” he says. “Just this. Learning how you feel now.”

“I want you to.” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “I want you to take as long as you need.”

He nods once, then returns to the slow exploration of my body, hands and mouth moving with the same patient focus, drawing out every moment instead of pushing toward anything else.

He undresses without ceremony and returns to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he settles over me, careful with how he places his knees and elbows. I feel the heat of his bare skin against mine for the first time tonight. He does not rush to enter me. Instead, he stays braced above me, one hand sliding down between us so he can feel how ready I already am.

“Still okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He guides himself to me and pushes in slowly. The stretch is familiar and different at the same time. My body accepts him in a long, continuous slide until he is fully seated. He stays there, deep and still, forehead resting lightly against mine. I can feel the steady beat of his heart through his chest.