Chapter 5: The Hunger
The hunger came two days later, ambushing me in the middle of the afternoon.
I was standing at the vanity in our bedroom, tracing the faint curve of my lower belly, when the ache hit me like a wave. It started low in my gut, a warm pull that spread up through my cunt and into my thighs. I pressed my hand flat against my stomach, the skin smooth and taut, and tried to breathe through it. But the feeling didn't fade. It sharpened, grew teeth, and suddenly every nerve in my body felt like it was wired directly to that slick, swollen space between my legs.
I knew this need. I'd felt it before, the night I begged Nicolle for a real man. But this was different. This was feral, all-consuming, a biological demand that bypassed my brain entirely and spoke straight from my womb.
I found Nicolle in the kitchen, a cup of tea warming her hands as she scrolled through her tablet. She looked up when I walked in, and her green eyes widened at whatever she saw on my face.
"Sarah? What's wrong?"
"I need Marcus," I said, and my voice came out ragged, almost desperate. "I need him inside me. Please, Nicolle, I can't... I can't think about anything else."
She set her tea down slowly. "The hormones," she said, more to herself than to me. "They're ramping up your sensitivity. I read about this. Pregnancy makes some women insatiable."
"I don't care what it makes me," I said, and I hated how my voice cracked. "I just need him. Please."
Nicolle crossed the kitchen and took my face in her hands, her thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "Of course, baby. I'll call him right now."
She made the call from her phone, her voice calm and matter-of-fact as she arranged for Marcus to come over that evening. I stood in the doorway, my arms wrapped around myself, my nipples aching against the lace of my bra. The pregnancy hormones had made everything worse, or better, depending on how you looked at it. My breasts felt heavier, more sensitive, and the hollow ache between my legs had become a constant, throbbing presence.
Marcus arrived at eight. He filled the doorway with that lean, cocky frame of his, his jaw cutting a sharp line in the low lamplight. His eyes swept over me, lingering on the swell of my chest and the curve of my hips, and a slow grin spread across his face.
"Look at you," he said, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind him. "The doctor said you're carrying now?"
"Eight weeks," I managed, my voice thin.
"Christ." He shook his head, admiration plain in his eyes. "You're even more beautiful than I remember."
I wanted to say something clever, but the hunger was already swallowing my thoughts. Nicolle appeared behind me, her hand settling on my lower back, and she guided me toward the bedroom with a gentle pressure.
Inside, the room was exactly as I'd left it. Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, silvering the silk sheets on the bed. The lavender scent from the diffuser did nothing to calm the fire in my blood.
Marcus undressed with practiced ease, his lean body emerging from his clothes like a promise. I watched his cock spring free, already hard, that familiar length I'd taken inside me before. My mouth watered.
"Go on, darling," Nicolle whispered, her hands on my shoulders. "Show him how much you want it."
I shed my clothes with less grace than I'd have liked, my fingers fumbling with the clasp of my bra. Nicolle helped me, her touch patient and steady, and when the lace fell away, my breasts swung free, heavy and full. Marcus made a low sound in his throat.
"Get on the bed," he said, and it wasn't a request.
I climbed onto the silk sheets, my knees sinking into the mattress. The ache between my legs had become a roar. I looked at his cock, standing proud against his flat stomach, and I knew I couldn't wait another second.
"Come here," I said, reaching for him.
He let me pull him onto the bed, let me straddle his hips and take his length in my hand. The first brush of his head against my slick folds made me gasp. I guided him to my entrance, pressed just inside, and then I sank down.
The sensation was electric. My cunt closed around him like it had been waiting for this, like the pregnancy had turned every nerve ending into an exposed wire. I cried out, my hands bracing on his chest, and began to move.
Slow. I moved slow, the way the hormones demanded, so that every inch of his cock dragged against me, so that I felt every ridge and vein as he slid in and out of my swollen flesh. My clit throbbed with each stroke, a deep, demanding pulse that matched the rhythm of my hips.
Nicolle settled into an armchair by the window, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight as she watched us. She didn't speak for a long moment, just drank in the sight of me riding her hired man, my belly still flat, my breasts bouncing gently with each roll of my hips.
"You look so beautiful," she said softly, and her voice sent a thrill through me. "Carrying a life and taking a cock at the same time. You're so full, Sarah. So full of everything."
Her words broke something inside me. I threw my head back and rode him harder, faster, the slow sensual rhythm dissolving into a desperate need. Marcus groaned beneath me, his hands gripping my hips, and I could feel him swell inside me, hot and thick.
"Don't stop," I begged, the words tumbling out of me. "Please don't stop."
"I won't," he growled, and he bucked up into me, driving himself deep.
The orgasm built like a storm, gathering in my belly and my cunt and my clit all at once. I was so swollen, so sensitive, every touch a lightning strike. And when it crested, I shattered.
I cried out, a broken, animal sound, and my body clamped down around him. I felt myself gush, wet and hot, soaking his thighs and the sheets. Marcus cursed, his hips slamming into me, and then he was coming too, flooding me with heat, filling me so deep I felt it in my womb.
I collapsed onto his chest, shaking, my breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands smoothed over my back, and Nicolle's voice floated in from the armchair.
"There's my girl."
I looked up at her, tears pricking at my eyes. I was pregnant, insatiable, and so full of love and need I thought I might burst. But in that moment, supported by the man inside me and the woman watching over me, I knew exactly who I was.
I was Sarah. And this was my life now.
"Stay there," Nicolle said from the armchair, rising. "Let me get the camera. You looked so beautiful in the moonlight, I need to capture this."
I sat up slowly, Marcus's cock slipping out of me with a wet sound that made me shiver. He grinned, lazy and satisfied, and traced a finger down my stomach.
"Mind if I stick around for the show?"
I laughed, breathless. "You've had your show."
"Fair point." He stood, stretching, and I watched him dress with a strange mix of regret and relief. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before he left, and I heard the front door click shut a moment later.
Nicolle returned with a sleek digital camera, its lens gleaming in the low light. She had changed into a silk robe, deep burgundy, and her grey-streaked hair was loose around her shoulders.
"Up," she said, her voice warm but firm. "I have a surprise for you."
I followed her to the walk-in closet, my legs still shaky. She pulled open a drawer I'd never seen before and revealed a cascade of lace and silk, an entire collection of lingerie in colors that made my heart stutter. Emerald, blush pink, midnight black, deep violet. Some were barely there, scraps of fabric that would cover nothing. Others were elaborate confections of straps and mesh and embroidery.
"Where did this come from?" I breathed.
I stood there, my mouth hanging open, staring at the riot of color and fabric spilling from the drawer. My fingers twitched with the urge to touch everything at once.
"Surprise," Nicolle said, her voice warm with pleasure. "I had them custom made. Matched to your new measurements. I wanted you to feel beautiful, not just functional."
I reached out and let my fingers brush against a scrap of emerald silk that felt like liquid against my skin. "Nico, this must have cost a fortune."
"You're worth it." She squeezed my shoulder, then stepped aside. "Now, I was thinking we'd start with the violet. It'll bring out the color in your eyes. Then the blush. Then the black, for the finale."
A thrill ran through me, electric and eager. My body still hummed from Marcus, from the orgasm that had wrecked me, but this was different. This felt like a new kind of hunger. A hunger to be seen, to be admired, to be captured in all my pregnant, curvy glory.
I slipped the violet piece on, a bralette with delicate mesh panels and high-cut panties that made my hips look impossibly round. The color was deep and rich, like twilight and wine, and it pressed my breasts up and forward, making them feel even heavier than they already were.
Nicolle appraised me, her eyes sweeping down my body with obvious pride. "Turn around," she said. "Let me see the back."
I turned, presenting the view of my bare back, the lace straps of the bralette, and the swell of my buttocks framed by the tiny scrap of violet fabric. A shiver ran down my spine as I felt her gaze on me.
"Perfection," she murmured. "Now, let's start with something simple. Stand by the window, the moonlight is lovely tonight."
I moved to where she directed, the silk cool against my skin, the chill of the glass a pleasant contrast to the heat still lingering in my blood. Nicolle lifted the camera, the shutter clicking softly as she captured me.
"Good," she said. "Now, arch your back a little. Push your hips out."
I obeyed, and the pose made my breasts thrust forward, the violet mesh straining over their fullness. I heard Nicolle make a soft sound of approval.
"That's a good girl," she said. "Now, put your hand on your belly. That's right. Like you're protecting the little one."
I placed my palm flat against my stomach, still smooth, still flat, but I knew what was growing inside me. The thought made me feel powerful, made me feel womanly in a way nothing else ever had. I held the pose, and the camera clicked, and clicked again.
"Beautiful," Nicolle breathed. "Now, let's switch to the blush. That one's going to be sheerer."
The blush set was almost criminal. A plunge-front bra with no underwire, just silk that barely covered my nipples, and a pair of panties that were more string than fabric. I felt exposed when I looked in the mirror, but in the best way.
"Lie on the bed for this one," Nicolle instructed. "On your side. Let the sheets drape over your hip."
I did, and she posed me with her hands, adjusting the tilt of my chin, the bend of my knee. The camera captured me from different angles, and each click felt like permission to be the woman I'd always known I was.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," she said, and I felt heat bloom in my cheeks. "You're glowing, Sarah. Pregnancy suits you."
"It's the hormones," I said, my voice muffled against my arm.
"It's you," she corrected. "You're fully yourself now. All of you.