“Fine.” She slinks out of my arms and off the bed, gloriously naked, her sex tousled hair is sticking out in every direction. I’m beginning to have regrets about turning her down as she makes her way to the bathroom.

“Fuck, my wife is hot.” I’m practically drooling as I ogle the sensual sway of her hips.

She glances down at her tummy and frowns. “Your wife looks like she has a beer gut.”

“Hottest little beer belly I ever did see.” I give my brows a waggle to emphasize the compliment.

Sure would be nice to know the gender of said belly. Stubborn little shit kept its legs closed all through the anatomy scan yesterday. At this rate it’ll be baby bean until it pops out. Hell, we’ll be so used to addressing it as such, might even make the birth certificate.

She gives her eyes an exaggerated roll. “Beer guts are not sexy,” she says, before shutting herself away in the bathroom.

“Maybe not,” I agree, getting up and stalking to the door to yell through it. “But your hot little body incubating our child is about the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

The door cracks open just enough for her head to fit through. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” she says, kissing the tip of my nose. “Now go get ready so we can get our Halloween on.” She gives me a flirty little wink before shutting the door in my face.

This girl has no clue what she does to me.

For some reason, the rounder she gets the more obsessed with her body I become. And it’s not just some kinky pregnancy fetish—although I do fantasize about doing very kinky things to this woman. It’s an obsession specific to her. I’ve been around pregnant chicks in the past. Hot ones, too. They’ve never tempted me in the least. But Li’l Bit growing our child just does something to me at a primal level.

I dress in a pair of worn denim and the tee I purchased to compliment hers. It’s white, with Darth Vader’s face and the words “I am the father” screen-printed in black. More than this Halloween party, more than trick or treat with my favorite kiddos—what I’m looking forward to most is seeing our picture blasted across headlines in the morning.

“You sure about this?” Sammi asks, coming out of the bathroom in her Yoda shirt that says “Pregnant, I am.”

“One hundred percent.” I wave her over to where I’ve just assembled the tripod for our first photo op of the night. “Nothing like using statement tees to…well, make a statement.”

“Have I told you lately that I love you?” She gazes up at me, her vibrant blue eyes sparkling with mirth.