Disclaimer: This is pure fluff/sexy times…basically PWP, so if you're not into that sort of thing, this story might not be for you.

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Baker's Dozen

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I.

The day before we hear our baby's heartbeat for the first time, I find her kneading bread in the kitchen at 4 AM, her hair in a messy bun, her body covered by nothing but a long, loose-fitting t-shirt.

This was one of the things I only learned after living with her for two months: Sometimes, on nights when she couldn't sleep, Holly baked bread.

The first time I found her, I watched from the doorway until she placed the bread in the oven, then I pressed her against the counter and made her come, fast and hard. I didn't know what I was doing. I loved her so much I felt like I was coming apart.

It's been almost eight years now. Her wedding ring glints in the soft light as her fingers gently work the dough. I can just make out the curve of her slightly swollen abdomen whenever the fabric of her t-shirt brushes against her skin. Fourteen weeks tomorrow. My chest tightens slightly, an echo of that old urgency that frightened me at first.

I push away from the doorway and wrap my arms around her from behind. I press one hand low on her stomach; cup her hip firmly with the other. She gasps softly when I lean against her, my mouth pressed to her shoulder.

"You okay?" I ask, my fingers moving in slow circles over the gentle curve of her belly.

She presses back into my body, her hands momentarily stilling on the dough. "Couldn't sleep," she whispers. Her breath hitches when my fingertips dip down to the delta between her thighs, pressing gently before retreating. "Jesus."

"Mmm," I rumble. "You need your sleep. Maybe there's something I can do about that."

"You think?" she mumbles, rocking indolently in my arms, the curve of her ass pressed to my crotch.

"Make your bread, baby," I tell her.

Slowly, she begins to knead the bread again. I run my hands over her stomach and thighs, the pressure soothing rather than arousing, until I feel her relax back into my arms. Then I run my hands up her sides and cup her breasts in my palms, brushing my thumbs across her nipples.

Her breasts, already sensitive from pregnancy, swell with arousal and grow heavy in my hands. Her fingers spasm slightly around the dough, a soft whimper escaping her lips. "Gail," she gasps.

"Shh," I murmur, waiting for her to relax into my embrace before beginning to massage her breasts, subtly mimicking the motion of her own hands as they work the bread. "Feel good?"

She tilts her head back against my shoulder, letting out a long shuddering breath. "So good," she breathes. "I love you."

"Love you too," I murmur.

"Let me get this in the oven," she says, her voice low and husky. "I want to feel you everywhere."

I force myself to take a step back, even though all I want to do is hold her against me, touch her until she's trembling in my arms. But more than that I want whatever she wants.

A couple minutes later, the bread is baking and Holly is leading me back into our bedroom. She pushes me towards the bed. "Take off your clothes," she orders.

I push down my panties and step out of them, before pulling my light cotton tee up and over my head. I watch the desire ripple across her face as she takes in my body. After so many years in the police force, it's hard and lean—but I never lost the soft curves at my hips and backside.

"Lie down," she says.

I comply, sitting on the edge of the bed, before scooting back across the comforter and settling into the nest of pillows in front of the headboard. Holly slips off her panties and pulls off her shirt, and I can't help but groan at the full, ripeness of her breasts, her dusky brown nipples hard as stones. "Jesus, Hol," I whisper throatily.

Holly crosses to the bed and immediately lowers herself against my body. She eases her swollen center against my thigh, letting out a sharp hiss at the sudden pressure against her heated flesh. "Oh, god," she groans, rocking slowly against my leg. "That feels so good."

I grip her hips gently as she moves over me, letting her dictate the pressure and speed. When her thrusts become slightly erratic, her eyes slipping shut, lips parting in pleasure, I sit up abruptly and pull her close, effectively stilling her movements. She lets out a helpless whine, her hips jerking against my stomach. "I'm so close, babe," she gasps into my ear.

"I know," I soothe. "Soon. I want to feel you."

She only nods and presses her to my neck as I trail my hand between our bodies to cup her gently. She moans softly in the back of her throat, her fingers opening and closing on my shoulders. When I slip inside her, her back arches and she tilts her head back, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

I pull almost all the way out before pressing back in, simultaneously manipulating her clit with the heel of my hand. Almost immediately, I feel her muscles contract around me.

"Oh god, god," she stutters. "I'm…I'm coming."

She cries out sharply once and jerks against me, her body shuddering with the force of the release. She slumps forward and I catch her against me, feeling the subtle shift of her hips as the last shocks of pleasure vibrate through her.

She presses her face into my neck and inhales deeply. "Mm," she hums, her voice sleepy and contented. "You smell good."

I smile and press my lips to her temple, before lying back down on the bed and pulling her with me. She settles against my side with a contented sigh and immediately drapes an arm and a leg across my body. The gesture is unconsciously possessive, born from thousands of nights spent in each other's arms.

"I'm falling asleep," she announces suddenly, pressing a sleepy kiss to the edge of my jaw. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," I tell her. "Just sleep."

She relaxes against me and sighs; a moment later, she's asleep. I pull the comforter up higher around both of us and run my fingers through her long, dark hair, before finally succumbing to sleep with my wife in my arms and the smell of warming bread in the air.

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Hope you guys enjoyed this bit of purely self-indulgent PWP. I'm going to try to post a new installment every other day—every two days at the latest. I already have about six written.

Leave me a review to let me know what you think! Oh, and I have no idea where the whole baking bread thing came from. Just thought I'd give Holly a special talent that I could riff on.