The first thing I feel is a warm hand holding mine.

"Beverly," his whisper tickles the short baby hairs on my neck and I grin as I come back into consciousness. I look up and see my husband standing over me. He smiles when he sees me open my eyes, "hi".

He looks tired, but relieved and I take that as a good sign before I ask him our question, "So?"

"So, Dr. Portland said he was successful in place the stent and that we're out of the woods."

Relied washes through me and I lazily caress circles around my stomach, "thank Heavens."

His big hand covers mine over my baby bump, "indeed," he breathes.

/

It's been a week since the procedure and my husband and I are experiencing what can only be likened to the Vulcan sensation of Pon Farr – before the actual coupling. We've been cautious ever since the baby was diagnosed. Before the surgery, Jean Luc was scared to touch me. I've had to convince him over and over again that it's OK to touch me – he won't hurt the baby. Still, though, I sense hesitancy.

But today marks 12 days since the surgery and I'm getting agitated. I don't think I've ever desired any man as much as I desire Jean Luc. We're still newly weds and our overt romantic relationship is still relatively young. Up until two weeks ago, we've made love every morning – at least twice and every evening. Hope kept reminding, with a knowing smile, that I looked tired. The truth is I'd rather make love with my husband than sleep. I crave the pleasure that he gives me. When we couple, we do so passionately. The rush that I get from his touch is overwhelming. I feel a constant desire to be with him, to taste him, to love him.

I got home from work this evening and Jean Luc was in his study grading his recent round of exams. I tried to be subtle about it. I tried romantic and underhanded and sweet, but I still sense that he wants to let me be; he doesn't want to jostle the baby. Just so that I could assure him, I talked to Dr. Portland over the comm. He guaranteed me that I can resume sexual activities without hesitation.

You could cut the sexual tension in the study with a knife. My back is to him and I am trying desperately to control myself. I try focusing on a journal article about genome sequencing in Bajoran-human hybrids, but it's no use.

Finally I can't take it anymore and I turn my chair in towards him, "Jean Luc?"

"Yes, Beverly?"

I clear my throat, "we need to have sex. Now. I mean it Jean Luc! I'm going crazy here! The Howard hormones are bad enough and on top of them I'm pregnant!"

I stand up, walking over to where he's sitting. I'm expecting a fight over this. I'm expecting a whole litany of excuses as to how he's afraid to hurt the baby. But, when I reach him all I see is a deep hunger in his eyes. He stands slowly and envelopes in his arms. I'm standing close enough to feel his arousal.

I get one last, "Beverly, are you sure it's safe?"

I give him a crooked smile, "I'm pos-" But I don't even finish my sentence as his lips descend on mine. He's forceful and aggressive for which I am grateful. After two weeks I don't need votives and rose petals; I just want him. Peripherally, I feel my back hit the bookshelf and books tumble off to the side. I break the kiss with a giggle at how much he wants me. Our separation, however, is short lived.

I feel his hands all over my body. They're moving so fast that I can't pinpoint their location until I feel them at the waistband of my pants. The fastener is quickly unhitched and as soon as their open I feel his hands on me.

"Unngh, Jean Luc!" He's insistent, though. He's starving. He wants to taste all of me, but he's not allowing me to do the same. I brace myself against the bookshelf as my climax falls over me.

He keeps going but it's too much. Every nerve ending in my body is aroused and I just want to feel him. We're playing by his rules, this evening though. Another orgasm rips through me and my knees give out. He wastes no time though in picking me up. Trying to kiss him while he's carrying me upstairs is too hard and neither of us can wait so we settle for the couch.

Before he can stop me, my hands are on him, tugging and pulling at his pants and shirt. He's down to his boxers. Good enough. I pull him closer once again, but he pushes me down and covers my body with his own. It's a strange battle for dominance, and one that I am blissfully losing. My trousers were left in the study. Now his hands make quick work of my T shirt and bra. His boxers are the last to go and at once a force stronger than gravity pulls us together. There's no more preamble and I instantly feel him enter me.

We stop for a moment and he smiles at me. He hasn't moved yet and I'm getting impatient. I thrust against him in an effort to goad him to progress. He's not paying attention. "You're beautiful," he whispers as he opens my mouth to him. I slide my hands down his body and press him into me. I want all of him.

Suddenly the urge becomes too much for him, even in spite of his finely honed control. Within mere seconds I feel a third orgasm build. I tell myself to hold off. I tell myself that this is for him. But none of it works and I'm brought screaming over the edge and he tumbles down with me.

I feel the gallop of his heart beat against my breast. I'm smiling. I'm far from sated, but for this second, I'm satisfied simply to be physically joined to my husband.

"I missed you," he whispers.