"I feel like a beached whale."

I frown and shake my head even though I know she can't see me. For the last week or so, Monica's been feeling terribly self-conscious of her body, almost as if she's convinced that something has changed drastically recently. She doesn't seem to realize that she's completely gorgeous right now.

I poke my head into the living room. "For what it's worth, you look nothing like a whale, beached or otherwise."

She looks at me in complete disbelief, and I just sigh and disappear into the kitchen. I don't know what I can do to convince her that she's still incredible.

See, my wife is completely amazing; she's beautiful, she's funny, she's talented, she's smart, she's an amazing mother, and sometimes she's incredibly goofy and silly and a little crazy. But there's something about Monica that most people don't know; she's ridiculously insecure.

You'd never know it just by looking at her—she's always so poised and put together, and she has this wonderful ability make it look as if she thinks she's the queen of the world, but really, most of the time, she's completely bogged down by self-doubt.

I'm sure a lot of it is left-over from when she was overweight as a child, but she's had issues with her self-worth for as long as I've known her, though it was years before I was privy to that information. Not until we were neighbors did I really start to get an idea of just how insecure she can be.

I'd help her get ready for a date, watching her go through almost her entire wardrobe until she found an outfit she felt comfortable in, meticulously applying and reapplying makeup, wondering anxiously if this guy would like her. It wasn't until around the time we started dating that I began to get an idea of just how much her childhood affected her. All things considered, she's surprisingly well-adjusted, but that doesn't mean these things don't still crop up.

Early on in our relationship, I had a tendency to just stare at her in wonder, taking in as much of her as I possibly could just in case we went up in flames. Actually, I still stare at her, mostly because I have a tough time believing that she's mine, but I don't think that will ever change. But back then, when she caught me staring, she'd pull a blanket over herself, or find an excuse to leave the room, something to change my focus. During sex, she was and still is gloriously unabashed, something about the act making her completely unconcerned with anything other than how to get Tab A into Slot B.

It's always been interesting to me that the people who should have all the self-confidence in the world wind up being the ones with the most issues. It's not as if her extreme OCD came from nowhere.

But we wound up talking about a lot of this stuff during our first few months together, about how she's always been so self-conscious about her body; when she was overweight and the butt of jokes and insults, and when she got healthy and became the object of desire and lust. I know that she gradually got used to the attention and she's told me that being with me has made her much more comfortable in her own skin. But for all the concerns she had before we got married about me dumping her if she gained weight or her body changed when she got pregnant, she's been much more concerned about it than I have. Personally, I think she looks great. She's the most adorable pregnant woman ever, and for the most part just looks like she's hiding a basketball under her shirt. It's really very cute, especially when I picture our baby all curled up inside of her, just along for the ride.

But, again, I'm guessing she's seeing something that I'm not, whether it's real or imagined.

I don't know; maybe it's because we haven't had sex in a while, though it's not for lack of interest on my part. Lately, she's just been brushing me off, saying she's tired or sore or a combination of the two, and I'm okay with that. Her body is doing a hell of a lot more work right now than it ever has before; she's still on her feet for eight hours a day working, she runs after two one-year-olds at home. If anyone has a right to be sore and tired, it's Monica, which is why I haven't pushed the issue. I certainly don't want her to feel like she has to have sex.

With another sigh, I finish wiping off the counters and turn on the dishwasher and join Monica in the living room, sitting down next to her on the couch. I put a hand on her stomach and lean over for a kiss, and I could swear it's only reluctantly she lets me kiss her. I feel the baby shift under my hand and grin—this kid has gotten so active lately, constantly twisting and turning, stretching and poking, and I'll be damned if it doesn't constantly have the hiccups. Watching Monica's stomach bounce up and down as our child hiccups inside of her is the funniest, most fascinating thing I've ever seen.

I look down at the floor and see the twins playing, occasionally with each other, sometimes on their own. Jack is methodically putting his colored rings in order on their stand, taking great care before picking each size, trying to make sure he's going in the right order. Erica's casually stacking blocks, only managing to get them two-or three-high before she smacks at them, laughing gleefully as they tumble down. Jack shoots her dirty looks when one of the blocks enters his personal space but makes no comment. Far too quickly, Erica gets bored with building and crawls over to her brother, sitting almost directly on his rings.

"Ehh boh!" he yells, smacking his hand on the ground, which I think roughly translates to "Erica no."

Not surprisingly, she just giggles and picks up one of the rings, shoving it into her mouth.

Jack looks over at us, his face turning pink with irritation, expecting one of us to swoop in and save the day. Monica just shakes her head, looking amused. "You've got this, buddy. Ask for it back."

He turns back to his sister and holds out a hand, fingers spread wide. "Eeeee." Erica shuffles a little closer to him and sits down, her posture and position mirroring his exactly; it's when they do something like this—sit toe-to-toe and look at each other—than we can tell beyond a shadow of a doubt that they're twins. Aside from the same dark eyes, they're looking less and less like each other now, until we see their profiles; then, it's almost like seeing a reflection. Erica holds out the ring for her brother and he grabs at it, tossing it away suddenly and laughing. He hauls himself onto his knees and crawls away at warp speed, Erica close on his heels.

Their laughter fills the room and I can't help but laugh along with them—they do a great job of keeping themselves entertained, and by extension, Monica and I are entertained, sometimes for hours.

"Hey—you think they'll play with the new baby like this?" I ask suddenly.

"I sure hope so. The tricky part will be teaching them that they need to be gentle with it."

"I don't think that'll thrill Erica much."

"I get the feeling that Jack will be the one who gets frustrated with it, actually. I don't think he'll really be able to understand why the baby isn't at his level and get irritated. I think Erica will be the one to take the time to show the baby things and, in her own way, explain the world. I'm sure it'll rub off on Jack eventually, but I think this is going to be an interesting focus for her energy."

Huh. I've never thought of it that way, though I suppose it's entirely possible.

We watch them zoom around the room for a while longer, tumbling occasionally, sometimes bumping into each other, though neither seem bothered by it.

"Maybe they'll tire themselves out earlier than usual," I suggest, moving my hand from her belly down to trace gentle lines on her thigh. "And we could put them down for a nap soon."

"Yeah. Maybe," she answers noncommittally, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable.

"And maybe we could go upstairs and…take a little nap of our own."

She shifts away from me a little, but it's enough to feel like I've been slapped. "You don't have to have sex with me, you know."

"I know I don't have to, but I definitely want to."

"I don't need a pity screw."

My eyes grow wide, surprised she would even think that. "Whoa, Monica—where did that come from?"

"Look—I know that I look considerably less than appealing right now. I'm bloated and puffy and swollen and—"

I cut her off before she can go any farther. "You're completely beautiful. I don't know where you've gotten the idea that I don't want you or that you're some sort of obligation, but I can assure you that I want to be with you. Desperately."

"You can't possibly want to be with someone who looks like this."

"Want to bet? I always want you, babe. Always. If you're not up for sex or you're too tired or whatever, that's fine. I can understand that. But please don't think that I don't want you because that is definitely not the case."

She pouts a little, looking eerily similar to the twins. "But you don't…I'm not…"

"You're sexy," I reassure her. "You're always sexy. You always have been, and you always will be. I can promise you that there's no pity on my end, though if you'd take pity on me and put me out of my misery, I'd be more than thrilled. And again, though, if you're not in the mood, that is completely fine. I'm here for you, no matter what you need."

She sighs, watching the twins settle back onto the floor, passing toys back and forth to each other now. "I want to feel beautiful."

I almost laugh, catching myself just in time. "I think I can arrange that."

"But I'm so big—"

"Monica, I can promise you that you're really not that big. I am happy to take you upstairs and worship you until we collapse from exhaustion if that's what it'll take to make you feel beautiful. I'll wait on you hand and foot, I'll rub your back, whatever it takes…I'll do it."

She looks at me for a while, considering. I know that her hormones are doing wild, crazy things to her right now—and not all of them positive—but I hope that she can see that I'm sincere, that all I want is to make her happy.

"It's safe for us to have sex while I'm this pregnant, right?"

Fortunately, I've been doing a lot of research on this topic. "As long as you're comfortable and our doctor hasn't said otherwise, it's completely safe. Plus, there are a lot of positions we could use that would be comfortable for you…"

Her finger traces patterns on the back of my hand, and I take that as a good sign. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

I glance over at Jack and Erica and see that they're still occupied with each other, still trading things back and forth; since they're relatively still, they're probably getting to the point of sleepy. "Well, there's spooning, which is supposed to be super comfortable while you're pregnant. We could do it on a chair, or doggy is supposed to be pretty good because it takes the pressure off your belly. You could be on top, either in the regular position or reverse cowgirl. I saw something about putting you on a table or counter at the right level, or you can brace your hands against a wall while we stand up…"

Her eyebrows reach for her hairline, and she looks impressed. "You've been doing your homework."

"I like to be prepared."

She looks at me quietly for a few long moments before pulling herself into a standing position. "I think they're tired. Don't you think they're tired?"

I spring into action. "On it." I hop over to the kids, picking up Jack first and handing him to Monica. He smiles and pats her face gently.

"Mama." His little voice calling Monica "mama" is seriously one of the best things ever. Erica has yet to expand her repertoire much beyond "uh-oh," though she has started saying, "NO" when the mood suits her. Monica and I refuse to acknowledge that one as her first word. She hears it all the time and therefore repeats it; we just do our best not to react to it, hoping it'll calm down. We're both kind of hoping her first real word will be "dada," though since she hears Jack saying "mama" all the time, she might pick up on that one first. For now, she seems content with being able to point at things and have people trip all over themselves to fulfill her every desire.

Erica's already reaching for me, her little arms stretched out. I pull her against my chest and she cuddles into me, grabbing my t-shirt and pulling it into her mouth. With as little fanfare as possible, we bring them up to their room, stripping them down to just their onsies and checking their diapers before settling them into their cribs. Jack settles down immediately, his eyes closing right away, always ready for a nap. Erica looks a little offended that we're hustling her off to bed and pulls herself into a sitting position. Fortunately, all she does is start talking to herself softly—she'll probably drift off in a few minutes—so I grab Monica's hand and pull her into our bedroom.

I don't give her a chance to second guess herself before I wrap my arms around her and press my lips to hers. She sighs in frustration a few moments later, pulling away from me. "It's all awkward," she says, gesturing to her belly.

"It's a challenge," I correct, changing my angle a bit. "I like a challenge." I kiss her once more, the baby not pressed between us as much now. Carefully, I maneuver her over to the bed and help her sit down; I angle my body in the opposite direction so that I can still wrap my arms around her and kiss her, but so that our torsos are facing away from each other. She moans into my mouth suddenly, deepening the kiss, and I feel excitement course through my veins. I pull her closer, kissing her more, moving down her neck and up her throat, doing everything in my power to make her feel loved and relaxed.

I give a gentle tug at the hem of her shirt, silently asking for permission, hoping I'm not moving too fast. She hesitates for a moment before nodding, and we break our kiss.

Slowly, I slide my hands under her shirt and up her belly, marveling at how taut but yielding her flesh is right now. Her shirt rides up, bunching beneath her breasts and I struggle to keep my motions slow and gentle.

Interestingly enough, despite how self-conscious she suddenly is around me, she's been steering clear of maternity shirts for the most part, instead opting to wear mostly form-fitting tops, proudly displaying the bump. Not that it offends me in the slightest; I thoroughly enjoy being able to see her rounded stomach at any chance I can get.

Her hands reach out and stroke my sides, her touch soft and fluttery. A shiver runs down my spine and I kiss her again, a little more urgently now. Her touch has always had the ability to drive me crazy.

I slide my hands gently down her back, feeling her muscles relax a bit as her body eases into mine, and she sighs against me. I pull back again for a moment, ripping my shirt off over my head, tossing it over my shoulder before reattaching my lips to hers

"I love you," she whispers suddenly, her breathing already heavy.

I cup her face in my hands, looking her in the eye. "I love you, too. Never doubt that."

She smiles at me shakily and grabs the bottom of her shirt and pulls it off, dropping it onto the floor. I readjust my position, kneeling next to her, bending over to run my lips over her stomach. She leans back, her hands bracing behind her on the bed, and I see her eyes drift shut. I run a gentle finger over her bellybutton, now mostly popped out, and watch her shudder a little. I feel the baby move under my lips and can't help but laugh a little.

"You think he knows what's going on out here?"

"God, I hope not," she answers with a laugh of her own. "But maybe all the rocking that's about to happen will put her to sleep."

I kiss her belly for a few more minutes before tentatively moving north. I kiss up her arms and to her shoulders, not want to push her too far too fast, and slide my hands around her back once more, my fingers finding the clasp of her bra. "This okay?" I ask softly, my lips pressed against her clavicle. I feel her nod against me and I unhook the garment; I wait for her to make the next move, willing to take as long as she needs to be comfortable with it.

She shifts her shoulders and the bra slides down, and I take that as my cue; I slide it gently down the rest of her arms, paying no attention to where it goes as I start kissing my way across her chest. I want so badly to stare at her, to take her all in, but that will probably make her feel even more self-conscious right now.

"Oh, Goooooood," she moans suddenly and my body instantly goes on alert, my Pavlovian response to her noises fully activated. Unable to control myself, my lips move down her breasts, pleased that there's more territory to cover.

I must make a happy noise because I feel her hand in my hair as she chuckles. "I know—they're huge now."

"They're so beautiful," I mumble, working my way around them, trying to steer clear of what are probably extra-sensitive nipples. Her heart starts thumping in her chest; I can feel it pounding beneath my cheek. "You are so beautiful."

She arches her back a little, pushing herself toward me and I peek up at her. "You sure?"

She nods slowly. "In a couple of months, they're going to belong almost exclusively to someone else—I want you to get some time in now."

Happily, I oblige, and aside from a squeak at first, Monica's only making contented humming sounds.

I've basically been obsessed with Monica's breasts since…well, years now. Even before I was allowed access to them I found them to be wildly fascinating, though in all honesty, my fascination wasn't limited to her. But for years now, not only has she granted me access to her chest, she's encouraged it. And when you have a woman who loves to have her breasts played with and someone who is definitely a breast man…well, it just works.

"Hey," I breathe in between nips and licks. "Do you think I'll get to keep these after the baby is done with 'em?"

"You mean will they stay this big?" She moans a little as I finally, carefully, pull a nipple into my mouth. "Maybe. Probably not, but they could."

Her voice is starting to turn hazy as I'm overcome with bliss; I love doing this with her. The teasing, the foreplay, the actual act, holding her after…every single part of it always goes beyond my wildest dreams. I stand up and unzip my jeans, wincing as the zipper drags painfully over my erection in my haste. Monica does her best to hide an amused snort, but I just shake my head and carry on.

One of the best parts of sex after being together this long is that we're not that worried with trying to impress each other, at least not in the way we used to be. There's no embarrassment when one of us makes a weird sound or trips over their underwear, there's not a constant concern with looking sexy for each other while naked…we know each other. We have fun together. We can laugh at each other and ourselves when something ridiculous happens and just keep going, the humor adding to the magic that is married sex. It's amazing to love someone so completely that the things that used to matter, the things you thought would always matter when you're single, just don't anymore, and the only important thing is just being together. We're coming up on seven years together, and sex is still better with Monica than it ever was with anyone else.

I lean over Monica, taking her face in my hands and kissing her to the best of my abilities. She smiles against my lips and I can feel her coming back to me. I graze my hands down her sides, fingering the edge of her maternity pants, and I feel her freeze again for a few moments. I wait and just keep kissing her.

"Help me stand," she finally mumbles, and I take her hands in mine, pulling her to her feet. Her hands slide up and down me a few times, gently tugging at me, and I whimper and close my eyes, trying to concentrate on anything but the things her hands do to me. I toy with the edge of her pants again.

"You ready?" She nods and slides the pants down her legs, bringing what she considers to be embarrassing maternity underwear with them. She braces herself on my shoulder as she lifts first one leg then the other to step out of her pants. I slide my hands up her legs slowly as I stand, moving gently across her ass then back to her stomach, caressing her gently. "How do you want to do this?" I whisper, bringing my lips to her neck.

"I'll be on top," she answers softly, and I'm not surprised. Monica needs control right now, and that position will certainly provide her with that.

I take Monica's hand and help her onto the bed, crawling on after her, arranging the pillows so that I'm reclined against the headboard. She bites her lip anxiously and I take a few moments to really look at her, hoping it's not too much. She does look a lot different, but in a very good way. Her hips are wider now, getting ready for giving birth in a couple of months. Her breasts are definitely larger, wonderfully larger, and the swell of her stomach is almost enough to do me in completely.

"I don't want to hurt you," she finally whispers, and I reach out to stroke her knee.

"You won't," I promise.

Slowly, very slowly, she moves across my thighs, sitting just behind my erection, close enough so that I can feel the heat coming out of her. I feel my heart pounding; she's so close and so far away.

She inches herself closer until I can feel her against me, rubbing herself languidly up and down my shaft, her hands braced against my knees. All I can do is groan and try not to thrust my hips. She pushes against me a little harder and I almost choke—I want her so badly I think I might explode.

She lifts herself up on her knees a bit, giving me an irritated look when she can't manage to get herself high enough to slide onto me.

I tickle her thighs and shift my hips a bit. "It's pretty flexible, if you recall."

She takes me in hand again, and I clutch at the soft flesh of her thighs to keep myself in check, groaning as I watch myself disappear inside of her. She moans loudly, sounding incredibly relieved.

"Oh, God, I needed this so badly," she moans, swiveling her hips against me gently.

"Does this feel okay?" I ask, my voice tight, my breathing labored.

"This feels so great," she answers, bracing her hands on my thighs, lifting her hips off me for just a moment before sliding back down.

"Tell me if you need anything."

"Touch me," she answers immediately. "Everywhere. All over."

I slide my hands across her belly to her hips, helping guide her motions for a few minutes, utterly fascinated with the way her body moves on top of me. I move one hand up to her breasts and squeeze a little; her mouth drops open as she moans out a long, "Ohhhhhhhh."

I move my hand from her hip to her pelvis, my fingers instantly finding her sweet spot, her hips bucking against me erratically for a few moments.

"Oh, God yes, baby. Ohhhhh."

My mostly prone position only allows for a limited amount of movement on my part, but watching her on top of me like this makes it very difficult for me to control myself. I hate that she forgets just how beautiful she is, but I love that I get to be the one to remind her.

Her fingers dig into my thighs as she pumps up and down, her inner muscles clench at me, her thighs squeeze me.

I move my hands back to her hips, holding on to her, pushing my hips into her gently. Already, I feel my muscles start to clench, and I take several deep breaths. I know I'm the sure thing right now; it's my wife who may need a bit more coaxing. I'd hate to have talked her into this, convinced her that I could make her feel beautiful, only to lose control so quickly.

"You feel so unbelievable," I grunt out.

"Oh, Gooooooood, so do you." She moves a little faster, and I, naturally, find myself fascinated by her bouncing breasts, the look of intense pleasure and concentration on her face doesn't hurt.

"You still good?"

She laughs a little, the vibration of it coursing through me. "Oh, yeah. I'm good." She stops for a moment, panting, swiping her hair out of her face, smiling down at me. "Next time I get stupid, remind me of how much fun this is."

"Will do," I answer through clenched teeth. I can feel the sweat dripping down the side of my face as I struggle for control. "I'm sorry to sound less than romantic, but I feel like I could pop at any second."

She grins at me and grinds her hips down on me, rotating them rapidly. "Hey," she pants. "Remember how horny I was for the first couple of trimesters?"

"How could I forget?" I answer, sliding my hands up her back, running my fingers up her spine.

"Well, I don't think that ever went away." Her eyes slam shut as she pushes against me rapidly, her hips hardly leaving mine; she does more grinding, which is probably easier on her right now. Doesn't matter to me; it all feels fantastic.

My hips move frantically against her; I can feel her body tensing. I dig my fingers into her, my body straining for just a little more control. I feel her thighs squeeze against me a little harder. Her hands find mine, linking our fingers together, our knuckles turning white.

"Ohhhh, ohhhhh, gah…I'm…Chan…please..YESYESYESYES." Her head falls back, her moans echoing off the ceiling, her entire body vibrating as she moves on top of me, her orgasm rippling through her. I grip her hands tighter, bringing our joined fingers to her hips as my arms tense, my hips thrusting out of control, undignified grunts and groans escaping my lips, my release feeling out of this world.

She keeps rocking against me, her body flushed and sweaty, riding out as many waves as possible before our bodies give out on us. She lets out one final, loud, "ahhhhhhhhhhh!" before her body goes boneless. I grab onto her, keeping her upright for a few moments as we carefully shift around until she's lying on her side and I'm curled up behind her, my arms wrapped around her.

"That was so goooooood," I moan, kissing her shoulder.

Her hands squeeze mine. "Thank you."

"How do you feel now?" I whisper into her ear.

"Beautiful. So, so beautiful. Really damn satisfied. And tired."

I kiss her neck before moving back to her shoulders. "Sleep for a little while." I stroke her stomach for a moment. "Is this one actually sleeping?"

She's silent for a moment, contemplating, waiting. "I think so. If not, it's really close to it."

"All that rocking really make it go to sleep?"

She shrugs, cuddling further into me. "Walking around all day makes it go to sleep; why wouldn't sex?" We're quiet for a few moments, our fingers playing together. "Jack and Erica are asleep, aren't they?"

I listen to the monitor; all I hear is crackling. "Sounds that way."

"Good." She yawns, pillowing her head on my arm. "Me, too."

I kiss the back of her head. "Okay. I've got this." I feel her relax against me and I sigh. A moment later, I hear noise from the monitor. I groan; my body is sore. I look at the clock and realize over an hour has passed. "What the hell?" I mumble. I guess I passed out.

Monica mumbles something and I kiss her cheek. "Don't move. I'll go check." Carefully, I disentangle myself from my wife, shaking my head as I try to stand up. I look around for my boxers; all I can find is Monica's bra. "That won't work." I finally spot my pajama pants on the floor under a heap of blankets and yank them on.

I walk down the hall, scrubbing my face sleepily—I didn't realize I was that exhausted. I walk into the nursery and see Erica standing up in her crib, grinning at me. I smile back and look in on Jack, whose face is pressed into the side of the mattress, his mouth hanging open as drool oozes from him. I stroke his head for a moment before turning to my daughter, still grinning at me widely.

"What's up, little butt?" I ask and she stretches her arms out to me.

"Dada."

I gasp, freezing just as I reach for her. "What did you say, Erica?"

She stretches out to me some more, reaching over the edge of her crib. "Dada!"

I pick her up, speechless for a moment. I look at the monitor and whisper frantically, "Monica, did you hear that?"

"Oh, my God!" I hear her exclaim and look up; she's standing in the doorway, tying her robe. I don't think either of realized she could still move that quickly. "Did she just say what I think she just said? Did she just ask for her Dada?" She reaches my side and runs her hand through Erica's hair.

I feel tears fill my eyes as I kiss the side of my baby's head. I can't believe how amazing it is to hear Erica say my name. It's absolutely unbelievable and I feel like I might burst from happiness.

Monica looks up at me and laughs. "It's all over for you now, buddy. If you thought she owned you before…" She slides her arm around my waist, resting her head against my arm.

I laugh in wonder, tucking my daughter under my chin. "That was amazing." Erica wriggles against me and a moment later I wrinkle my nose. "That was not amazing."

Monica muffles her laughter against my shoulder. "Definitely amazing. You're so whipped." She goes over to Jack's crib and lifts him up. "Come on, sweetie—Daddy and Erica have a date with a number two." Jack blinks sleepily, smacking his lips as Monica smirks at me and leaves the nursery.

I put Erica on the changing table and Monica pokes her head back into the room. "Congrats, Dada."

I smile up at her as Erica claps her hands. "Thanks, Mama."

Even Erica's disgusting diaper can't ruin this moment.

Mostly.