His free hand moved to her blouse.
Found the buttons at the chest.
One. Two. Three.
Not careful. Just efficient, the buttons coming open in sequence until the fabric fell apart and her breasts were loose inside the loosened blouse, swinging forward and back with every thrust, the full, warm, heavier weight of them moving in the close air of the back seat, swollen and sensitive from the pregnancy.
His hand closed over the right one.
Kneaded.
The flesh yielded between his fingers with a specific soft resistance that was different from before — fuller, heavier, the body changing around the pregnancy in ways that had started quietly and were no longer quiet, milk-heavy and tender.
Her nipple hardened against his palm immediately, stiff and aching.
"HIIEEK~!! OUNGH~!! Don't—that's—'sensitive'—AAHHH~!!"
PAH! PAH! PAAAH!
"NGH~!! AAANGHH~!! HIIEEK~!!"
He leaned down over her arched spine.
His lips found the curve of her neck.
She felt his mouth open against her skin.
