Smut, Spice and everything nice

You're so fucking perfect, Tara

Karan.

It had been two long, agonizing months since Tara gave birth to our beautiful daughter. Those weeks were filled with the kind of joy that made your heart feel like it could burst, a wonder that brought tears to your eyes with every coo and tiny smile, and sleepless nights that somehow felt worth it every single time you held that tiny life in your arms. But there was something else too—something that had been growing inside me like a wildfire, burning hotter and more intense with each passing day. It was the longing for my wife, the woman who had given me everything and then some. Tara was the love of my life, my everything, and seeing her as a mother only deepened that love, only stoked that fire.

Tonight, we finally had a moment to ourselves. Our daughter was sound asleep, and the house was quiet, a rarity these days. I intended to make every second of this time count. Tara was lying on our bed, her hair fanned out around her like a dark halo. The soft, golden glow of the bedside lamp bathed her in a warm light, accentuating every curve, every feature that I loved so dearly. Even now, after all she had been through, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her body had changed, yes—her hips a little wider, her breasts fuller, her belly softer—but those changes only made her more captivating to me. They were the marks of the incredible journey she had been on, and I cherished every single one of them.

But I could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way she tugged at the hem of her nightgown, trying to hide the curves that I found so irresistible. My heart ached with the need to show her how wrong she was, how perfect she was to me. I climbed onto the bed beside her, my movements slow, deliberate, savoring the moment. I leaned in and kissed her softly, a tender brush of lips that conveyed everything I felt. "You're so beautiful, Tara," I whispered against her lips, my hands gently tracing the outline of her body through the fabric of her nightgown. "Every part of you is perfect."

Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, and a small, shy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I don't feel perfect," she murmured, her voice tinged with self-consciousness.

My heart clenched at her words. How could she not see what I saw? How could she not know how absolutely perfect she was to me? I kissed her again, more deeply this time, pouring every ounce of my desire, my love, my obsession into it. My hands moved to cup her breasts through the thin fabric, feeling their fullness, their softness. "You are," I insisted, my voice husky with need, with a passion that was threatening to consume me. "And I'm going to show you just how much I mean that."

I took my time, savoring the moment, as I slowly undid the buttons of her nightgown, exposing her skin inch by tantalizing inch. The sight of her full, heavy breasts, still swollen with milk, sent a surge of desire through me that made my hands tremble. I leaned down, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to her collarbone before I moved lower, my mouth finding the sweet peak of one of her nipples. I took it into my mouth, sucking gently, tasting her for the first time since she had become a mother. The taste of her milk was sweet, and I groaned with pleasure as I drank from her, my hands caressing her sides, memorizing every curve, every dip, every inch of skin.

She gasped, her hands tangling in my hair as I lavished attention on her breast, my tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in a way that I knew drove her wild. "Karan," she moaned, her body arching towards me, offering herself up to me. "That feels so good."

I released her nipple with a soft, wet pop, moving to give the same attention to her other breast. "You're incredible, Tara," I whispered between kisses, my voice thick with emotion. "You've given me the greatest gift, and now I'm going to worship you like the goddess you are."

Her breath hitched at my words, and I could feel the tension in her body, the way she hesitated. But I wasn't going to let her doubt herself, doubt us, for even a second longer. "You're beautiful," I repeated, my lips trailing down over her soft, round belly, the belly that had carried our child. "Every part of you is a miracle."