Made For Me

Reverence

Nicki Pov:

I stared in the mirror, my eyes settling on my belly. It had been seven months since I gave birth, and five months since I started working out. I could see traces of my old body staring back at me—but some things were here to stay. My breasts and ass were bigger, which I didn't think that was even possible. My stretch marks were light but not fading.

"You're beautiful,"  Beyoncé muttered behind me, making me close my robe quickly.

Our eyes met through the glass—those sharp hazel eyes that always saw straight through me. They burned bright, already bracing for a fight, daring me to say something self-deprecating.

"Thank you." I gave her a small smile, clutching the robe tighter like she might take her words back if she really looked.

"Don't thank me for something you've been hearing your whole life," she said, barely suppressing an eye roll. "What? You don't believe me?"

She stepped forward, resting her hand on the one I had clamped over the robe.

"I do."
And I meant it. Because to Beyoncé, everything about what my body had been through—the swollen feet, the weight gain, the mood swings, the stretch marks, the postpartum blues—was beautiful. All of it led to Nevaeh. And for that, she loved every part of the process.

I was grateful for my baby. I wouldn't trade any of it. But that didn't mean I wasn't still adjusting.

I still felt like me, but... different. A little displaced. No longer just the fine, young, lit bitch I used to be. Now I was someone's mother.

"Then let go," she whispered, tugging gently at my hand.

I hesitated. Not because I didn't want to—but because part of me still didn't know how. I wasn't used to being seen like this and not picking myself apart.

But Beyoncé waited. Patient. Still.

I finally loosened my grip, and she opened the robe for me, slow and deliberate, like she was unwrapping something sacred. The silk slipped from my shoulders and pooled at my feet.

Her eyes moved over me—not with judgment, not even with hunger. Just... reverence. Like I was something holy.

"You still don't see it," she said quietly, and before I could answer, she knelt.

She kissed my feet first.

"I love these," she murmured. "Even when they were swollen and you cursed me out for bringing the wrong socks."

I laughed softly, looking down at her. Her hands smoothed over my ankles, then my calves.

She kissed the inside of my knee. "These legs carried our baby before she even had a name."

Her hands moved up my thighs, slow, warm. She was touching me like I might break—but I never felt more whole.

She paused at my stomach, eyes rising to meet mine. "This?" She whispered, "This is where life started. You gave our daughter the safest home she'll ever know."

Tears gathered before I could stop them.

Beyoncé stood and cupped my face. "You're still her. The woman I fell in love with. You're just more now."

I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

She pressed a kiss to my lips—soft, grounding.

"So much more perfect," she added.

"You always know what to say huh?" I smiled wiping my gloss from her lips with my thumb.

"Of course. I'm your person."

I kissed her again, this time deeper. Slower. Letting myself fall into the warmth of her mouth, the certainty of her touch.

Her hands moved down my sides, fingertips grazing every curve like they were tracing a map she'd already memorized a thousand times. She didn't rush—Beyoncé never did. She wanted me to feel it all.

She kissed along my collarbone, then lower—pausing at every place I once tried to hide from the mirror. Her lips brushed the stretch marks on my hips like they were a scripture.

"Still so fine," she whispered against my skin. "Even finer."

I closed my eyes, letting her guide me backward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed. I sank down slowly, her hands still resting at my waist—patient. She followed me, laying me back with a kind of care I didn't even know I needed.

"Let me show you," she said.

And she did.

Her kisses trailed down, past my chest, my stomach. She moved like someone worshipping—not rushing, not chasing an end. Just honoring every piece of me I thought I'd lost. Her hands cradled my thighs as if they were fragile, holy things, and when her lips finally pressed against the softest part of me, I forgot why I ever clutched that robe so tight. Why I get dressed in the bathroom. Why I hadn't let her touch me like this since the baby.

It wasn't even about the sex—it was about surrender. Being seen. Touched. Loved... like I deserved it.

I ran my fingers through her curls, my breath catching, my thighs trembling around her shoulders—

Then a soft cry.

Nevaeh's cry broke through the silence like a siren.

We both froze.

Beyoncé groaned softly, her forehead dropping against my thigh. "She got the worst timing."

I laughed, breathless. "She gets that from you."

Beyoncé kissed the inside of my knee again before sitting up and pulling my robe back over me. "Don't move. I'm putting her back down, and when I get back—" her eyes dropped to my lips, "—we're finishing this conversation."

She kissed me again, slows and promising, before disappearing down the hallway.

All I could do was lay back, smiling, my body still buzzing from love.