Of Lorenz Theory & Love

JHMD: E is for Enceinte

49: JHMD: E is for Enceinte

8 pm, 1 month before the wedding, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23

Both Macy and Harry assured Matias that the fetal exam had gone smoothly, strong heartbeat and all, with a hint of whitelighter, Harry proudly added. Macy had discussed a few last-minute wedding details with Matias, which mostly consisted of the Vera Manor garden's layout, where to walk, and the possible pace of the music. Then, Matias and the couple said their goodbyes, as Matias exited their condo and walked next door to his own home to chop bundles of herbs for tomorrow morning's marketplace adventure.

And suddenly, just like that, Macy and Harry were alone again, once more, in their Azores condo.

8:15 pm Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23, Master Bathroom Shower

Macy rose from her balcony chair, washed and put the empty glass and cup away in the kitchen, and proceeded to the master bathroom for a shower. Earlier, she had noticed Harry breathing raggedly when she had said various pregnancy-related synonyms, especially the word enceinte. Harry, wanting to be polite, said that he would sit on the king-sized bed, stare at a random spot of the ceiling, and give her privacy while washing up.

"No," Macy said, grabbing his hand and holding it fast, pulling him into the bathroom and closing the door. "Enceinte," she whispered in his ear.

Harry's spine tingled at the word enceinte. The French word for pregnant. He, Harry Greenwood, had made Macy Vaughn enceinte in a nocturnal act of pure, unadulterated passion that involved Macy's unzipped crimson red, tulle gown and a black cloth blindfold that obscured his vision, even if for only a moment, before he ripped it off and their amorous activity had begun. He shivered. It made him picture all manner of incredibly inappropriate things that a Whitelighter was not supposed to think of, especially now, as Macy undressed in front of his very eyes and turned on the shower tap, allowing for steam to fill the room.

Body parts changing, purely as a result of his silvery-hot, fecund seed. Harry noticed that Macy's breasts were lined with many thin blue-green veins, and more swollen than he ever recalled before. He would have been perfectly content just watching her body as it was. He was worried that she was fragile, even if she did not herself realize it—he, after all, had caught her unconscious form as the mythical siren had been vanquished. But Macy moved closer, slowly undressing him, removing his shirt, his pants, his undergarments. Macy reached out for Harry's hand, and placed it on one of her breasts, and he sucked his breath in sharply. Gods, may this moment never end...

"You, Harry Greenwood, made me enceinte," Macy whispered. "Feel what you have made me."

"W-what if I hurt you?" asked Harry uncertainly.

"You won't, if you proceed slowly," Macy replied. In response, Harry brought his fingers from the base of her breast, to the nipple, which he slowly rotated, then began fondling, his ministrations causing Macy to utter an involuntary moan—"keep going," she hissed. He reached tentatively for her other breast, giving equal attention, silently acknowledging the fullness it had become in the mere several weeks that his potent seed had sprang from him. "You did this to me," she breathed.

Harry groaned, his eyes cast downward at his now-emerging erection. He never once thought, in a million years, that he would be sharing a fast-steaming bathroom with the curly-haired woman he used to look across the room at—the goddess he would constantly pine over—who was now his pregnant lover—no, make that fiancée. How on earth had he gotten this lucky? The nerdish academia-driven Harry Greenwood he once knew wore septuagenarian sweater vests, an archaic cummerbund, and a dowdy suit jacket; somehow, being with Macy made him feel younger—and most importantly of all, alive. He noticed, in the months preceding their intimate encounters, a subconscious shift in his wardrobe to leather jackets, modern "off-the-rack" sweaters, and the removal of those stuffy neckties that the Elders used to require as part of his Whitelighter uniform. Thank heavens for that, Harry mused to himself, though he realized that even before his clothing switch, Macy had still found himself quite appealing, likely courtesy of his dark side. Not that he minded in the slightest—not now, at least.

Macy stepped into the shower to adjust the temperature, and Harry followed just behind, reaching over to massage and cup her sensitive, enlarged breasts, rubbing his erection in circles at the base of her spine. He moved his hand to gently stroke the area below her navel, where the product of their last sexual encounter lay embedded, interwoven in the very fabric of her tissues, causing that area to protrude ever-so-slightly, a mere shadow of the burgeoning bump that would follow in the months to come. "Mine," Harry spoke in a low growl that made Macy's toes curl, and bending his knees, lowered his visage to her entrance, venturing a tentative lick, then several more, slowly tasting and reacquainting himself with her new perfume, that was brought about by his innermost essence tempestuously combining with hers.

Macy whimpered as Harry continued the elegant movements of his tongue through her manifold areas. Her pregnancy meant that those intimate parts were increasingly sensitive now, engorged and surrounded by an interlacing symphony of nerve endings, offering an experience more erotic, and altogether—more orgasmic, he thought to himself. Macy laid a hand on the bathroom tile in front of her to steady herself, as her breathing grew increasingly haggard. But another thought quickly struck Harry—"I'm not hurting you, am I?" he asked anxiously. Macy shook her head.

"Don't stop," she hissed. Harry took that as his cue to continue what he had started, tracing figure eights, or infinity signs, however one would interpret them, along her tiny, pulsating pearl. Macy's moaning grew louder, and her legs began to give out. Seeing this Harry lifted her so that she straddled him. "You, in me. NOW," she murmured in his ear. Harry obliged, entering her slowly as they both exhaled, absorbing the aching vulnerability of his bare skin touching hers. He could feel himself leak just the tiniest of his silvery lifeblood, but he was not concerned; Macy was already his, impregnated by him, indicative of loving and being loved in return, in the most sensually primal of ways.

"Bloody hell," Harry groaned, as they rhythmically moved their bodies against each other, together, cavorting in an erotic tangle of supple, fertile limbs—cautiously, deferentially at first, then faster, with a fiery, cataclysmic Jan Van Eyckian orgiastic nature that was utterly, devastatingly mind-blowing.

Macy, sensing he was close, having felt him grow hotter and harder within her, dug her nails into Harry's upper back, causing him to gasp loudly. "Enceinte," she whispered into his ear, and he came, exploding into her in entirety; both remained adjoined as they rode the waves of their pleasure.