Cristina stretches as she exits the master bathroom suite. Once again, she'd had to get up in the early morning, her pregnancy putting her body through many changes.

She walks around the remaining unpacked boxes in the bedroom and looks at the bed, where Owen is asleep. Cristina slides under the covers and moves closer to her husband. They don't have curtains up yet, so the early morning sun streaming in is bathing him in warm light. Sleeping without a shirt, he looks like a Greek God, all muscular and hot.

An exhausted god. She smiles and rubs her belly again. He'd done all of the packing, has almost finished putting everything away, and plans on painting the nursery next. Even if she wanted to help him, he wouldn't hear of it.

Cristina slides under the covers and lies next to Owen. She reaches out and runs her hand through his copper hair. She likes his hair, especially the way it curls around her fingers. It's hard for her to imagine what their child might look like, but she wouldn't be upset if it had his hair.

He opens his eyes and looks at her. She might like his hair, but she really loves his blue eyes. So many times, he never has to speak, he just looks at her. Like now. His eyes are communicating love, and happiness ... and now there is a certain glint that speaks of lust.

Owen grins now, his eyebrows arching wickedly. His laugh lines speak of a life well lived, she decides, as he continues to gaze at her with sleepy amusement. His eyes beckon her to kiss him, so she does.

Oh, his lips. And teeth. And his tongue! These are things that she also loves about him. And he certainly knows how to use them. To make her moist, to increase her heart rate, to take her breath away.

Her hands skim his broad shoulders, before sliding down his arms. How many times had Owen made her feel safe and secure by wrapping her in those arms? Comforting her, holding her close, whispering assurances. He also uses them to lift her up, to support her, to steady her. He has fantastic arms.

But his arms are nothing compared to his hands. Had she really once called them hams? There is nothing crude about them. Like now, as they deftly tug her clothes off. Those fingers are certainly nimble, and he uses them well. His left one is doing amazing things to her bare breasts – oh, there is his tongue again. His other hand is being equally creative between her legs.

Cristina purrs as she thrust one of her hands back into his hair, guiding him amongst her cleavage. She'd never had a problem with her body image before pregnancy, but she has to admit that her breasts are supreme now. Owen certainly agrees, worshipping them eagerly, as his whiskers scratch against her delicate skin.

The beard. She'd never dated anyone with facial hair before, and had no idea of what she'd been missing. Now she won't even hear of him going clean-shaven. There is something raw and primal in the way he marks her, that she can't get enough of.

Her free hand slides down his back, savoring the muscles beneath. The burdens of the war had almost broken him completely, but now he is strong and steady. He'd become her rock in the world. And they'd yet to discover a sexual position that could tire him out.

Owen pauses to pull off his underwear. Now they are bare against each other. Damn, he has great skin. He presses against her, his soft chest hair a nice contrast to the muscles beneath. On particularly cold nights, she so loves to spoon with him and bask in his warmth, feeling shielded by the bulk of him. He can make her feel so feminine, but never weak. She knows that Owen likes her to be strong, that he wants her to be her.

Their legs entangle. Owen has runner's legs, muscled and lean. Even his feet are well-toned. She moves her hands to his firm ass, squeezing and caressing. God, that ass. From the moment she'd seen it in uniform, she'd wanted to get her hands on it. Too bad her hands were occupied with the suture gun when the first opportunity came. But now she can explore it to her heart's content.

Cristina spreads her legs wider for him. With a playful growl, Owen enters her, filling her with one powerful stroke. She definitely has no complaints about his cock or how he wields it. She'd repeatedly examined it, in many ways, and has yet to find any flaws.

Owen kisses her, scratching her face again. His talented hands roam her body, pausing to squeeze and tease while his mouth is all over and it's too much ... the waves of heated bliss take over.

He continues to love on her through her orgasm, kissing her, his hands tenderly touching her face, his hips pumping.

Cristina grins before biting his lower lip. "Come for me," she murmurs. "Come for me hard."

"As you wish." Owen pants, picking up his pace. As he begins to pound her into the mattress, grunting with his exertion, Cristina grabs onto his shoulders for dear life. This time, he's with her when electric heat takes over her body. She screams out his name while he pours everything that he has into her.

Spent, Owen collapses beside her. His hand blindly reaches out and caresses her stomach. He is the only one allowed to touch her pregnant belly. Just like he's the only person permitted to see into her soul.

"Good morning to you too," he gasps, laughter in his voice. "Well. What a nice and wholesome way to wake up."

"Promise me that we won't turn into boring people when the baby comes," she mutters, taking his hand.

"I think there are three positions in the Kama Sutra that we haven't tried," Owen laughs.

She smiles and leans her forehead against his shoulder. She is pregnant and newly married, living in a house in the suburbs. This is the life she'd never dreamed of ... and the man next to her makes it all worthwhile.

He squeezes her hand. "Do you need anything?"

Cristina smirks. "I need a shower ... and someone to ... wash my hair ... " Her seductive tone makes her meaning clear.

"I can help you." Owen pulls away, and quickly helps her out of the bed, even as she insists she doesn't need assistance. Laughing, she lets him guide her towards the bathroom, and another memorable session with his mind and body.