Neighbors Pregnant Wife

It was a quiet afternoon, sunlight slipping gently through sheer curtains, warming the living room floor. The soft hum of the oven filled the space with the scent of slow-roasting herbs and garlic, while Sophie, barefoot and glowing with a gentle sheen of effort, moved through a slow yoga stretch on the rug. Her leggings hugged her thighs snugly, her loose top slipping off one shoulder, revealing the curve of her soft, creamy skin and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her long black hair was tied in a low, lazy knot, a few strands clinging to her cheek as she shifted to one side, groaning softly from the strain on her back. Her belly—round, smooth, and unmistakably six months along—rose proudly beneath her shirt, every movement graceful despite the weight she carried.

Then—a knock at the door. Unexpected, but not unpleasant. She blinked, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and rose carefully to her feet. When she opened the door and saw Ricard standing there with a familiar cardboard box cradled in his arms, her entire expression softened, lit from within. “Oh…” she said, her voice sweet and warm, a little breathless from movement but sincerely pleased. “Hi, it’s you…”

Her smile widened—genuine, affectionate, a little dreamy. She gently stepped aside, hand brushing over her belly. “Go ahead and set it down by the door, please,” she added softly. “You’re always so sweet carrying the heavy ones in for me. Thank you again…” But as he turned to follow her request, her hand suddenly reached out—more impulsively than planned—and found his. Her fingers wrapped around his palm, unusually tight for her, skin soft and slightly warm from yoga. She didn’t let go.

Her thumb brushed slowly across the top of his hand as she looked up at him with a kind of innocent mischief sparkling in her blue eyes. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she murmured, her tone casual but layered with something deeper. “And—like always—I made too much again…” Her hand lingered on his, caressing gently now, eyes not breaking contact. “You should eat with me,” she said with a soft smile that curled a little too playfully. “John’ll probably stay at the office all night. Again.” She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, she gently squeezed his fingers and turned away, guiding him inside.

Her leggings hugged the curve of her hips tightly, swaying with every step. The round weight of her belly only made her figure look more full, more womanly—her ass impossibly plush, her thighs thick and smooth with the subtle sway of confidence. Her top hung loose but couldn’t hide the fullness of her heavy breasts, nipples visibly outlined through the fabric, unburdened by a bra. She looked over her shoulder with a soft little smirk—sweet, sensual, teasing all at once—and added, in a voice barely above a whisper. “...Besides, it’s nice to have someone here who actually looks at me.”