II. 3 mos

Pulling over the van for the third time since we left Alexandria, I'm wondering if this trip wasn't a bad idea. I watch my wife throw open her door, lean over, and expel the last of her breakfast. Her lithe body moved so fast I didn't even get a chance to help her and hold back her hair.

Exiting the van and rushing over to her side, I lean down close to her face, offering her a water bottle. "Do you think it would be better if you lay down in the back of the van? Help settle your stomach for the rest of the ride?" I ask, moving some of her hair from her face so she can drink. Despite fighting morning sickness for the past month or so, her skin is radiant, glowing. With the sun shining on her, illuminating her hair and face, I'm struck by her beauty and frozen in place. Loosely framing her face, her cottony soft hair appears to be spun through with gold. The swelling is now gone for the most part from the velvety chocolate blush of her decadent skin, but the memory of its viciousness marring such perfection threatens to overcome me with virulent rage.

"Thanks for the water, Rick." Dragging me from the depths of such dangerous ruminations with her soft voice, one hand placed lovingly over her stomach, she takes a big gulp of the water, and I can't help but to focus on her lips around the bottle, and the movement of her elegant neck and throat as she swallows. Her lips, her eyes, everything about her really, has me so hypnotized and just wide open for her, I know I must seem like a love struck fool, but I suppose I am. Since that day at the fence, a time that feels so long ago, this woman has changed my life. So much so that I am almost thankful for the dead that roam the earth, for bringing her to me.

Noticing me staring at her, she locks eyes with me and smiles. "No, Rick, I'm good now I think. I just shouldn't have eaten so much this morning. I'm fine, let's keep going." Looking around at the forest surrounding us, squinting at the brightness of the sun, she continues, "It's not safe to be out here too long, we should head on to The Kingdom."

"Ok, let's get going then." I agree, but before I can fully stand she takes hold of my hand resting on her thigh, and presses it to her stomach with her own.

"Plus, I think laying down in the back of this van is what got us here in the first place right?" She uncharacteristically pouts, reminding me of how good this van has been to us.

Though I could easily get lost in her smile, and the sexy memories of the love and desire that sparked the probable conception of our baby in this van, we should probably get going because of course she's right, she's always right. Despite the walkers, the war with the saviors is not resolved, and it isn't safe, but I want to be sure she's ok to continue this ride over to The Kingdom. With Dr. Carson no longer at The Hilltop, and no doctors at Alexandria, Ezekiel has offered the services of the Kingdom doctors to both Hilltop and Alexandria, which we all sorely needed after the war started.

So far, no one other than Carl, and probably Enid as well knowing Carl, is aware of Michonne being pregnant. She's not really showing yet with her clothes on, though now wearing looser tops than she's used to, it's easy to keep it under wraps. With everyone so on edge about the war, it just doesn't feel like a good time for anyone to be worried about one of Alexandria's leaders, decision makers, and best fighters being sidelined in any way. Not that she would allow that, and anyone who knows my wife knows that she will fight to the death, pregnant or not, to protect herself, our family, Alexandria. But honestly, we also don't want to give our enemies any more leverage over us by knowing about the baby. I guess we're just playing it safe, and with my desperate need to protect her and this precious life we created, it's the right decision.

"You just let me know if you need me to pull over again. Or if there is anything else I can do to make you more comfortable." I respond, nodding towards the back of the van, raising my eyebrows in a suggestive manner. A small grin covers my face as I follow her lead to remind her that I am a full service husband, at all times, and would have no problem with some alone time in the van, again.

"No flirting, Grimes. Stop giving me that look and let's get going." Grinning, she swivels her legs back into the van and I lean down to place a kiss to her forehead and close her door shut, heading back around to the driver's side.

Once at The Kingdom, Michonne and I are shown to the infirmary. Holding firmly to her hand, we enter what used to be the nurse's office in this old school. There are three beds, a scale, medicine cabinets stocked with drugs, an exam table, and not surprisingly given that there was one at Hilltop, an ultrasound machine.

Having a seat to wait for the doctor to arrive, I realize holding hands has become a constant and regular occurrence between Michonne and I. Comforted by the presence of her hand in mine, I also become a little lost in the remembrance of a time long gone now, when all of this was normal. When there were no walkers tearing down the remnants of a now decimated society. When it was perfectly normal for a husband and wife to have babies, with no fear of immediate complication or death, no hesitance. These thoughts also lead me to remember Lori, how worried and scared she was when pregnant with Carl, even with all of the amenities of that world. How those fears now seem so small and unwarranted, especially given the fatal danger of her delivery with Judith.

My musings cause me to direct my attention to the woman beside me, for whom my admiration, adoration, and love for is limitless. Browsing the room in her own quiet and observant way, she is unaware of my eyes on her. She is clutching my hand tightly, tighter than usual, and humming. I would never complain about her grasping any part of me with firmness, but her hand is also sweaty, and well the humming is new.

"What is that? You're humming? I've never heard you hum or sing before," I say with incredulity, her attention swinging towards me and away from her perusal of the room.

"A little nervous I guess. Doesn't this seem like a sign to you, Rick? How normal this all appears. We're at an old school in the nurse's office, but this doesn't look or feel much different from when I had Andre. It feels…right. Like everything is going to be ok."

Pausing, she looks into my eyes with such earnestness and hope. Biting down on her plump lower lip, I can feel my own voice threatening to catch in my throat when I answer her. "Yeah, yeah it does. I was just thinking the same thing, remembering how it was with Carl, with Judith. But this, this is a good sign I think." Agreeing with her assessment, I lean over to kiss her, watching her worry her lips, no longer able to stand not being closer to her in this moment, in this shared realization. Taking those lips that belong to me, I savor the plush softness of them, of her, my fingers steadying her mouth and lips so I can easily drink from them.

Moaning into the sweetness of her mouth, tangling my tongue with hers, I'm getting lost, pulling her away with me, and forgetting that we are waiting on the doctor. Within seconds we are both reminded where we are by the sound of footsteps to my left. We both rise to greet the new arrival.

We are met by a tall black man, bearded, wearing his hair cut low, mid 30s or so, who proceeds to introduce himself.

"Hi, I'm Corey. I'm the doctor." He says, reaching his hand out in greeting.

Shaking his hand, using my firmest grip, I greet him back. "Nice to you meet you, Corey. I'm Rick Grimes." Immediately I'm sizing him up. It's something that has become second nature, like breathing. Quickly assessing a threat can mean the difference between life and death nowadays, and I do not take chances.

"Gotta say, it's great to finally meet the Rick Grimes. I have heard so much about you, man. You are a big deal around here with everything that's going on. Highly respected by the king." He says with a smile, and then turns his attention to Michonne.

"Hello, I'm Michonne."

Eyes lighting with recognition, he appreciatively lets his eyes linger on her face for a moment, probably forgetting I'm standing here by the look he's giving her. "And Michonne, wow. You are everything Ezekiel said you were, just stunning. It's a pleasure to meet you, really." Reaching out, he grasps her right hand with both of his, bringing them to his lips to place a light kiss on her knuckles. Never breaking eye contact with her, he doesn't immediately release her, and she seems to be in no hurry to take her hand back.

Michonne gives him a small, uncharacteristically coy smile, and slowly pulls back her hand. "Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you as well." She's clearly taken with this guy's charm, flattered by how smooth he is, and it has my hackles up. I'm definitely irritated, wondering what he has heard about her from Ezekiel that has him grinning at her so widely, showing teeth, in front of me. Did he call her stunning?

"The pleasure is definitely mine." Pausing for a beat there is a moment of awkward silence, then he proceeds. "So, what can I do for you all? Is someone at Alexandria sick? King Ezekiel mentioned that there is a nice sized community of folks over there, but no doctor, so I'm happy to assist if I can." He says, speaking to both of us I guess, but looking at Michonne.

"She's pregnant." I abruptly respond, wrapping my arm around her tiny waist, possessively pulling her closer to my side and resting my hand along the swell of her hip. "She needs a doctor." I can see my wife giving me what she calls her "side-eye", but I don't care.

"Uh, yes, I believe I'm pregnant, maybe a few months or weeks along, I'm not entirely sure." Michonne speaks up, taking charge of the direction of the conversation from me.

Grinning openly at her, Corey claps and rubs his hands together. "Great! Babies are wonderful, and I have delivered 5 since I have been here. I was a general family doctor before everything, but I'm a quick study. I'd be happy to take you on, as a patient."

"Are you the only doctor here? You seem young, maybe someone more experienced? Maybe a woman?" Turning to my wife, assuming she might see the logic in my questioning, I continue. "Michonne, maybe you would be more comfortable with a woman?" Rubbing my thumb across my index finger to try and calm my irritation, I throw my concerns out there. Even if it wouldn't make Michonne more comfortable for her to have a woman doctor, it would for me, so I figure that it can't hurt to ask.

"That's not necessary, Rick. I had a male OBGYN before." Calmly dismissing my question, Michonne looks to me, and I can tell by the look in those coffee brown eyes of hers, that she can sense my discomfort, but is not going to address it right now.

"There is another doctor available, a female, who was a podiatrist. I would love to have you as a patient, though, and clearly I'm biased. But you might want to take a chance on me instead." This guy is smooth. Still grinning, and completely unbothered by my attempt to rattle him, he offers for us to all have a seat.

Michonne and I retake our seats, and he pulls over a chair, seating himself in front of her. I lean in closer to her with my body, placing my arm across her shoulders.

"So, let's get started. I have just a few questions, and then we can do an exam and ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy, try to figure out how far along you are, and take it from there. Pregnancy tests are somewhat hard to come by, so this will be the best way to confirm everything. Is that ok with you, Michonne?"

"Yes that's fine, sounds good." She nods, confirming her assent to the plan.

Rattling off a series of questions, he continues. "Ok, so tell me about yourself, Michonne. How old are you? Is this your first pregnancy? If not, how did those experiences go? Do you have a history of any personal or family illness that could present and complicate your pregnancy? Any sickness or pain now?"

Taking a deep breath, hands clasped in her lap she calmly answers him. "I'm 38. This is my third pregnancy. I had one successful pregnancy, and I had a miscarriage when the world fell apart. We had just found out, and then Atlanta was evacuated into the camps. I was very early on, about 6 weeks along. I had a lot of cramping, heavy bleeding. Another woman at the camp I had befriended told me what it probably was. She'd had one before." Pausing momentarily to look my way, her face is stoic, and her eyes now hold a glassiness that belies her placid demeanor. Sadness, melancholy. It pains me to hear this, most of which I did not know. Comforting her the best way I can right now, I pull her closer to me, and place a kiss to her cheek.

Gracing me with a small, sad smile, she clears her throat and picks up where she left off. "My other pregnancy was so easy though. I almost gave birth in the car on the way to the hospital. Mike was in a panic. Traffic in Atlanta was always so awful, and that hot summer day was no exception. We made it though, I was rushed directly to delivery and had him naturally, no pain medication. Not that I didn't want it, he just came too quick for it. The doctor said if we had been 15 minutes later Andre would have been born in the front seat of a Lexus." Laughing at the memory, Corey joins in, chuckling at the story.

"But he was beautiful, a little small, 6 pounds even. That's why I called him my peanut. It was all very easy, the whole pregnancy and delivery. No illnesses, just swollen feet, and a crazy craving for all things chocolate that I still have, but that was about it. And now just some morning sickness, no pain, no cramping."

With my arm still draped across her shoulders, I give her an encouraging squeeze. Even though I am a little thrown by her miscarriage admission, it's good to hear her talking about her son Andre in relation to a happy memory.

"Good. Hopefully this will go as smoothly as your last full term pregnancy." Looking to Michonne and then to me, nervously, Corey clears his throat and continues, "I'm going to begin the pelvic exam now, if that's ok?"

"Yeah." I dryly groan under my breath. I'm not eager for this man to put his hands so close to my wife, inside of my wife.

"Yes, that's fine." Michonne says, rising from her chair.

"Rising as well, Corey turns towards a cabinet behind him. "Ok. Well I need you to disrobe, completely. We don't have any gowns, but I do have some light blankets, sheets, you can cover up with. Here you go," He hands her a sheet, and turns to me. "Rick, I guess you and I can step out to give this young lady some privacy, and then I will be back shortly to get started."

"I'll stay to help her get changed." I firmly state, rising to stand next to Michonne, giving him full eye contact to make it clear what my place is here, because something tells me he doesn't fully understand.

"Cool. Ok, if that's alright with you, Michonne?" He has the nerve to ask, it's taking everything in me not to respond in a way that I'm more used to, but the

"We're together, it's ok," she says in that diplomatic and cool way that she uses to diffuse my temper when needed.

"Michonne is my wife." I declare in an attempt to make things as clear as possible for this guy.

"I wasn't aware that you were married." Corey responds, his constant smile now faltering a bit. "I will return shortly then." He turns and leaves the room.

"Rick, what was all that about?"

"Can you believe that guy?!" We both talk at the same time, inadvertently speaking over each other.

My hands at my hips, right hand resting on my gun, I'm shocked by her question. "Wait, what do you mean what was that about? Did you miss that guy all over you?" I ask incredulously. "And how come you never told me about a miscarriage? Why is this the first I'm hearing about it, Chonne?"

"Rick, hold on." She puts her hand up to in a halting motion. "He seems nice. He didn't know we're together, most folks outside of Alexandria probably don't know. We could just be sleeping together. I could be pregnant by someone else. There was no way for him to know. As for the miscarriage that's not really something to talk about while killing walkers, or scavenging for food, or fighting a war against a bat toting psycho." Michonne reasons, her voice holding a tinge of exasperation with me. I know that voice. She thinks I'm over reacting. I'm not.

I saw how he looked at her, it's how I look at her, how a lot of men look at her. It's with appreciation, want, desire. How he held her hand, probably recognizing and apprciating how deceptively small and soft it was. As for the miscarriage thing? Having to find out something like that about my woman at the same time as this stranger, is bothering the hell out of me. About as much as her telling him we're together, not that we're married. So no, I'm not over reacting, about any of this. But I don't want to stress her, or make it all a big thing while he's outside the door waiting on us, so I let it go, for now.

Walking over to the exam table she begins removing her clothes, lifting her loose blue sweater over her head. Standing in front of her, I take the sweater from her, tossing it onto a nearby chair, and begin unbuttoning her pants. She is so small still, but the slight bump in her stomach has made it impossible for her to button her pants anymore. Instead they are held together by a rubber band looped through the fastener hole and hooked to the button. "You're going to need new pants soon," I tease, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Look who's talking. I'll get new pants when you do, Grimes." She chuckles and smiles, teasing me right back, all the tension from before forgotten.

"That's low, Chonne. You know these are my favorite pants." I feign hurt, crouching to help her remove her boots from her tiny feet first, and then the pants.

Hooking her fingers in her yellow cotton panties, she begins pushing them down over the swell of her thick thighs. Taking notice of her movement, I look up and my brow furrows in confusion seeing her panties descend to her ankles, and immediately she answers, "For the pelvic exam, Rick."

Taking in a deep breath I nod in understanding, and help her take those off as well, not tossing them to the chair with her other clothes, I shove them down into my jeans pocket.

"What are you doing, Rick? I need those." She says on a laugh, shaking her head in amusement, standing before me, nearly nude, in just her bra. Looking up at her, I know exactly why a man like Corey would be attracted to my Michonne. She's everything a man would want. Intelligent, with a beautiful spirit, she's a tough warrior, she's got a gorgeous face and body, with the most amazing ass I've ever seen, and she was willing to take a chance on a broken man like me, with two kids. Clearly she's the better half of our partnership, and in recognition, I get what Corey sees. I'm uncomfortable with his recognition, but I understand it.

Reaching behind her and grabbing her supple ass cheeks with both hands, giving them a firm squeeze and pulling her closer to my face, I kiss her mound, savoring the light fragrance of soap and the natural scent of Michonne that remains in her silky pubic hair, and then up to her stomach. "Not right now you don't. I'm just holding on to them for safe keeping." I protest, then lightly swat her on the behind, "Now hop up on the table. Let me get you covered before your boyfriend comes back."

Michonne rolls her eyes, and a knock at the door interrupts our playful banter. Corey comes in just as I've gotten Michonne covered with the sheet.

"Are we ready?" He questions, this time looking at both Michonne and I, speaking to us both.

"Yes." Michonne answers, and Corey stops to sanitize his hands, then proceeds to rub them together while approaching the exam table. Standing next to my wife, near her head, I've got my hand on her shoulder, rubbing, trying to ease some of my anxiousness. Michonne looks up at me, and grabs my hand, winking, instantly calming my nerves.

Putting on some gloves, and adding some type of lubricant to his fingers, he asks Michonne to open and raise her legs, noting that she will feel some pressure. Approaching her he tells her to relax, and Michonne begins humming again, I assume to distract herself.

"I remember that song. Lauryn Hill right? It was the song she wrote for her son I think?" He questioned, placing his right hand over Michonne's lower stomach and pelvis.

Shifting a little, she replies wistfully, "Yes. I used to love that song, her album got me through my first year of college at Columbia. It just completely matched the energy of New York, of being in a new city, a new school. Such freedom for a young girl."

"Same. She was amazing. My wife and I saw her live once in DC. She was late, but when she got there the show she gave was fire." He says, the same hint of wistfulness in his own remembrance.

"She was wonderful wasn't she? I wanted to name my son Zion because of her. Mike hated that name, wanted to name the baby Andre after his father. I didn't fight him on it, he had lost his father to cancer when he was very young, so I got it. It was sweet," she abruptly stops, her eyes focused on the ceiling above her. "It was one of the reasons why I loved him. His thoughtfulness, how sweet he was." Then as if realizing she had uncharacteristically revealed so much about herself, she silenced, once again focusing on the exam. "So, is there a baby in there?" She asks, releasing a soft chuckle. It doesn't fool me though. She does it to move on, to rush away from her memories.

Listening to this exchange, there is a hint of a shared experience in the back and forth between Michonne and Corey. Witnessing her share a part of herself, who she is, was, with another man, is strange. Right now I can't put my finger on why, but a foreign sense of being an outsider with her is wedging itself into my brain. I look down at this woman, my woman, and a realization is hitting me, one that I can't deal with right now because Corey is backing away from Michonne's legs, removing his gloves.

Making eye contact with each of us he proclaims, "Yes. You are indeed pregnant, Michonne. And everything seems fine, but let's get an ultrasound to take a look at your baby, try to nail down how far along you are."

Lowering her legs, Michonne inches back on the exam table, and I push the back of it up, to support her sitting position. Corey inches the sheet down below her stomach, and places the ultrasound wand, covered in gel, on to her stomach.

"Your skin is beautiful, amazing. Not one stretch mark. Palmers?" He asks, eyes roaming over the expanse of smooth, coffee colored skin over Michonne's abdomen. I don't know what Palmers is, so I wait for Michonne's answer to clue me in.

Michonne laughs immediately and responds, "No! I haven't used cocoa butter in so many years! Coconut oil was really my thing. I loved that stuff. When I came back to Atlanta after law school, a friend of mine who used to twist my locs was into using coconut oil for everything. Cooking, oil pulling, deodorant, oiling her hair, skin, you name it. She gave me some and I was hooked. Used it everyday too, especially while I was pregnant. No stretch marks on my stomach, but some on my thighs and hips. That stuff was a miracle. I wish I could find some now.

"You remind me so much of my wife she loved coconut oil too, but was still faithful to her Palmers. We were both from the DMV area, met at Howard. But she was like you, smart, beautiful, smooth dark skin, dazzling white smile." Lost in his own memories, he's smiling, but his voice trails off at the end while he's traveling over Michonne's stomach with the wand, focusing on the ultrasound screen.

Clearing his throat to break the awkward silence, he continues, "I have some, some coconut oil. Awhile ago a group went out scavenging, found an organic market that was relatively untouched. I guess no one wants healthy food during the apocalypse, huh? Brought back a lot of stuff, coconut oil, tofu, chia seeds, stuff like that. I can give you a jar for your skin and hair. Use it everyday on your stomach at least." Corey offered, and again, that odd feeling came over me. At this point I have completely withdrawn from the conversation, a spectator, watching, forgotten.

"Thank you, Corey, that would be great. You don't realize how much you love something until you don't have it anymore I guess."

I'm not sure if she's still referencing coconut oil or something else, but the urge to talk to her, to ask so many questions is firing in my brain. And there's something else. This Michonne, this woman talking and laughing with this man, is different. She's talkative, openly laughing, trusting this stranger with these little pieces of herself. Selfishly I want her to save these words for me. For a time when she and I are alone, and I can feed my addiction to her, feasting on her confessions, gorging myself on the open intimacy of her smile. I close my eyes for a moment to submerge my discomfort, taking a few deep breaths to re-focus on the exam.

Narrowing her eyes to focus on the ultrasound monitor, she asks almost timidly, "Is that?" She halts, and focuses even more on the image, bending forward a bit. Mouth open, a loud sigh and a tear escape her. Turning, looking for me, she notices me standing some ways behind her, and outstretches her hand to me. Seeking my touch, my presence, she whispers, "Do you see that, Rick? That's us. Twice!" She laughs.

That night, preparing for bed in one of the rooms at The Kingdom, Michonne sits nude on the side of the bed. Having showered, she is now applying the coconut oil Corey gave her to her body. Entering the room from my own shower, there is only a single lantern illuminating the small space around us. The way its light is hitting the curves and softness of her body is quickly pulling me out of the melancholy I've been experiencing since earlier. My own body is coming alive, responding to the visceral desire that is always there for her, the need to touch her, to connect, to love on her, and to experience the warmth of her love in return. In just my boxers, my own skin still damp, I kneel in front of her. "Let me help you with you that."

"Ok. And maybe while you do that, you can also tell me what's wrong?" Soft and easy the words leave her mouth, concern in her dark eyes. Immediately I know I have to explain myself.

"I figured something out today, about myself. I have to tell you that I'm ashamed and I'm sorry." Head down, I begin, dipping my hand in the jar to gather some of the coconut oil. Rubbing and warming my hands together, I'm easing them across her lustrous thighs, down her firm calves, to her dainty toes.

"For?" She queries, eyes roaming over my face. I look up at her, and the pout of her lavish lips as the word escapes from between them, threatens to derail my thoughts. Instead, looking back down to her legs, calming myself so that I can take my time with my words, to make sure I say this right, I steel myself to continue.

My need to communicate and be understood by this woman is paramount. Briefly closing my eyes, then making eye contact with her, I explain, "For not knowing who you are, who you were. For never asking you about yourself. For selfishly loving and needing you, more than anything ever. Taking advantage of how much you care for me, love me, love the kids. You have seen me at my worst, struggling with a past that doesn't matter now, to fight this war. Still, here you are, giving me everything and asking for nothing in return. I'm sorry." What started as a firm declaration of my faults, ends on a broken apology. "I don't know your last name, your favorite color, where you went to school, if you have siblings, the music you like. Shit, I don't even know your damn birthday. You had a miscarriage I knew nothing about. How can I call myself your husband? I understand why you don't."

My words are not even sufficient to explain to her the burden my head and heart have been carrying around since our appointment this morning. Since I watched my wife, the love of my life, divulge so much of who she is to another man. Pain she never shared with me, things I never bothered to ask. To have to learn them at the same time as this stranger, who is so taken and enamored with her that he risked his life to openly admire her in front of me. Shame and jealousy crowded within me, jockeying with the complete and bursting joy I experienced at seeing my babies, 12 weeks along, growing in the womb of the person I adore the most in this world, in my entire life.

Bringing her foot to my mouth, I place a kiss to her lovely ankle, and I attempt to explain myself, "Seeing Corey so taken with you, admiring your beauty, it burned me with jealousy. Hearing you connect with him, sharing things with him that I don't understand or know anything about, it made me feel like I don't know you. How dare I call you my wife when I don't know these things, these pieces of who you were? I don't deserve it, but I need you to forgive me. Give me a chance to earn your love, your affection, to give you everything you deserve."

"Rick, my husband." Is all she utters before she is coming towards me. Shocked, the force of her strong but tiny body sends me landing on my ass. Sensing my distress, she grasps my face between her delicate hands, lovingly massaging through the salt and pepper of my beard the way she knows I like. Wrapping my arms firmly around her body, the fool in love that I am, I'm replete with veneration for how she can undo me, exulting in the heat and pressure of her small body on top of mine, her luscious breasts flush against my chest.

Gazing into my eyes, making sure she has my attention, she speaks in a firm but loving way, breathing life giving warmth over my lips. "You know me, Rick. You saved me. You have seen me at my worst, when I had given up on living. You have been the one right there with me, fighting every step of the way to survive, together. Giving me everything you could. You're the only man who could do that. Baby, there is nothing to forgive." Taking a shallow breath, almost on a short laugh, she continues, "We don't have to follow the old world's rules about how many insignificant things we can check off that we know about each other. We know everything that matters. I know that you are a man who would do anything to protect what's his. And you know the same of me. Everything else, is nice, but…" Guiding her hand down from my cheek, and over my chest, she reaches through the opening in my boxers to my cock. Squeezing with gentleness, she kisses my lips sweetly and murmurs, "The love that we have for each other is what matters. Not who I was before, or who you were before. What matters is who we are now, what we're creating together." Licking out her tongue along the shell of my ear she whispers, "That's it."

With that, her words, and the warmth of her touch and her tongue disarm me. There is nothing of the foolish jealousy or shame from earlier left. Those feelings have been replaced with something exquisite, yet carnal. The kind of feeling that only this woman has been able to stir in me. It's a sensation that I've never experienced until her, like a drug shooting through my veins, thrilling me, inciting the most delectable of highs. Michonne is my drug, and I am truly addicted.

My breathing is now labored, quickening, the grinding of her body over mine is pulling me deeper into a lust filled haze. The lazy up and down of her palm, firmly grasping my cock, has my eyes drooping closed, savoring the flush of pleasure. My chest bulking with each heavy breath, I can sense the stiff yet modest swell of our babies between us. Reaching around to clench her ass in my greedy hands, the fingers of my right hand wander from her ass to seek out her wetness. Finding her cleft damp with need and excitement, I'm overcome with the inclination to bury myself inside of her, possess her. Back and forth I rub my fingers in between the plump lips of her womanhood, coating them in her slickness, arousing her indulgently.

Taking hold of my stiff flesh, she lifts from my lap. Directing me to her entrance she swallows my length entirely on her descent. A slow gust of air escapes me, relief flushing over my feverish skin.

"Mmmmm. That's deep, Rick, yes." She lazily rolls her head back, exposing her throat to my impatient lips, while grasping my hair with both hands. Ravenously I'm sucking and licking at her throat, as she delights me with a slow hypnotic pace. The up and down of her tightness around me is excruciatingly delicious, and I have to move my hands to the swell of her rounded hips to hold on.

Picking up the pace, now swiftly rising on her knees and dropping onto my cock, then slowly grinding into my pelvis, Michonne is superbly sending me to the edge of ecstasy. "Damn, Chonne. Damn. Don't stop, baby," I whisper into her full breasts, dewy with sweat. Lapping my tongue across her hard nipples, sucking as much of her breasts into my mouth as I can, my voracious appetite commands me to devour her, to give as good as I'm getting. Her lips release a series of moans as I'm now thrusting up with as much force as I can muster from this position, inspired to share this titillating adventure with her. Taking in her face, I witness arousal awaken her lovely features, dark eyes focusing on me, her magnificent tongue lazily licking across her top lip.

"Ah, ah, ah. Yes, baby, right there. I'm coming," her voice is high pitched, pleasure evident across her glowing skin. Immediately my thighs and balls are soaked by her climax, her walls swelling and tightening around me. Clutching a handful of her locs in my left hand, I firmly hold her body to me with the other, taking care not to crush the bump of her stomach to me too roughly. She's riding the wave still, as I'm still thrusting from beneath her, chasing my own grand finish.

Head bowed, Michonne is nuzzling her face into my neck, rubbing against my bearded cheeks with her delicate fingers again, furiously bouncing from my deep thrusts. Now I can feel the warmth that engulfs my body from my toes up, electrifying my being. Biting down on my lip, bracing myself, my climax bursts from the bulbous tip of my cock, coating the depths of my wife.

Chest heaving, deep breaths escaping my lips, I hear Michonne's muffled voice straining to be heard from her own lips pressed close against my cheek. "My favorite color is Kelly green, I went to Columbia for my undergrad in political science, and for law school. I was an only child, loved all kinds of music, and my birthday is February 14th. The miscarriage was sudden, and painful." Sitting back on my thighs, those dusky copper eyes locked onto my own, she continued. "That life is over now. This," she points her finger to me and then to herself, "is what matters now. Agreed?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I got that now."

"Good," she huffs, pushing me down onto my back, sliding over to snuggle into my side. "Now how do we tell everyone we're having twins?"