Freya's smile was slow, knowing. She nodded happily, her hand still cradling her belly, her other palm pressing into the sofa as she shifted, the movement making her dress ride up another inch, the shadow of her pussy dark and inviting beneath the fabric.
"You guys get fresh," she murmured, her gaze flicking between us, lingering on me for a second too long. "I'll make something for you to eat."
She stood up—slowly, deliberately—her one hand holding her belly, the other supporting herself on the arm of the sofa. The weight of her pregnant body made her movements heavier, slower, every shift of her hips a tease, the satin clinging to the curve of her ass, the dress stretching over the roundness of it, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the creamy white of her upper thighs, the dampness still glistening there.
