By early May 2026—third month of pregnancy—Priya’s belly had developed a soft, undeniable curve. The bump was small enough to hide under loose anarkalis, but Victor’s hands knew every millimeter of it. Her nausea had eased, replaced by constant, insatiable hunger—not just for food, but for him. She craved his rough touch, his thick cock, the way he whispered “my pregnant randi” while flooding her again and again.

Rohan was over the moon—constantly touching her belly, planning baby names, buying tiny clothes online. He scheduled every appointment together, proud to be the “supportive husband.”