He kisses my mouth. “Now we’ll fuck this fucked pussy slowly,” he whispers, already doing it.
I hold his shoulders as he moves inside me with a steady, slow pace. I pull his mouth down and kiss him. “I love you,” I whisper.
He kisses me harder, increasing the speed of his thrusts, and I come again, moaning into his mouth as he moans into mine.
We both shudder against each other.
“I love you too, Angel,” he whispers breathily.
“And you want me to get pregnant?” I joke.
His eyes shine. “Are you getting pregnant?”
I chuckle. “I don’t know, but the way you’re not using a condom, I’ll surely get pregnant soon.”
He kisses along my jaw. “Then get pregnant.”
He meets my eyes. “If it’s a little angel coming out of you, I’ll spoil her endlessly. If it’s a boy…” He thinks with narrowed eyes. “I’ll see what to do with a demon.”
I laugh. “I can’t trust you to be a good father.”
“Ask my mother. I’m a natural babysitter.” He smirks. “That stupid sister of mine, Wen, has a nut allergy. For ten years, I checked every bite she took just to keep her alive.”
I kiss his smiling mouth. The image of Matleon carrying a small baby in his huge arms makes my butterflies pregnant for sure.
Epilogue
9 months later
Iselyn
“What are you doing here?” I ask, walking into the kitchen. It’s only 5 a.m., and he’s here instead of in bed.
He turns off the stove and comes closer to me. “Why are you here? Aren’t you feeling comfortable?” he asks, his hands gently resting on my nine-month pregnant belly, carrying our twins.
He pulls out a chair from the corner and helps me sit. We have these comfortable chairs everywhere in the house. Over the past month, walking has become nearly impossible for me, and I can’t stay away from my husband. So, he’s placed chairs considerately, allowing me to rest while still being near him. He cooks meals for me himself three times a day, and I spend that time watching him work and talking to him from here. He works from home most of the time, leaving only for urgent meetings. According to him, his wife has become overly demanding of his great love during pregnancy—which isn’t wrong.
He kneels in front of me. “Your face looks paler,” he murmurs. He notices every small change in my body.
“I’m just feeling restless. But what are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’m preparing that medicinal soup you told me about yesterday,” he replies.
“Didn’t I also say it’s troublesome and that we don’t need it that much?”
He presses his hands on my belly. “What my wife and babies need, they get, even if it’s something that includesthat much.”
He stands and kisses me on the lips. “If you don’t want to go back to bed, you can sit here. We can talk while I make the soup.”
I nod. He walks around the counter, turns on the stove, and starts stirring the ceramic pot. The soup he’s making is helpful for labor, if a pregnant woman drinks it for a week before her delivery, it aids the process. It must be taken first thing in the morning and takes four hours to prepare.
“When did you leave the bed?” I ask, feeling discomfort rising in my belly and below.
“When you were muttering,When will these babies come out and my husband will be able to fuck me again,in your sleep,” he says.
I laugh. “I was not muttering that.”
He grins, his face glowing in the steam. How much do I love this man? No matter how much I feel it, it will always seem too little.
