She bent over the meat counter. Her top crawled up her back to reveal that spectacular ass rounding in those tight maternity leggings. Memories of her gasps as my palm cracked against her skin, the blush of her flesh darkening under my grip. Soon, she’d be strong enough to take me again—to scream into the pillows as I split her open from the inside out.
My fangs ached.
A butcher eyed her from behind the glass, his pulse fluttering. Jealousy? Lust? I marked his face. If he so much as smiled at her, I’d peel his skin off before sunrise.
Ivy straightened, rubbing her lower back with a wince.
Poor darling. She didn’t know yet—the real pain was coming.
And I’d be there to kiss every tear away.
???
Colour bloomed on Ivy’s cheeks. I’d watched her through the cameras I’d nestled in her walls. They were in each room, behind the photo frames and inside the smoke detectors. Ivy had rampaged in her kitchen as soon as she got home from the supermarket. Her teeth ripped into the raw lamb, leaving juices dripping down her chin. Next, it had been the beef short ribs. My girl hadn’t thrown up once.
I peeled back her cotton nightgown, exposing the swell of her stomach. Mine. Mine. Mine. My ear pressed to her skin, and the sounds inside were a symphony. The rabbit-quick pulse of her heart, the rush of blood through veins stretched thin, and beneath it was the second heartbeat—a rapid drumbeat of something other than human.
My tongue darted out, tracing the tight curve of her navel. Salt and sweet, just as I remembered. Ivy stirred, a whimper catching in her throat. I pressed a palm to her forehead, pushing a wave of compulsion into her veins.
“Sleep,” I commanded, and her lashes fluttered, then stilled.
Just as I was about to lift my head off her belly, the child jabbed my cheekbone—a possible reaction to my voice.
Was it an elbow? A foot? Or perhaps it was a tiny fist?
“Daddy is here, precious,” I whispered before brushing my lips over the spot where my feisty child booted me.
I should've let her rest.
But the scent of her warm musk and salt, laced with the iron tang of her pregnancy, hit me like a match to kerosene. My cock throbbed, a traitor to my patience.
Enough waiting.
I stripped off the hoodie, and my cheap human disguise was flung into the shadows. Ivy's heat called to me, a beacon. I peeled away her panties like gift wrap, baring her to the moonlight.
“Ivy.” My voice slithered into her dreams, a command wrapped in velvet. “Wake up and remove your shirt.”
She obeyed, but her limbs moved with an unnatural stiffness. The cotton slid up her torso, revealing swollen breasts. The veins beneath her skin were like branches feeding into her nipples. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting Ivy’s blood.
I lounged against the headboard, admiring my work. Her pupils were blown wide, her breath shallow. She was aware but not awake—a doll with a pulse.
Mine to play with.
I dragged a fingertip down her sternum, savouring the goosebumps in its wake.
“Such a good girl,” I purred. “Now ride me. Slow. Let me feel every inch of that cunt milking me.”
She swung her leg over my hip, settling her soft ass on my thighs as she reached for my cock. I frowned at her, wondering why she wasn't following my instructions. I sighed when her fingers wrapped around my cock.
I reached for her breasts, cupping them, watching her face as I began to massage the soft globes of flesh that would feed my child. She arched her back, offering me her tits, but her hands continued to pump the length of my cock.
“Oh, I missed my horny little slut,” I said, slapping her breast, smiling when her breath became choppy.
I slid my fingers between her thighs, noticing a larger patch of red curls. They were damp, and when I probed a little further, her slippery mess coated my fingertips.
“Such a wet little cunt,” I murmured to myself, but she reacted to my words by rubbing her pussy along my hand.
“Ivy? Do you want me to use you like a filthy little slut?”
