After we finished unpacking his quilting supplies, Taylor blew out a breath. He sounded tired already, which didn’t surprise me. Dragon eggs grew fast, and it must’ve been harder on his body since he wasn’t a dragon.
I gently dragged Taylor away from the quilting corner and sat him down on the bed.
“You stay here,” I told him. “I’ll finish up.”
“If you mix up my cotton and polyester thread, so help me gods...”
I scoffed. “My own mate thinks so little of me. You think I can’t distinguish between natural and artificial fibers? Please.”
A slow grin spread over Taylor’s face. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”
* * *
I didn’t knowif it was a hormonal reaction stirred up by the rapidly growing egg, or if Taylor always threw himself this deeply into his hobby, but in the weeks following its delivery, he spent most of his time cozied up by the sewing machine. The rhythmic whirr of the machine became a familiar background noise. I’d often sit next to him and watch him work, awed by his focus and precision. He’d silently accept my offerings of tea and cookies, back rubs and sweet nothings in his ear.
“Finished,” Taylor said as he sewed the last stitch into the millionth baby quilt he’d made. He drew it up for me to look at. It was a beautiful patchwork quilt with repeating pastel colors.
“This is wonderful, my love,” I said. “Should I add it to the pile?”
Taylor nodded, already reaching into his fabric stash. I sighed. After putting the brand new quilt on top of the others, I returned and slipped my arms around the front of his chest so he couldn’t instantly launch into a new project.
“Taylor,” I said gently. “Don’t you think it’s time for a break? You’ve made at least twenty baby quilts in the past two weeks.”
Taylor grumbled. “It’s not enough. What if the baby needs more?”
“You’re aware this castle isfullof additional blankets, yes?”
“The baby needs to be warm.”
“You’re a five-hundred-pound tiger, I’m a fire-breathing dragon, and there’s an entire pile of quilts on the bed. There’s not a chance in hell this baby will ever be cold.”
Taylor shuffled in his seat. “But—”
“These urges are your nesting instincts,” I explained. “It’s normal for omegas who carry eggs. And very adorable.” I kissed him on the cheek. “But sometimes you need your alpha to pry you away from the sewing machine.”
Taylor made a face like he wanted to argue, then sighed. “Fine. But I need to dosomething.I feel restless.”
He got up and paced to illustrate his point. I regarded him closely. His belly was quite large. Aside from quilts, he’d also sewn some paternity outfits for himself so he didn’t burst the buttons on his usual clothes. His unusual tension and urge to sew made me think he was closer to delivering than I first thought.
“Why don’t you lie on the bed while I give you a massage?” I suggested.
“That’s notdoingsomething, that’s having somethingdoneto me,” Taylor grumbled.
I raised a brow, shooting him a stern, yet gentle look. “Taylor...”
The look was enough to push him over the edge of his indecision. He sighed, then slowly climbed into the king-sized bed. Moving around was difficult for him because of his size. My poor mate. The egg inside him must’ve been massive.
He couldn’t lie on his stomach for obvious reasons, so he sat upright, propped up by a comfortable pillow. That allowed me to remove his shirt and access his back, which was often sore from carrying all that extra weight. A good, deep back massage would make him feel better, and hopefully distract him from the urge to sew.
I rubbed my thumbs into his shoulders, earning me a low groan from Taylor.
“Good?” I asked.
He grunted in affirmation, so I went on. I loosened up all the knots in his muscles, working my way down to his lumbar region. All the while, I appreciated his bare back, how strong and firm and masculine it was. He was my perfect match—I was incredibly lucky to have found him.
Overcome by emotion, I nuzzled his neck from behind, letting out a draconic purr.
“What?” Taylor asked, amused.
