“Have to practice, don’t I?” He rubbed a hand over my full swell and eased his cock to my hole while moving me just enough to escape the onslaught of water that deprived me of my more desiredwetness.
“Let’s just practice the conception again instead. That’s the real daddy-maker right there.” I groaned as he slid fingers to my center and pushed in, teasing my opening open one little dexterous flick at a time until he glided over my prostate and made me want to climb the shower wall.
As if sensing my need, he withdrew his digits and something blunter, bigger, and hotter pressed against my hole. A gentle rocking motion of his cock eased him in until he gently sheathedhimself with a slick roll of his hips. Since I’d become sore and big, he’d stopped being rough with me, and despite the fact that I missed ass-slamming sex, my own anxiety appreciated it. He brought me off like his magic, a song on his lips, a rhythm to the air, and the words of magic unspoken around me. Instead, we moaned and hummed our spells and wove thaumaturgy like lyrics. His crested head pulsed within me, a threat of orgasm that made me clench my toes and arch into him.
“Just a bit more,” I pleaded.
I needed a bit more. A tiny bit—well, not that tiny.I asked, and he gave, changing his angle as his hands wandered down, one hand supporting the weight of my belly as the other fisted my cock and stroked me half a dozen times until I nearly sobbed in pleasure.
There were no tears in a shower, only water spent. I came while crying, no shame, right? Just jizz on the glass and tears down the drain.
I was ready to be a father, done being pregnant, wanting to meet my child every day.
With that in mind, Gre didn’t tease me or worsen it. He didn’t ask me what was wrong or try to comfort me with kind words. He let me experience it, with him there. Together. That was all I needed—the company. “I’ve always wanted to be loved.”
“Me too. Is it everything you hoped?” He waited for me to gather my words, that wouldn’t come fast enough.
I choked on a sob and nodded. “And so much more.”
He gave me time to settle, washing me with a quiet hum and tender touch. No part of me disgusted him, his attention divine—quite literally. And after, when the water alone touched me, he gave himself a perfunctory scrub and cut the stream off, proclaiming it time to go have dinner with my father.
Chapter Twenty-One
Greginald
Esmeray buried himself in work as time moved on, taking his promotion as seriously as I took my appointed position in the precinct. And with each passing day, we grew closer toward his due date, closer to him taking his mandated six weeks of paternity leave. Mine as well, despite me not being with the precinct that long, they’d given me six weeks and the ability to work from home for a few months while we transitioned with the manny.
I arrived home an hour early to meet the interior decorator that evening, keys pointlessly turning in the door as whoever came ahead of me hadn’t locked it back. I flicked into my security app and saw Draevus walking in with our decorator early that morning and sighed with relief as they carried boxes in together.
“Gre, is that you?” Draevus called out as I stepped into the foyer and jogged out, head leaning over the banister. Along every baluster had been woven a fine mesh that spanned the length of the mezzanine and down the stairs to the bottom and top where baby gates had been securely screwed in.
“It is. What’s all this?” I glanced around and noticed small changes, furniture bolted to walls, safety latches, sockets with those little guard things on them decorated with red frowny faces.
“I hired a babyproofing expert, and they’ve been seeing to everything.” Draevus smiled wide. “Since you won’t let me gift money or anything extravagant, I’m doing this instead.”
“They won’t even be crawling or holding a fork to even tempt an outlet for months!” I sighed heavily, and Draevus gave me a concerned stare.
“Son. I say this with much respect, but you have zero clue what this child will be capable of. Esmeray was walking at four months. Hell-borne children are vastly developed. Hell is a horrid place for children to survive.” Draevus jogged down the steps, the gates opening automatically for him as he sauntered down. “There’s a fingerprint scanner on the top, or you can carry one of these.” Draevus held up his key chain, and a little glossy white fob clattered about.
“I think I’ve been readying myself for a shifter child. How—are there any demon parenting classes?” I followed Draevus up as we made our way to the nursery.
“That’s why Kismet is starting in two weeks, dear. He’s raised several children into their school years just fine. He’ll whip you into shape.” Draevus patted my shoulder and reached into his jacket before pulling out a rather stern-looking book. “And until then, read this.”
I glanced at the cover and read it aloud. “Raising Hell, a Thirteenth-Month Guide to Surviving Infernal Infantsy.”
“It’s the up-to-date one because so much has changed since Esmeray was a baby. You know they say to wait at least three months before letting them have sulfur supplements now? Back in my day, we just gave them a lump of ore to teethe on.”
I flipped through a few pages and there was a great deal that I had missed. “Noted.”
As we made our way to the room next to ours, we stuck our head in, and I knew Esmeray would love it right away.
It’d need time to air out, but fresh dark-green paint coated the walls where a softer green had been used to paint the silhouette of foliage in places. The crib was fireproof, the sheets an emerald green in a black crib. A matching sound machine sat perched and pristine on a changing table nearby—already fully stocked with an appropriate-size assortment of diapers. A comfortable rocking chair sat with a table beside it alreadystocked with a phone charger and tablet stand. Esmeray could work while feeding or at least watch some videos.
And the flooring? It had been a gaudy sort of mauve carpet, but that had been pulled up in favor of a hardwood floor, which bore several interlocking foam pieces covering it. Babies were filthy and accident prone and making it easy to clean and soft made for a happier home. Depending on who was cleaning. Esmeray hadn’t been as productive as usual, considering his growing size.
The sprites I had in my old home had vacated the premises, and it was a bitch to get ones in newer homes with less residual energy. Draevus had suggested imps, but I’d hired help a few times a week to tidy up and do laundry—except the folding. I still liked that part.
Everything Esmeray and I had selected had been put up, and the decorator was putting the final touches on organizing drawers of neatly folded clothes, stacking diapers, making it social media ready, something we didn’t care for but she did.
