“Every inch, my queen.”
The sound of him taking me echoed through the library—the slap of skin, the wet rhythm of our joining, my cries, his groans, the sofa creaking beneath us.
“This is still part of Umbra Grimoire,” I managed to form a complete sentence. “Maybe tone it down?”
“This is my private study,” he corrected, driving deeper into me, and pleasure bloomed in me. “I can fuck you as loud as I want in my own space.”
“Maybe we should open this part of the library to the public.”
“And let them see what I do to my mate?” He thrust hard, punctuating the words. “Let everyone watch how I fuck my queen, playing with her tight cunt?”
“You’re too filthy.”
He chuckled darkly. “Did that make you hornier? I can feel you clenching around me. Soaking my cock. You love it when I talk dirty.”
“Shut up and fuck me properly.”
“My queen complained I didn’t fuck her to her satisfaction, so here goes.”
He took me brutally, like the God of Death he was. His cock grew even thicker, granite-hard. His mighty thrusts sent me to the edge over and over. His hand slid beneath me, finding my clit and rubbing its peak just right. My eyes rolled back at the dual sensation. It was too much yet I wanted more.
The pressure coiled tighter and tighter, a spring wound to its limit deep in my core.
“Hades,” I moaned.
My mate knew my body better than me.
“Come for me, baby,” he coaxed. “Show me how much you love being fucked by your king.”
The incredible pleasure was undoing me—his cock driving deep, his fingers circling my clit, the sheer sensation of being fucked so thoroughly. I exploded on his cock, my body convulsing, my pussy clenching around his massive hard length in relentless waves.
He chased his own release, thrusting harder, then roared.
The entire underground structure trembled. Books tumbled from shelves. The constellations flickered overhead.
It was too late to silence him—I’d been screaming just as loudly.
His warm seed filled me, spilled down my thighs, marked me from within.
I was a trembling mess. Yet I was so content. So perfectly satisfied.
He drew me back against his chest, settling me onto his lap. We stayed joined, my back to his front, my head on his shoulder. A smile curled up my lips.
His large hand spread protectively over my stomach. His lips traced the column of my neck—soft kisses now, gentle after the storm.
Then he froze. Every muscle behind me tightened like a drawn bow.
He remained utterly still. Barely breathing.
A tiny foot kicked where his hand rested against my belly.
Shit. So much for my plans.
I’d meant to tell him on our next movie night—wrapped in his arms, watchingSupernaturalreruns with popcorn and wine. I had the whole moment imagined.
But our son, it seemed, had other ideas.
As Queen of the Underworld, my pregnancy wasn’t like a mortal’s. It wasn’t even like other goddesses’. I wouldn’t carry to term in nine months. Our biology was different.
