I was babied and powdered and spoiled, stroked and massaged in every orifice. My world was pleasure and orgasms one after the other. I barely slept and when I did I dreamed of fucking.
I learned the best ways to suck Tane off while squeezing his ample balls. I learned to swallow everything he had to give and if he knotted while outside me, I learned to massage that swollen gland, kiss and suck the hard swell until he shot over and over into the air.
It was a house of erotic pleasure, a world of cocks, balls, holes, nipples, mouths feeding each other until at the end of my heat we both collapsed and slept for twelve hours straight.
A day later, Tane told me technology existed in dragon country where I could find out if I was pregnant right away. I took the test, a simple pee stick.
We waited the allotted time, which was really only about a minute but seemed like eternity, to see the stick form a plus sign.
We yelled and clasped hands and jumped about the bathroom.
It was done. I was pregnant at age twenty-three. I was going to have the baby of the alpha I loved most in all the world. Tane. My bondmate.
How did we celebrate?
He took me to bed and had his way with me. Three times that night.
We weren’t done with each other even after my youthful, energetic heat.
I knew it like I knew the sun rose and set every day. We would never be done.
24
Tane
Kirion was alluring. Glowing. His stomach round with the egg. I wanted to touch him all the time, feel that hard roundness inside him knowing I’d put it there. I’d given him my seed and this was the result. Our egg. Our child.
Our baby with Kirion should be named Royal. Kirion is, after all, a prince.
We’d been having this argument for over a week. Tanekan came up with the name but neither I nor Kirion liked it.
“It’s not the right name.”
You haven’t come up with anything better. It will be Royal.
Tanekan was stubborn. He never gave up.
Kirion was polite when I told him what Tanekan had said, knowing Tanekan could listen in on our conversations at any time. And Tanekan did. He’d been silent for thirteen long years. Now, the only time he made himself scarce these days was when we made love.
“I think maybe we could do Royal as a middle name,” was Kirion’s concession. “Maybe.”
But we both disliked it. We didn’t want our baby to end up being called Roy.
We made a baby room next to our bedroom. There had been a walk-in storage closet there and we had builders come in and remodel it into a real room. The house had plenty of spare rooms, but we wanted our child close to us for his early years.
Malin’s rooms on the other side of the stairs remained empty. I never looked in that direction. Kirion respected that and we both ignored that side of the second floor. Maybe someday that would change, but not now.
In the new room, Kirion made a nest.
We spent hours every day lying on the nest of baby blankets, stuffed animals, soft pillows and diapers. I would rub his belly bump and we would talk until we lost track of time. We loved to talk. No subject was off limits. I wanted to know everything about him and he felt the same in return.
“I like the name Remington,” he said one day.
“Remington?”
“Yeah. And if he wants to be called Remy, that’s okay, too.”
“Hmm.”
