“Look at you wearing the jewelry I made for you and nothing else. I’ll cover you in diamonds. It’s all you’ll wear in our bedroom.”
I come with a long, shuddering scream. The orgasm tears through me, my pussy clamping down on his cock in rhythmic contractions, my entire body seizing. I whimper his name and dig my fingernails into his chest.
He comes inside me. I feel it, hot and thick, filling me deep, pulse after pulse. His cock throbs and I can feel every surge emptying into me. The warmth spreads through my pelvis, heavy and full, and when he finishes, I feel packed, overfull, his seed and my wetness mixed together inside me.
I collapse onto his chest, boneless, breathing hard, my forehead pressed against his collarbone. Korr reaches for the blanket and covers us both.
He slips out of me just as I’m falling asleep. His cock slides free, and our combined fluids spill out, making a mess on his abdomen. We’re both drenched, the bed is soaked, but I’m too tired and satisfied to care. I curl up on his chest, small against his massive body, my legs tangled with his, my ear listening to his heartbeat. Safe, content, and spent, I close my eyes and fall asleep on top of my husband.
Chapter Sixteen
Korr
Sorina is asleep on my chest.
Her golden hair fans across my upper body, and the blanket is pulled up around her shoulders where I tucked it last night. She weighs almost nothing. I can feel each breath she takes, the way her ribs expand a fraction, then the puff of air brushing my skin.
I don’t move. I lie still and listen to her breathe. My body feels strong, loose, and alive. I flex my fingers under the blanket, over and over, to remind myself that this is real. She is my soulmate, the one I’ve been looking for all this time, and she saved me. The calcification process is completely reversed, and I feel like nothing can stop me now. Nothing can bring me down.
When the sun is fully up in the sky, I ease myself out from under her, shifting her head from my chest to the pillow. She stirs, her lips part, and she lets out a soft moan but doesn’t wake up. I pull the duvet up to her chin and stand there watching her for a few seconds before I turn away and walk into the bathing room.
I wash at the basin, splash water on my face, scrub my arms, and run wet hands over my head. I move fast and make as little noise as possible because I have a plan. I want to bring her breakfast in bed.
I pull on trousers and a shirt, lace my boots, and head for the door. I take the lift down to the Corehalls, still grinning.
The Stone Table is already open, the waiter wiping down the counter when I walk in. I order too much food: a cast-iron platter of thick-cut smoked pork belly with cracked pepper and honey glaze, a bowl of roasted root vegetables with garlic and rosemary, a basket of dark sourdough bread warm from the oven, a pot of salted butter, a crock of spiced apple compote, a wedge of white cheese, and a jug of cold milk.
The waiter raises an eyebrow at the size of the order, and I tell him I’m feeding my wife. He grins and loads everything onto a wooden tray.
I carry the tray through the Corehalls and into the lift, up to the Highhalls. It feels amazing to be able to do this so easily, like it’s nothing, and do it fast, too, moving like I haven’t been ill and dying just days before.
I set the tray on the bedside table. The clatter of dishes and the smell of smoked pork and warm bread fill the room, and Sorina stirs. Her eyes open slowly, blink at the tray, blink at me, and then go wide at the amount of food I brought.
I lean down and kiss her on the lips. She makes a low sound against my mouth, her hand coming up to rest on my jaw.
“Hungry?” I ask.
“Starving,” she says, her voice still thick with sleep.
I kneel on the floor, bringing myself level with her. I tear off a piece of sourdough, spread butter on it, and hold it to her mouth. She takes it from my fingers, her lips brushing my thumb, and giggles.
“You’re feeding me,” she says.
“I am.”
“Like a baby bird.”
“You’re prettier than a baby bird.”
She laughs and opens her mouth for another piece, and I give her one with a thick layer of butter and a spoonful of spiced apple compote on top. She chews with her eyes half closed and moans. I feed her pieces of pork belly, slices of cheese, more bread. She takes each one from my hand, and crumbs land on the sheets, but neither of us cares.
She grabs my shirt and pulls me down to kiss me. She tastes like honey and butter, and I brace my hands on the mattress to keep from crushing her. She tugs harder and pulls me onto the bed, and I let her.
It doesn’t take long for her to push me onto my back and climb on top of me, her thighs spread wide across my hips, her hands flat on my chest. She’s naked already, and we make quick work of my clothes. I reach for the bottle of oil, but she takes it from me, slicks me herself with both hands wrapped around my cock, and I grip the sheets until my knuckles ache. She guides me inside her, and we both go still. When she starts moving, I’m once again convinced I’m the luckiest man alive.
I keep my hands on her waist, steadying her, careful with my grip. I’m big enough to crush her with one careless pull, one wrong movement, and I won’t risk it. She sets her own pace and takes what she wants. She rides me with her head tipped back and her hands braced on my chest, the morning light from the window illuminating her hair and making the diamond earrings sparkle. I revel in her bouncing breasts, the arch of her back, the line of her throat, and I hold her gently and let her use me until she comes apart with my name on her lips.
I finish after she does, my hands tight on her hips, my face buried in her neck.
