Page 23 of Bred By The King

Tariq chokes. I smirk.

“Layla!”

“What? It’s true.”

Tariq looks at me, horror and amusement mixing. “You really have your hands full.”

“Every day,” I say, pulling her closer. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The visit is good. Peaceful. We eat dinner on the same terrace where I first fucked her on the beach. Tariq tells stories about her childhood, how she beat up a boy twice her size for pulling her braids, how she trained with the guard from age six, how she refused every suitor because none were “worth her time.”

“Until you,” Tariq says, raising his glass. “The enemy king who stole my daughter’s heart.”

“I didn’t steal it,” I say, looking at Layla. “She gave it to me.”

She smiles, her hand on her belly.

That night, after Tariq has gone to bed, I take Layla down to the beach. The same spot. The same boulder. The same moonlight.

“Remember this?” I ask, lifting her on the warm stone.

“How could I forget?” She wraps her legs around my waist. “This is where you ruined me.”

“This is where I claimed you.” I push inside her, slow and deep. “This is where I knew I’d never let you go.”

I fuck her gently, carefully, mindful of the baby. But it’s no less intense. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her moans fill the night air.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too, wife.”

We stay on that beach until dawn, wrapped in each other. And when the sun rises over MeliTar, I know I am exactly where I’m meant to be.

With her. Always with her.

Twenty

LAYLA

The northern summer is short but beautiful. The fjords are green instead of white, the sun staying up until nearly midnight, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.

I’m six months pregnant, round and heavy and constantly horny. Soren is insatiable. Which works out well for both of us.

Today there’s a festival in the village below the palace. The first real celebration since the peace treaty. Soren and I are seated on a raised platform, watching the dancing and drinking. I’m wearing a loose dress that barely contains my tits, they’ve grown two cup sizes and leak constantly. Soren is obsessed with them. He can’t keep his hands off me.

Right now, his palm is resting on my rounded belly, his thumb tracing slow circles. Every few minutes he leans in to kiss my neck, or my shoulder, or the top of my breast. The villagers stare. He stares back, daring them to say something.

“You’re embarrassing me,” I whisper, though I’m not really mad.

“Good,” he rumbles. “They need to know you’re taken.”

“They know, Soren. Everyone in three kingdoms knows by now.”

“Not good enough.” His hand slides higher, brushing my nipple through the fabric. I gasp, smacking his arm. “Soren! We’re in public!”

“And you’re beautiful.” He nips my ear. “I want to take you behind that tent and fuck you until you scream.”

“You’re deranged.”