Page 27 of Bred By The King

“Happy tears,” I promise, burying my face in his neck.

“Always happy tears.” He kisses my hair, his hands rubbing slow circles on my back. “I love you, Layla. So fucking much. Thank you for this. For her. For us.”

“I love you too.”

He carries me to bed, because he carries me everywhere now, says I shouldn’t be walking, and lays me down gently. He strips off his clothes and climbs in next to me, curling around my body like a protective wall.

His hand rests on my belly, feeling for more kicks. When she delivers, he smiles against my neck.

“She’s strong,” he whispers. “Like her mama.”

“And stubborn. Like her daddy.”

“Damn right.”

He kisses my shoulder, my neck, my jaw. Then his hand slides lower, between my thighs.

“Soren…”

“Let me,” he murmurs. “Let me make you feel good. You’re carrying our baby. You’re doing all the work. Let me take care of you.”

His fingers find my clit, rubbing slow, gentle circles. I’m so sensitive now, pregnancy has made everything more intense. I moan, arching into his touch.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let go for me, wife. Come for your king.”

I do. I come with a soft cry, my pussy clenching around nothing, my body trembling in his arms. He holds me through it, kissing my temple, murmuring praise.

Then he guides my hand to his cock, hard and thick and ready. I stroke him slowly, my fingers wrapping around his length, my thumb brushing over the sensitive head.

“Fuck, Layla,” he groans, his hips bucking into my grip. “Your hands…”

“You want me?” I tease, though I’m already guiding him toward my entrance.

“Always. Forever.”

He pushes inside me slowly, carefully, his hand supporting my hip. He fucks me with infinite gentleness, his eyes locked on mine, his love pouring like warm honey.

“I love you,” he whispers with every thrust. “I love you. I love you.”

I come again, softer this time, my pussy fluttering around his cock. He follows, groaning my name, flooding me with his warmth.

After, he stays inside me, his hand on my belly, feeling our daughter kick between us.

“We’re a family,” he whispers.

“We are,” I agree.

And we are. Perfectly, beautifully, completely.

A family.

Twenty Three

SOREN

The palace has an ancient bathing chamber, a relic from the old kings, carved from the rock of the fjord itself. The pool is fed by hot springs, the water steaming and mineral-rich, the walls covered in moss that glows faintly in the torchlight.

I’ve had it prepared for Layla. Candles. Flowers. Soft towels. And me, waiting in the water, already hard at the thought of her joining me.