Born for Silk (The Cradled Common)

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Aster

Rome is alive.

He is recovering.

But it has been two weeks, and it feels like the days churn, and churn, and churn. Like I am waiting at a closed door, watching it for decades.

I believe the reports we are sent each day from the Trade-tower—he is breathing, he is awake, he will return soon—but my heart won’t settle until I see him with my own adoring eyes, until my fingers feel his muscles shudder, until his skin covers mine and radiates warmth…

I roll to the side of his bed, my silky robe sliding over my skin but tight around my swollen belly, and tuck my new book into the drawer.

Han gave it to me.

It is old. The text is small, and it reads like a poem. Odd. Lyrical. Some of the stories are fantastical, others meaningful or completely nonsensical.

Han told me that if I ever wanted to talk about the book, that I could ‘come home.’

To the abbey.

I look around Rome’s room.

But I am home.

There is a part in the book that reads, ‘Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day?—’

I don’t know why, but that snippet reminds me of Rome. Of how he is healing. Day by day. Though, everything I read or see, reminds me of my king. Today, I saw his powerful body striding toward me when I glanced at the courtyard gate during the hour Daisy, Blossom, Ana, and I were given to play with Ana’s baby, Cardiff.

I hear his possessive growls each night when I touch myself, failing miserably to reach the pleasure he offers me.

And I sense him inside my womb.

In the Medi-deck, this first-light Paisley told me that the baby is big and strong and as I curl on my side, pulling my knees up, the heir rolls, a limb or shoulder poking out. I poke it back.

It doesn’t hurt, much.

My back spasms.

But I like the feeling of company, knowing a little piece of my king is here, but it is getting harder to sleep. Harder to relax. I’m hotter. Tighter. The skin around my belly itches and aches.

It does hurt—a little.

I toss and turn, the heir’s weight inside me dictating every position and all discomfort. Somewhere between awake and sleep, I hear the door open, feel the bed rock from side to side, and sense… him.

“Aster.” His nose trails up my throat moments before firm, warm lips press to mine, demanding I turn my head and accept them.

I moan in my half-conscious state, opening my lips to accept his long, thick tongue.

He tastes good.

So good.

My nipples tighten beneath the silk of my gown, arousal building between my legs as he massages my lips with his.

Wait.

“Rome!” I sit up, cupping my abdomen as the large baby inside me moves like a solid stone pendulum. It is dark in his room, but the maroon-coloured fire casts a glowing light around us, an aura of lusty red.

I blink at him—at Rome—registering the scar on his lower lip, the fragmented blue eyes, and his bare chest carved to angry perfection. It’s him. His mouth curves against my startled awe.

My tongue flaps with words; millions of them have been stalking my mind for the past two weeks.

“I thought you died,” I manage to say. Happiness floods with old emotions, and tears spit from my eyes. “I thought you died!” My voice pitches higher. “Don’t do that. Don’t do that again.”

“Don’t die again?” he asks, amused.

“Don’t you laugh at me, Rome of The Strait! I have been all alone! You…” I grab his thick forearm, needing the unyielding pillar to hold myself up. I am so heavy. “You will never do that again. I forbid it. Swear it to me.”

He sighs, eyes reverently roaming my face for each detail. “I swear I will never die again, little creature.” He humours me.

I beam at him. Hot sweat slides down my forehead. I breathe deep. Dizzy. My body wants to drop backward, tired; my heart wants to leap into his chest, to be with his; my eyes want to take in every new scar, memorise them; my nipples and core want pressure, so much pressure.

Pregnancy.

It’s strange.

Demanding.

A potent condition.

Rome’s brows pinch, his eyes darting to my swollen stomach. His hands come up, cup either side, covering the entire surface, and cradle the weight. Lift it. Fingers pan out, touching and caressing my tight skin. The baby rolls around, kneading into their father’s giant hands.

“Incredible.” He grins. “Need me to make amends, sweet creature? Make it all better with my tongue?”

I nod, my lower lip trembling with emotion. “Yes, please, my king.”

His eyes darken, menacing intent creeping into the depth of them. “Oh, it’s ‘my king,’ now?”

He leans forward, reaches behind me, forcing me back with his encroaching wall of muscles. The weight of his heir pulls me to my spine, but not before he grabs a pillow and slides it to support my back.

My belly protrudes.

I feel like a blob of custard.

Horrible and vulnerable.

But then his lips meet mine quick, and I forget… “What did you just call me?” The heated words rush along my trembling mouth.

I hesitate. “Rome of The Strait…?”

“You want attention. What happens to your sweet body when you demand attention?”

I swallow as his hot mouth slides down to my chin, sucking and mouthing a trail to my breasts. His tongue flicks my nipple, then treats each sensitive bud through the silk of my gown, wetting the fabric and heating the fibres.

His kiss moves to my stomach.

Moaning, I slide my fingers through his dark hair, the strands parting as my nails drag up and down, up and down.

He shudders and groans. Muscles tremble, vibrating the bed. His chest rumbles—purrs.

My beast.

My king.

Closing my eyes, I simply enjoy the heat of his hands as they travel my skin, exploring and journeying leisurely. Ankle. Leg. Hip.

Between my thighs.

He dips his finger into my core. I immediately arch with a whimper of delirious pleasure. Want it.

Want more.

Deeper.

My body lifts and writhes, missing the depth and thickness of his all-consuming touch.

Hips chasing his finger, I lick my lips and focus on breathing. My lungs are tight.

“Mine,” he rasps, crawling between my legs. I spread my thighs. “Wider.” His mouth meets the top of my pussy, sucking and licking the coil of nerves while his clever finger slides in and out of me. “Be very cautious with your tone, little creature,” he warns, dark and delicious.

My toes curl as he licks and sucks me between his deep utterances. “I may be Rome of The Strait, but you will submit to me. Submit and spread.” A second finger slides in. “Adore. Pleasure. Provide. That does not change.”

Gasping for air, losing reality to his greedy kiss, I paw the back of his head and lift my pelvis, grinding on him. Grip him. Grind. Not submitting. Demanding. More.

“Oh, you really want attention, huh?”

He rears up to his knees and my heart races, beating so hard inside my heaving chest, as his heated, daring eyes lick up and down my body, hovering over my swollen belly. “You are so mine.”

Groaning, he undoes his belt and pants.

Rome strips down and fists the heavy, dripping length of his cock, jerking until the crown flushes. “Submitting does not make you inferior to me. It means you respect me. You respect your king. Show me. Show me your respect.”

I spread my thighs wider in offering but try to quell my tiny slithers of fear. Having this formidable Xin De King looming over me, stroking the monstrous thing that will be pulsing inside me soon, still intimidates me.

I know he could break me.

He grips the bedframe, and I throw my legs around the back of his thighs. Without any further words, he pushes inside me, stretches me, unfolding me and adding girth that touches and kneads every inch of my channel.

Sobbing with utter relief, I clutch his flanks, holding the powerful muscles as he works his cock in and out of me. Lips graze my forehead. His arm above my head takes his weight, his body rolling against me, brushing the swell of my stomach.

“Is this what you want?” He fills me and empties me, methodical and rhythmic, sending my mind into a haze of bliss and uncertainty.

So deep.

Empty.

So full.

Empty.

“You feel so good,” he purrs. “You like your king stretching your tight, little pussy open. Don’t you, sweet creature?”

Abruptly, he pins me to the pillow by my throat, fingers circling the thin column with ease.

He growls with each thrust.

“Remember your claws, Aster …”

When he reminds me of my claws, reinforcing my safety. That he will stop. Listen. I unravel and relax, my insides gripping and grabbing at his hard length.

Then he starts to really move.

Pleasure builds at a relentless pace until I am drowning in its embrace, my entire body awash with it.

“Rome,” I cry out.

His cock lengthens within my pulsing core. And he curses, pulls out, throws his head back, and pumps his cum across my stomach, claiming the swollen mound, using his hand. “Aster… I love you. Fuck me , Aster, I love you.”

I watch the erotic scene, his veined forearms contracting, his fist working every spurt out. “I love you, too, my king.”

He drops to his hands on either side of me, creating a frame of muscles around my body. Firm, authoritarian lips move to mine, needing wholesome affection. A kiss.

A kiss from my lover.

From my king.

We both pant into each other’s mouths while pleasure lingers and plays a soft encore.

Too soon, he breaks our kiss. Presses his forehead to mine. “Have you been well?” A warm hand touches the mound at my hips. “Is it getting too hard? We can incubate soon.”

“I can keep going. A little longer.”

“That’s my good little Silk Girl.” He kisses me once. “You can try, but I will make the call. My heir will survive perfectly fine in the coming months outside your body. You have done such a good job, Aster. And you will respect my decision when it comes. Understand, little creature?”

I nod. “It is only… I am not sleeping well.”

He hums, a menacing and depthless sound. “You’re working so hard for me. So tired. Let me help my sweet creature get some sleep.”

Scooping me up as if I weigh nothing, he lays me on my side, with my pillow, crown to the foot of the bed.

He lies the opposite way.

I squirm. “What are yo?—”

My words halt on a moan when he drags my pelvis to his mouth, one thigh to the mattress, one leg slung over his face. In a long, slow stroke, his tongue slides between my folds.

And again.

My skin tingles. He isn’t trying to build that wonderful bliss; he is gentle and tender, teasing me with small dips and licks.

He’s simply making me feel… nice.

I smile and take a big breath.

Rome of The Strait. In like a storm… No longer slipping away like a phantom.

Staying.