45. Isobel
I share a look with Quin as Simon flees from our presence. I have to bite down on my bottom lip to stop the giggles bubbling in my chest from breaking free, because seeing such a gruff, intimidating-looking man as Simon hightailing it because he’s suddenly shy, is just too much for me to ignore.
“How’s our little princess?” Quin quietly asks, and my blood heats at the adoration and hunger for me churning in his gaze.
“She was mostly fussing because she was wet. She’s all clean and dry now, and I’ve given her a top-off. Fingers crossed, she won’t wake for another few hours. Then, she’ll need another feed and diaper change, and will probably want a little snuggle-time before she goes back down again. At this stage, she sleeps around sixteen hours a day, but sometimes it’s a little more or a little less. Today she was awake a little more than usual, so she’s probably a tad overtired.”
My mate towers over the two of us, and his nearness settles something inside of me that has been achingly empty for so long it feels like a part of me now.
“She’s blowing milk bubbles in her sleep,” he murmurs as he strokes a finger over Arina’s downy-soft cheek.
I glance down at the precious bundle in my arms and smile. She is, indeed, blowing milk bubbles, her lips pursed into a tiny cupid’s bow. Her eyelashes are dark against the pallor of her skin, and she’s slipped into a deep sleep.
“How about we put her back down to sleep, and then you and me can get reacquainted in the shower?” Quin asks, the rumble of his voice going straight to my clit. “Simon’s not going anywhere, and I have the feeling we’re all going to need to clean up again before the night is done. He just needs some time to gather his thoughts. Our blood bond is telling me that he’s nervous about it all, but excited as well. Honestly, I can’t blame him, I feel the same way.”
Seeing as I have no reason to argue, I follow along with Quin’s suggestion. It’s the work of a moment to put Arina down in her bassinet, and before I know it, I’m standing in my bathroom, water thundering down from the shower head and steaming up the room.
“Do you want me to leave, give you some privacy, Izzy?”
I lick my lips and raise my hands to the buttons of the flannel I’m wearing in response to Quin’s question. His gaze roams over my body, the weight of his stare almost a physical caress.
I undress slowly, savoring the blaze of interest that each of my movements evoke in Quin’s eyes, until at long last I’m standing before him, naked. I strike a pose, partly because I’m feeling a little self-conscious, but mostly because I want to provoke him into action. I square my shoulders, pushing my chest out somewhat, thrust a hip to one side and then rest my hand on that hip.
It works.
Quin’s movements are a blur as he strips out of his clothes, the fabric rending as he literally tears his shirt and sweats from his body. He kicks off his shoes, then removes his socks by standing on them and pulling his feet free. In less than a minute he’s as naked as me, and I’m able to drink him in in all his glory.
His form is both strange and familiar at the same time. His muscles are more pronounced, whether due to the impact of his incarceration or because there’s barely any fat left on his body. There’s a gauntness to him, one that sharpens his bone structure, and it makes my heart hurt to see the neglect and mistreatment Quin has had to endure. I don’t know if it’s because they didn’t have Simon for the same length of time, if it was the way we treated Tálstrom while he recovered, or whether Simon was simply treated differently than Quin while they were both held in captivity, but the disparity between the two is marked.
Scars litter Quin’s body, and it hurts my heart to see further evidence of his captivity. He hadn’t been quite so battered when we first mated, and even had more meat on his bones, so to speak. Now, though?
Now, his body has none of the softness you’d expect on someone healthier. His collarbones cut across his chest above his pecs, and they and his abdominal muscles are pronounced rather than defined. Quin’s veins are clearly visible beneath the pallor of his once-tan skin, with each of his ribs protruding from his side, the ridges and valleys starkly outlined. The same goes for his hip bones.
I’ve no doubt that with a little time, care, and a calorie-dense diet, Quin will regain the strong and athletic body I’ve come to know and love. However, seeing the changes wrought in his body only makes me self-conscious about the ones in my own brought on by my pregnancy.
I glance down at my body, wincing at the sight that greets me. My breasts are fuller, my nipples darker and larger in diameter. Milk beads at the tip of one, my production running overtime. My hips are wider, and my once-taut stomach is still noticeably rounded. Jagged crimson slashes bisect my creamy skin, the stretch marks extending down over my hips, buttocks, and thighs, some of them even appearing over my breasts.
“Fuck me, Izzy. You’re beautiful. I forgot just how perfect you are. Motherhood has made you into a mortal, earth-bound goddess.”
His awestruck words jolt me out of my contemplation like nothing else. I dart a look up at his face and can find no hint of a lie in Quin’s reverent and ravenous countenance. His gaze roams my body, the heat of it provoking reactions from my body that I’d almost forgotten during my waking moments.
He reaches out to me tentatively, almost as if he’s afraid to touch me, that this is yet another dream that will shatter and leave us both feeling hollow and lost.
Except it’s not.
His fingers, roughened with callouses and lined with scars, brush across the skin of my shoulder, tracing a light line toward my face. They linger over the dips and hollows of my throat before curling around the column of my neck. His hand settles there, like a warm and heavy choker, and a dart of pure lust spears through me. My knees tremble under the weight of my desire, and I lick my parched lips.
Quin moves like lightning.
He crowds my body back into the shower stall, the steaming water drenching my head and shoulders. Pushing me up against the wall with his torso, Quin grabs me by my thighs and lifts me up, parting my legs so he can wedge his hips between them. Water continues to cascade over our heads, but we’re pressed together so closely that the rivulets have to find another way down our bodies to the floor.
I’m already drenched between my legs.
“Fuck, Izzy, I’ve missed you so much. Having you here in my arms, being able to touch you, smell you, feel you… it’s more than I thought I’d ever have again. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I left you behind. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going, who I was meeting. I’m sorry I hid so much from you with the excuse I was protecting you. I swear, I’ll never keep anything from you again.”
My heart swells with emotion, and I tug Quin’s lips to mine, just as desperately hungry for his touch as he is for mine. I squeeze my thighs together, drawing him in even closer to my core. I’m dripping with need, and I can’t wait another moment.
“Come home to me, Quin. Make love to me, fill all the places that have been empty since you left, re-stake your claim on me. I need you to make me whole again. Please?”
Quin rocks his hips, the crown of his cock sliding back and forth through my slit. It glistens as my arousal coats it with each pass over my sensitive flesh. He pauses for a moment and reaches down, notching his head at my opening, and then… bliss.
He slides home, each spiny protrusion rubbing inside me just right, and I’m already falling.
This time, Quin catches me.