Chapter 1 His Perfect Little Heirs #4
I hear the dark amusement in his voice as he growls, “Discipline for that facetious eyebrow and for crawling across the centre console like a child.”
I bow to his lips. “Sir.”
“Easy, sweet girl. I will never leave you needy. When you pick your ring, I will let you come.” He slides his tongue the length of my wet folds, the gradual and steady stimulation intent on grounding his devious demand.
“Choose. You deserve these. You are being cautious instead of accepting that you may have whichever pleases you. What pleases me is sitting softly in my hands and dripping down my tongue. I do not want you to be prideful today. Not over this. Pick.”
His finger touches my puckering hole and I gasp, instantly pressing back on him, greedy to feel the exquisitely odd stretch, so uncomfortable, so obscene.
And dark. And I love it. His finger there is my favourite.
I want it, I want it—I’m desperate for it.
“Please, Sir.” I writhe around on the cabinet, greedy for the sensation.
“Choose.”
God.
I lift each ring to my face as he licks me softly—not enough, not nearly enough. The gold. The white. The rose-coloured one… I lift my hips to grind on his face.
“My little pussy,” he says, awed and gruff, in love with what he is gazing at. “Always wanting to be pet and played with. I like her open. Like her supple for me.” He circles my special hole again, and the sound that leaves me bites and rumbles. “Sir! Please.”
“Choose, little deer.”
I growl.
The white.
With the delicate clasp.
White and blue.
Like the moon in the sky.
Like the stars reflected in the ocean.
White and blue.
“The white one,” I decide, and as I do, he presses the tip of his finger through the tight muscles, sucks my clit into his mouth, and rockets me over the edge of sanity, forcing a ripple of sensation to every inch of my body. I gyrate my pelvis upward while a cry tears from my mouth.
I come hard.
7th Month Pregnant
I moan as Clay takes me gently but with a thorough domination and a deep understanding of my body.
His appetite for me, and I for him, is insatiable, incessant… indecent. We can’t get enough. Even as I swell around my hips with his babies, he only seems to want me more often.
Gentler, yes.
But just as consuming.
Placed and positioned on my side at the edge of the mattress, with my knees tucked high, I spoon the large white pillow to my torso as he thrusts and strokes.
God, he’s deep.
The luxurious pillow is soft and soothing as he moves in and out of my arse and plays his fingertip along the wet folds of my pussy.
Takes his time.
Watches the show.
He’s completely naked, broad chest spanning out as he holds me down with one powerful arm. A grid of abdominal muscles leads down to his thick cock.
He’s lethal in the most beautiful and alluring way.
The devil would be more stunning than any other creature; he is to draw you in willingly before sinking through your skin to devour your soul.
Well, Clay Butcher can devour any part of me he wishes to, and I’ll open for him to take and take.
The sight, sensation, and pressure overpower me, and I moan from in my throat.
“That’s it, my sweet girl.” His voice is a raspy, delicious timbre that pours over me like warm liquid. “Remember to breathe as I take this special part of you.”
I do as he orders.
Pant.
Thrust.
God.
“Little deer, you’re so very sweet like this.
” His fingertips strum down my quivering pussy.
“Needy for my cock. Taking me in your pretty arse but wanting me desperately inside your wet pussy.” The groan that leaves him rumbles against my backside as his pelvis meets my flesh. “Christ. You take every inch here.”
He trails his fingers down to the base of my spine. “Arch for me.” His hand presses my lower back, coaxing my body to bow to an angle he likes. “Good girl. Show me how lovely your body looks when you bow.”
I bury my face in the pillow when he pauses, entirely sheathed inside me. Feeling his eyes roaming my body, I will myself not to squeeze his cock, but the need to do so is a howl of demand in my mind.
“Sir,” I cry out as he pulses, taking mere inches out only to push back inside again and again.
He coos, “That’s my good girl. Steady. You’re so well-behaved for me. You’re so perfectly-trained and stretched. Are you breathing, my sweet girl? Show me your lips.”
My mind skitters from the pressure moving up and into me, but I do as I am told. Pulling the pillow down to my chin, I part my lips over the top of it and breathe deeply for him.
“Swollen lips. Just like your pussy. Like your little arsehole, like your stomach. All your pretty parts plump because of me, because of what I do to your body.”
“Yes.”
The tiny strums of his fingers on my pussy have me rocking into them. Desperate to be filled. I know if he only slides them inside me, I will combust. I will explode.
“More,” I beg. “More, Sir.”
“Manners, sweet girl.”
I whimper, saturated in desire. “Please.”
“Very good.” He slides two fingers inside me with such accuracy and care, I can’t withhold my groan of appreciation.
“What a lovely sound, little deer.”
A darkened world scattered in stars hit my vision. I love being pregnant. Everything is more intense. Higher. Lower. Louder. Sorer. Sweeter. Deeper. I rock on his fingers, fucking myself as he thrusts in and out in a harder, determined way.
I grip the pillow, receiving his thorough penetration in both holes in completely contradictory ways.
The hard, deep thrusts in my arse have him growling while his fingers stay steady and gentle and everything I need.
It’s hard to know where to focus, but I let him take me unabated—the way he needs.
“So wet. So tight. My young fiancé with her perfect pussy lips that love my tongue and cock and want to be played with all day long. So spoilt and greedy.”
I am.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take his fingers, his words, his cock—I am.
No more than two minutes later, I’m humping his hand, my pussy clinging to his thrusting fingers as I come apart, and I can’t relax… Can’t. God. Please. I can’t relax. I squeeze my arse around his cock, earning me a hiss from his lips.
“Christ,” he bites out but continues to puncture that special place through my orgasm, through my moans and my writhes, until he loses rhythm to our violent shudders.
Loses control to his dark need.
As I plunge into an abyss of pleasure, he reaches for the nape of my neck with one hand and grips hard so he can knock me up the bed with his drives. It happens fast.
Wave after wave of pleasure suffuses me, but I force my eyes open to watch him fall apart. It’s my favourite thing. My thing. Only mine.
He comes inside me, heat erupting around his cock. I am in heaven when he comes. He might be the devil, but his dark pleasures are everything I ever wanted.
He leans back, dropping his head between his shoulder blades, and groans through the last pulses, wringing his cock out inside my arse.
The warmth of his cum offers relief from the friction, the stillness allows me a moment of reprieve, and I catch my breath as he fights to control his.
“Very pretty,” he praises, lifting his head to look down at me through a heated blue gaze. “Even as I defile you, you’re always so pretty. My pretty little queen. Let’s clean you up.”
He edges from inside me, and I cry out.
He stops. “Easy.” Distracting me from the way his wet length slides from inside my arse, he leans down and gives me a searing kiss. Instantly, I release the pillow and grip his taut shoulders to accept his mouth and tongue.
A simple thing.
A kiss.
It’s everything.
And I get lost in it.
With his lips on mine, he lifts me from the mattress and walks with me into the shower, where he cleans every inch of me and spoils me a little more with his tongue.
In the dressing room, he prepares for the day, choosing a suit and tie, but watches me wander naked as I decide what to wear from the hundreds of outfits I have.
I pull out the white poplin dress Aurora chose for me months ago and touch the lace on the sleeves. My mother used to make things from old pieces of lace.
She would stitch dreamcatchers and tapestries.
Once, when I was very little, I wanted to be a cat, like all children play at, and she made me lace glove-like paws.
She then left me to play as a cat and drink milk, and I didn’t see her for several hours…
It is hard, even when I reach for the memories, they always end in her leaving.
Still, she was my mum. I smile at the memory of her, my hand finding the taut skin over my swelling stomach.
“Sweet girl?”
My smile spreads wider still at his supernatural-like ability to catch my emotions.
“If we have a girl,” I say to the garment before turning to face him.
“Can we call her Ashlee? After my mother?” His perfectly masculine face softens on me.
I amble towards him, saying, “And…” When I reach him, he cups both my cheeks in a way that suggests he wants to cradle every part of me.
Hold me. Study me. I crane my neck to hold his attention. “You should name him if he’s a boy.”
He drags his thumb across my lower lip, playing with the soft flesh. “If you give me a girl, we will name her Ashlee, and if you give me a boy, he will be Luca.”
After his father.
I like it. “And if I give you two girls?”
“You won’t.” He watches his finger explore my lip. “Butcher’s very rarely have girls, little deer. Kelly is the first for three generations.”
“You Butcher Boys are powerful swimmers.”
A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “Indeed.”
8th Month
Our men take Aurora’s luggage down the marble steps to the three waiting cars. The entire house is bustling with the move, and Aurora busies herself to combat the emotion she surely feels.
That I feel, too.