19. SOREN
Nineteen
SOREN
We return to MeliTar when Layla is four months pregnant. Tariq has been begging to see his daughter. And I can’t deny her anything.
The flight is long. Layla sleeps against my shoulder, her hand on her small bump. I spend the entire journey watching her. Counting my blessings.
When we land, the heat hits me like a wall. I immediately start sweating. Layla laughs at me.
“Too warm for you, big guy?”
“I hate the sun.”
“I know.” She takes my hand. “But you came anyway. For me.”
“I’d go anywhere for you. Through fire. Through ice. Through a thousand fucking suns.”
She kisses me, soft and sweet.
Tariq meets us at the palace. He looks older, grayer, but his eyes light up when he sees Layla. He pulls her into a hug that lasts too long.
“My baby girl,” he whispers. “Look at you. Glowing.”
“It’s the pregnancy hormones, Father. And the fact that my husband won’t stop fucking me.”
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.