20. LAYLA
Twenty
LAYLA
The northern summer is short but beautiful. The fjords are green instead of white, the sun staying up until nearly midnight, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
I’m six months pregnant, round and heavy and constantly horny. Soren is insatiable. Which works out well for both of us.
Today there’s a festival in the village below the palace.
The first real celebration since the peace treaty.
Soren and I are seated on a raised platform, watching the dancing and drinking.
I’m wearing a loose dress that barely contains my tits, they’ve grown two cup sizes and leak constantly.
Soren is obsessed with them. He can’t keep his hands off me.
Right now, his palm is resting on my rounded belly, his thumb tracing slow circles. Every few minutes he leans in to kiss my neck, or my shoulder, or the top of my breast. The villagers stare. He stares back, daring them to say something.
“You’re embarrassing me,” I whisper, though I’m not really mad.
“Good,” he rumbles. “They need to know you’re taken.”
“They know, Soren. Everyone in three kingdoms knows by now.”
“Not good enough.” His hand slides higher, brushing my nipple through the fabric. I gasp, smacking his arm. “Soren! We’re in public!”
“And you’re beautiful.” He nips my ear. “I want to take you behind that tent and fuck you until you scream.”
“You’re deranged.”
“I’m in love.”
He says it so simply. So honestly. My heart melts.
“I love you too, you big possessive brute.”
We leave the festival early. Soren carries me up the stairs because he says I shouldn’t be walking so much in my “condition.” I remind him that I’m pregnant, not broken. He ignores me.
Once the doors close, he’s on me. Gentle but desperate. He strips my dress off carefully, his eyes going dark as he takes in my changed body.
“Fuck, Layla,” he breathes. “Look at you.”
I do look. Heavy breasts with dark nipples, a round belly that protrudes proudly, wide hips that have spread even wider. I look fertile. I look like his.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.
He kneels in front of me, pressing his face to my belly. “Hey, baby. Daddy’s home.”
Then he kisses lower. Between my thighs. He eats my pussy like it’s his last meal, licking and sucking until I’m shaking, until I come twice against his tongue.
Then he stands, bends me over the arm of the chaise lounge, and slides inside me from behind.
“Gonna fuck you slow,” he promises, his hands gripping my hips. “Gonna take care of my pregnant queen.”
He does. Long, deep strokes that hit every sensitive spot. His hand reaches around to rub my clit, his other hand cupping my breast, pinching the nipple. Milk leaks on his fingers and he groans like he’s dying.
“Can’t wait until you’re full of milk,” he growls. “Gonna drink from you while I fuck you. Gonna breed you again the second this one is out.”
“Yes,” I moan, pushing back against him. “Yes, Soren. Keep me full. Always.”
“Always,” he promises, pounding deeper. “You’re never not going to be full of me, Layla. Never.”
He comes with a groan, flooding me, his cock pulsing deep inside. He stays there, wrapped around me, his hands cradling my belly.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you too,” I breathe.
And I do. With every beat of my heart. With every kick of our baby. With every breath in my body.
I’m his. He’s mine.