22. LAYLA
Twenty Two
LAYLA
I’m seven months pregnant and I feel like a beached whale. A very horny, very emotional beached whale.
Soren is currently kneeling in front of me, tying my shoes. Because I can’t reach my own feet anymore. Because my belly is the size of a small country.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, though I’m not stopping him.
“I want to.” He finishes the laces and looks up at me, his blue eyes soft. “I want to take care of you.”
“You take care of me constantly. You feed me. You bathe me. You rub my feet for an hour every night.”
“And I still feel like it’s not enough.”
I cup his face in my hands, feeling the scratch of his stubble. “It’s more than enough. You’re more than enough.”
He kisses my palm. Then he presses his ear to my belly.
“Hey, sweetheart. It’s your daddy. Your mama says I’m doing a good job. But I think I can do better. So I’m going to keep trying. Every day. Until you’re here, safe and sound, and I can hold you in my arms.”
I feel it then. A kick. Strong and sharp, right where his ear is pressed.
Soren’s eyes go wide. He looks up at me, his face a mix of shock and wonder.
“Did you feel that?” he whispers.
“I felt it.”
“She kicked me.” His voice cracks. “She actually kicked me.”
He presses both hands to my belly, his face filled with awe. “Hey, little warrior. It’s daddy. I felt that. I felt you. And I want you to know that I love you. I love you so much already. And I’m going to protect you. And your mama. Forever.”
Another kick. Right into his palm.
Soren laughs, a real, genuine, delighted laugh that makes my heart swell to bursting. He kisses my belly, over and over, murmuring love and promises to our daughter.
“She likes you,” I say softly.
“She knows me.” He looks up at me, and there are tears in his eyes. “She knows her daddy.”
I start crying. The hormones, the love, the overwhelming everything, it all hits me at once.
“Don’t cry, wife,” he murmurs, standing and pulling me into his arms. “I can’t handle it when you cry.”
“Happy tears,” I promise, burying my face in his neck.
“Always happy tears.” He kisses my hair, his hands rubbing slow circles on my back. “I love you, Layla. So fucking much. Thank you for this. For her. For us.”
“I love you too.”
He carries me to bed, because he carries me everywhere now, says I shouldn’t be walking, and lays me down gently. He strips off his clothes and climbs in next to me, curling around my body like a protective wall.
His hand rests on my belly, feeling for more kicks. When she delivers, he smiles against my neck.
“She’s strong,” he whispers. “Like her mama.”
“And stubborn. Like her daddy.”
“Damn right.”
He kisses my shoulder, my neck, my jaw. Then his hand slides lower, between my thighs.
“Soren…”
“Let me,” he murmurs. “Let me make you feel good. You’re carrying our baby. You’re doing all the work. Let me take care of you.”
His fingers find my clit, rubbing slow, gentle circles. I’m so sensitive now, pregnancy has made everything more intense. I moan, arching into his touch.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let go for me, wife. Come for your king.”
I do. I come with a soft cry, my pussy clenching around nothing, my body trembling in his arms. He holds me through it, kissing my temple, murmuring praise.
Then he guides my hand to his cock, hard and thick and ready. I stroke him slowly, my fingers wrapping around his length, my thumb brushing over the sensitive head.
“Fuck, Layla,” he groans, his hips bucking into my grip. “Your hands…”
“You want me?” I tease, though I’m already guiding him toward my entrance.
“Always. Forever.”
He pushes inside me slowly, carefully, his hand supporting my hip. He fucks me with infinite gentleness, his eyes locked on mine, his love pouring like warm honey.
“I love you,” he whispers with every thrust. “I love you. I love you.”
I come again, softer this time, my pussy fluttering around his cock. He follows, groaning my name, flooding me with his warmth.
After, he stays inside me, his hand on my belly, feeling our daughter kick between us.
“We’re a family,” he whispers.
“We are,” I agree.
And we are. Perfectly, beautifully, completely.
A family.