26. LAYLA
Twenty Six
LAYLA
We have our first real fight two months after the wedding.
It starts stupid. This kinda thing always starts stupid. Soren comes back from a border patrol. He’s been gone for three days, checking on the villages near the old conflict zone, and I’m hormonal and emotional and missed him so much I cried into my soup last night.
“You didn’t send a message,” I say the second he walks through the door.
His eyebrows raise in surprise. “I did. I sent two.”
“Two messages in three days? That’s it?”
He sighs, eyes turning soft. “I was busy, Layla. I was making sure our people were safe.”
“Our people.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Or your people? Because last I checked, I’m still the southern queen in a northern palace. And when you disappear for three days without telling me if you’re alive or dead, I get to worry.”
His jaw tightens. “I was doing my job.”
“Your job is to be my husband too. Your job is to not make me cry because I’m terrified something happened to you.”
He stupid, sexy mouth twitches. “You cried?”
“That’s not the point, Soren!”
The sexy grin spreads. Fuck me. “It kinda is, baby.”
I throw a pillow at him. He catches it. Of course, he catches it. He’s a warrior king with reflexes like a cat. So annoying!
“I was worried about you, you big idiot!” I shout, and then the tears come. The stupid, annoying, can’t-control-them pregnancy tears. “I thought you were hurt. I thought you were dead. I thought…”
My voice breaks. I hate that my voice breaks. I’m a warrior. I’m a queen. I’m not supposed to fall apart because my husband went on patrol.
But I am falling apart. Because I love him. Because the thought of losing him terrifies me more than anything.
Soren drops the pillow. In three strides, he’s in front of me, his big, calloused hands cupping my face.
“Hey,” he says in a soft voice. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here. Not hurt, not dead. I’m right here.”
“You can’t just disappear,” I choke out. “You can’t just leave for days and not communicate. I need to know. I need…”
“You need me,” he finishes. “And I need you. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t think. I was so focused on the patrol, on the villages, on making sure the peace was holding… I didn’t think about how it would be for you. I didn’t think about you waiting here, worrying.”
“I always worry,” I whisper. “When you’re not here, I worry. When you are here, I worry. I worry because I love you and I can’t imagine…”
“Don’t.” He presses his forehead to mine, he’s beautiful eyes capturing mine. “Don’t even think about it. I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll send messages every hour if that’s what you need. I’ll take you with me on patrols. I’ll never fucking leave your side again.”
I let out a broken, watery laugh. “You can’t never leave my side. You’re a king. You have responsibilities.”
Soren hooks a finger under my chin. “My first responsibility is to you, baby.” He pulls back, eyes burning into mine. “You, Layla. My wife. My queen. The mother of my child. Everything else comes second. Every fucking thing.”
I sniffle, my anger melting like snow in the sun. “You mean that?”
“I’ve never meant anything more.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry I made you cry. I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?”
He smirks. That wicked, filthy smirk that makes my knees weak. “However you want, my queen.”
I roll my eyes and push at his chest. “I just need you to have a care.”
“Done.” He kisses my jaw. He’s all big, broad, warm, and smelling like my Soren. God, I missed him. “Anything else?”
“I want soup,” I mumble into his chest, letting the size of him, his heat, his scent, the feeling of being surrounded by my husband’s massive body, soothe me.
He chuckles softly into the top of my hair. “Soup. Done.”
I smile against his chest. “And I want you to hold me.”
His big arms pull me closer. “Also done.”
I bite my lower lip, raising my gaze to meet his. “And I want you to fuck me.”
His eyes darken. “Now?”
“Right now. While I’m still mad at you. So I can remind myself why I put up with your shit, my king.”
My husband doesn’t hesitate. He lifts me, carries me to the bed, and strips my clothes with hungry, shaky hands. Then he strips, revealing his massive, carved body that still makes my mouth water. Always…
“You sure?” he asks, hovering over me with a teasing smirk. “I don’t want to take advantage of you while you’re emotional.”
I lightly punch his hard stomach, making him laugh. “Soren. If you don’t put your big dick inside me in the next ten seconds…”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He lowers his head to kiss me long, deep, wet, fucking nasty.
Wonderful. And when he pushes inside me in one smooth thrust, I see fucking stars…
I’m already wet, I always am around my guy, and the stretch makes me gasp.
He fucks me slow and deep, his eyes locked on mine, his huge hands cradling my face. Giant body all over me.
“I love you,” he whispers with every thrust. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll do better. I love you.”
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper. I moan, “You better.”
He laughs between breathy grunts, and that makes his cock deliciously jump inside me.
My king picks up his pace, hips slamming against mine. I dig my nails into his back and he groans against my lips.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, burying himself to the hilt.
We come together, my pussy clenching around him, his cock pulsing deep inside me. He floods me, his cum hot and thick, and I take it all. Every fucking drop.
And later, he holds me, orders me soup, and feeds it to me while he tells me about the patrol, the villages, our people, and the peace holding strong.
And when we fall asleep, tangled together, I know we can survive anything. Arguments, distance, fear, pregnancy hormones… Because we love each other. Because we choose each other. Every day.