Chapter 32 Nevaeh
THIRTY-TWO
Nevaeh
“Happy birthday, Cael,” I greet first thing in the morning. “From me and the baby.”
A drowsy grin lights up his face as he automatically reaches for me and pulls be toward his side of the bed.
“Best way to wake up on a birthday,” Caelian murmurs, his hand sliding over the curve of my swollen belly. Our baby kicks against his palm, and his smile is pure wonder. “The two most important things in my life.”
I thread my fingers through his dark hair, pulling him down for a kiss. His lips are warm and familiar. The kiss deepens, the familiar heat building between us despite my exhausted, pregnant body.
I’m officially thirty-eight weeks.
Yet even now we still can’t keep our hands off each other. We lay in bed in the early morning and within minutes are too turned on to resist.
“Cael,” I breathe against his mouth. “I need you.”
“Mia bella ballerina,” he groans, kissing me back. “What if I send you into labor?”
I can’t help giggling. I drag my fingers along the hard edges of his jaw as I press myself into him, round belly and all. “You won’t, Cael. Always so paranoid about the baby. You won’t hurt it.”
“I know. But…” he pulls back slightly, his hand palming my very large and protruding stomach. “We can feel his—or her—motions out here. How do we know he can’t feel it in there?”
“You are so silly sometimes, you know that?”
We come together in more kisses that soon grow deeper and impassioned.
Caelian’s hands map the changes in my body—fuller breasts, wider hips, the tight dome of my belly. He kisses along my jaw, down my neck, making me shiver.
In the late stages of my pregnancy, I’m so hot through the night I’ve started sleeping naked.
It makes moments like these especially easy as Caelian’s fingers trace patterns on my skin. He cups my breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. I arch into his touch with a soft gasp.
Everything feels more intense these days, every nerve ending heightened by the pregnancy hormones coursing through me.
“You’re so responsive, Nevi,” he growls, his lips finding the special spot on my throat that makes me melt. “I fucking love it.”
I pull him back to my mouth, kissing him with the fierce love burning inside my heart. His hand slides down to caress my belly again, then lower, fingers ghosting over my inner thighs.
I’m already aching for him, my body remembering every time we’ve done this, every way he knows how to make me come apart.
“Please,” I whimper. “Now.”
Caelian shifts, always mindful of my belly, and rolls me more onto my side. He arranges pillows behind my back for support, then positions himself in front of me.
We’re aligned, chest to chest with my belly in the middle. I’m cocooned between him and the pillows, propped between their softness and his strength.
His hand guides my top leg up, hooking it over his hip. The position opens me to him while keeping all the weight off my belly. His other arm slides under my head, cradling me close.
“Are you okay like this?” he asks, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
I moan and squirm against him. “Yes… this is good. I’m comfortable.”
He’s already rock hard, his cock rigid and dripping precum. He presses against my entrance, sliding in slowly, giving me time to adjust. I’m as wet as he is hard, so I’m ready for him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel how his thick girth still stretches and fills me.
Pleasure tingles through every nerve in my body and makes me shudder involuntarily.
“Fuck, Nevi,” he groans against my neck. “Your pussy is so fucking wet and slick.”
We find our rhythm together, his hips rocking into me in slow, deep strokes that make my toes curl. Each thrust sends more waves of pleasure radiating from my pussy, spreading like warm honey through my limbs.
His hand splays across my lower back, keeping me in position and making sure I’m okay while he makes love to me.
We alternate between kisses and moans and gasps for air as our bodies work in tandem.
His powerful frame braces mine protectively, his muscles flexing with each controlled thrust. I rock forward against him, meeting him in the middle, the friction building delicious tension low in my belly.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his dark gray eyes boring into mine. “Take my cock, mia bella. Just like you always have.”
His pace gradually increases, still controlled but deeper, hitting the spot inside me that makes sparks dance behind my eyelids.
Pleasure coils tighter with each stroke, my body clenching around him as the pressure builds. His fingers find my sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with practiced skill, eliciting a sharp cry from me.
“Cael, I’m close—”
“Shhh,” he silences with a deep kiss. He slides back into me, sending more sparks of pleasure radiating up my body. “Just let go. Come on my cock.”
His hips drive into me harder, his thickness stroking every sensitive nerve as his fingers work magic between my legs.
It’s enough to take me there. I reach the peak my pleasure’s been building toward, then go careening over the edge.
The orgasm crashes through me like a powerful tide at sea, pleasure exploding from my pussy and radiating through every last cell in my body.
My walls clench around him, milking his length as I gasp his name. He groans deep in his chest, his rhythm faltering as my body pulls him with me.
He goes under by my side, wiped out by the same consuming tide.
“Nevaeh… FUCK!” he grunts. His hips jerk against mine as he comes, spilling deep inside me with shuddering thrusts.
I feel the heat of him and the pulse of his cock, both sending smaller waves of pleasure through me.
We stay connected, breathing hard together, his hand protective over our baby as the aftershocks fade. His lips press tender kisses to my shoulder, my neck, anywhere he can reach.
“Happy?” he asks with a throaty chuckle.
A small smile comes to my face. “Very happy. And definitely not in labor.”
“One of us has to be paranoid,” he reminds, stroking my belly. “But it seems our little bundle of joy isn’t ready to meet the world yet.”
“Soon,” I say with a peck to his lips. “She’ll—or he’ll—be here very soon.”
“A little to the left,” I call out hours later, standing back to admire the silver streamers Ms. Poitier is tacking up along the dining room’s crown molding.
She adjusts them with a grunt. “Like this, honey?”
“Perfect!”
The formal dining room is slowly transforming into the festive space we need it to be—tasteful decorations in blues and silvers, nothing too outrageous, but celebratory enough to mark the occasion.
Caelian’s never been big on celebrating any occasion, from Thanksgiving to Christmas. According to Ms. Poitier, that also includes his birthday.
His father certainly never bothered besides a couple occasions when he was very young, and after years of being experimented on and poisoned, I doubt he had much reason to feel joyful about marking another year of survival.
But that changes today.
I’m arranging a centerpiece of white roses and eucalyptus on the credenza when a dull ache radiates in my lower back. I pause, pressing my hand against the spot and rolling my shoulders. Probably from being on my feet most of the afternoon.
Caelian, Ms. P, and Dr. Tulio have all lectured me about staying on my feet too long.
At nine months pregnant, my body protests pretty much everything these days.
Then comes a twinge in my stomach, a cramp that almost makes me wince.
“You alright there?” Ms. Poitier asks, climbing down from the stepladder.
“Yeah… I think so,” I assure her, waving off her concern. “Just the usual pregnancy discomfort. It seems any movement these days takes a lot out of me.”
She eyes me skeptically but doesn’t push me on it. Instead, she moves to help me adjust the flower arrangement as we fall back into easy conversation.
“You know,” she says, her tone full of warm nostalgic tone, “Caelian was such a sweet child. Exhausting, mind you, but sweet.”
“Really?” I lean against the credenza, grateful for the chance to rest. “Tell me more.”
“Well, as you know… he was very sick, even as a boy. Could hardly play with his brother and cousins—all that running around would leave him breathless and pale,” she says with a slight frown.
“But he kept me thoroughly entertained indoors. That boy read more comic books than any child I’ve ever known.
And he had this Batman action figure he carried everywhere. ”
“No way!” I laugh, trying to picture serious, dangerous, hulking Caelian clutching a toy Batman as a boy.
“I’m serious! Wouldn’t go anywhere without it. Even slept with it on his pillow. He’d make up these elaborate stories, acting out scenes with all his toys. He had quite the imagination.”
“Do you have any childhood photos?” I ask, my heart aching for the sick little boy who grew into the man I love. “I’d love to see what he looked like. I’ve asked him before but he always refuses, and there aren’t any hung up in the house.”
Her frown deepens. “Unfortunately, there aren’t many. Carmine wasn’t the sentimental type—didn’t believe in ‘cluttering the house with memories,’ as he put it. And Caelian’s mother...” She trails off, but I know better than to push. “She was no longer around.”
Another cramp hits, stronger this time. I breathe through it, keeping my expression neutral.
Then Ms. Poitier’s face lights up and she snaps her fingers. “Wait! Now that I think about it, I might have something. Wait here.”
She scurries from the room with surprising speed for a woman her age.
A moment later, she’s back clutching her wallet, fishing through the worn leather until she produces a faded Polaroid.
“I kept this hidden from Carmine. Took it myself on Caelian’s sixth birthday.”
She hands it to me for a look. I’m immediately smiling, my heart fluttering with pure fondness.
The photo shows a small boy with dark hair and gray eyes, sitting at a table with a single cupcake in front of him.
He’s wearing a blue party hat that’s slightly crooked, grinning at the camera with several teeth missing.
The smile is so genuine, so innocent—before the weight of his father’s cruelty and Nero’s experiments crushed the light out of him.
Before he grew into the hardened man he is today.
“Oh my god, he was so cute.”
“He was a darling,” Ms. Poitier agrees. “Still is, under all his swagger and scowls.”
My fingertips trace the edge of the photo, imagining the little boy who loved Batman and read a mountain of comic books.
“Can I... can I keep this?”
Ms. Poitier puts her arm around my shoulders, squeezing gently. “It’s yours, honey. I think he’d like you to have it.”
I tuck the photo into the pocket of my maternity pants for safe keeping.
We return to finishing up the decorations. The cramps continue—irregular but persistent—but I push through. We only have an hour before Caelian’s due home, and I want everything to be perfect.
Right on schedule, I hear the front door and Caelian’s heavy footsteps in the entrance hall.
“Nevaeh?” he calls through the halls, his tone one of fatigue but determination. “Where is everyone? It’s suspiciously quiet.”
Ms. Poitier and I exchange excited glances. Dr. Tulio, who joined us twenty minutes ago, hides with us in the dining room. He looks somewhat uncomfortable in his white doctor’s coat, but a rare smile is pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Caelian’s footsteps grow closer. I can picture him, exhausted from another long day of consolidating his power over Dresden’s criminal underworld, probably wanting nothing more than a quiet evening.
Well too bad. We’re celebrating his birthday because he deserves to be celebrated for the great man he is.
As his shadow appears in the doorway, we all jump out.
“SURPRISE!”
Caelian stops dead, his eyes going wide. He takes in the decorations, the three of us grinning like idiots, the home-baked birthday cake on the table courtesy of Ms. P, and his expression shifts from shock to wonder.
“You did this?” he asks, his eyes finding mine. “For me?”
“Happy birthday, Cael.”
He crosses the distance between us in three strides and scoops me up in his arms, always so gingerly and mindful of my belly as he does.
We’re laughing as he gives me a gentle spin then kisses me on the mouth. Ms. Poitier is clapping, and even Dr. Tulio looks pleased.
The room is full of the kind of joy we’ve fought so hard to—
Pain.
Sharp and unmistakable, radiating from my lower back around to my stomach. There’s no way to mistake it for a cramp or simple backache this time.
It’s much more insistent, far more intense. I go rigid in Caelian’s arms, my breathing becoming uneven.
His laughter cuts off immediately. “Nevi? What’s wrong?”
I look up at him, my eyes full of confusion, one hand moving to my belly. “I think... I think the baby’s coming.”
“Now?” he asks. “Are you sure?”
Another contraction answers his question, strong enough to make me tense up and gasp.
“Um… yeah. I’m pretty sure. If… if that’s not a contraction, I’m not sure what is. We might have to pause your birthday celebrations.”
Caelian caresses my face and nods, his expression steeling over from the joy a moment ago. He’s back in protective mode. Back to worrying about me and the baby.
“Alright,” he says. “Then let’s get ready. Our baby is coming.”