Chapter 25 - Fern
Three months pregnant, and I’m already waddling.
Okay, maybe not waddling exactly, but my body has definitely changed in ways I wasn’t prepared for.
The morning sickness has mostly subsided, thank God, but now I’m dealing with exhaustion that hits like a freight train around two in the afternoon.
Skylar warned me that shifter pregnancies progress faster and hit harder than human ones. She wasn’t exaggerating.
I lean against the doorframe of my office at the medical center, watching the activity in the hallway. I’m only supposed to be here three days a week now, but I keep finding excuses to pop in on my days off.
“You’re supposed to be at home.”
I turn to find Skylar standing behind me, arms crossed and a knowing look on her face.
“I’m just checking on a few things.”
“You were just checking on a few things yesterday. And the day before that.” She raises an eyebrow. “Connor is going to kill me if he finds out I let you stay here past noon.”
“Connor doesn’t control my schedule.”
“No, but he does have a tendency to show up and physically remove you from the premises when you push yourself too hard.” Skylar’s mouth twitches. “Which, if I remember correctly, has happened at least three times in the past two weeks.”
I open my mouth to argue, but before I can get a word out, a familiar voice echoes down the hallway.
“Fern.”
Connor rounds the corner, and even after three months of this—of us—my heart still does a little flip at the sight of him. He’s wearing jeans and a fitted black t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders in a way that should be illegal.
“Hey,” I manage.
“Hey, yourself.” He stops in front of me and looks me up and down, taking in the shadows under my eyes and the way I’m leaning against the doorframe for support. “You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re dead on your feet.” He turns to Skylar. “How long has she been here?”
“Since eight this morning,” Skylar replies without a moment’s pause.
“Traitor,” I mutter.
“Fern, it’s almost three. You’ve been here for seven hours.”
“I took a lunch break.”
“Did you actually eat, or did you just sit in the break room and answer emails?”
I don’t have a good answer for that, so I stay quiet.
Connor sighs and steps closer, cupping my face in his hands. His touch is gentle despite the frustration in his voice. “You need to rest. The baby needs you to rest. Please let me take you home.”
“I have things to finish.”
“They can wait until tomorrow. Or better yet, they can wait until someone else handles them.” He drops his hands and reaches for mine instead, threading our fingers together. “Come on. I’m not asking anymore.”
Part of me wants to argue, to dig in my heels and insist that I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions about her own body.
But the truth is, I am exhausted. My feet ache.
My back hurts. And the thought of curling up in bed with Connor sounds infinitely better than spending another hour staring at patient files.
“Fine,” I relent. “But I’m walking out of here on my own two feet.”
Connor nods and releases my hands. We make it about halfway down the hallway before my knees start to wobble. I grab his arm to steady myself, and he shoots me a look.
“Don’t say it,” I warn.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Thinking what?”
“That you were right and I should have left hours ago.”
“I would never.” His lips twitch. “Okay, maybe I was thinking it a little.”
We reach the lobby, and I’m about to push through the front doors when Connor suddenly stops. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he bends down and scoops me up into his arms like I weigh nothing.
“Connor!” I yelp. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you home.”
“I can walk!”
“You can barely stand. Just let me carry you.” He pushes through the doors and starts down the sidewalk. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. My mate is tired, and I’m going to take care of her whether she likes it or not.”
I want to protest more, but honestly? Being carried feels amazing. I let my head drop against his shoulder and breathe in his familiar scent as my eyes drift closed.
“Don’t fall asleep yet,” he murmurs. “We’re almost there.”
The walk to our cabin takes about ten minutes, but it feels like seconds. One moment, I’m being carried down the main street of Silvercreek, and the next, Connor is nudging open our front door with his foot and carrying me through to the bedroom.
He lays me down on the mattress with a gentleness that still surprises me, even after all this time. I expect him to step back, to tell me to get some sleep, but instead he kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed beside me.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he stretches out next to me.
“Keeping you company.” He pulls me against his side and tucks me into the curve of his body. “Is that okay?”
“More than okay.”
We lie there in comfortable silence for a few minutes with my head on his chest and his arm wrapped around my shoulders. His hand finds my stomach, and he rests his palm against the small swell that’s started to show beneath my shirt.
“Can we talk about something?” he asks quietly.
“Of course. Anything.”
“It’s about us. About the lottery.”
I lift my head to look at him. “What about it?”
“We’ve never really discussed it. Not properly.” He keeps his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “We’ve just been going with the flow, taking things one day at a time. And that’s been good. Great, actually. But with the baby coming…”
He presses his hand more firmly against my stomach.
“I need to know where we stand, Fern. I need to know if this is real for you, or if you’re just making the best of a situation you never asked for.”
The vulnerability in his voice makes my heart ache. This big, strong man who would tear apart anyone who threatened me is lying here asking if I actually want him.
I push myself up on my elbow so I can see his face. “Connor, look at me.”
He turns his head, and I’m struck by how uncertain he looks. Like he’s bracing himself for rejection.
“I can’t believe you even have to ask that.”
“Fern—”
“No, let me finish.” I reach out and stroke my thumb across his cheekbone. “When I first came to Silvercreek, I was running. I was scared and alone and convinced that I would never be safe anywhere. Then I met you, and everything changed.”
“I was an ass when we first met.”
“You were protective.” I smile softly and add, “Connor, I’m not here because the lottery chose me. I’m here because I want to be. Because you’re my mate. My fated mate.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I didn’t use to. I thought fate was just something people made up to explain coincidences.” I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips. “But then I met you, and I felt something I couldn’t explain. This pull, this connection. Like some part of me recognized you before my brain even caught up.”
“I felt it too,” he admits. “From the very first moment I saw you.”
“So yes. I believe we were meant to find each other.” I hold his gaze and let him see everything I’m feeling. “I love you, Connor. I love you so much it scares me sometimes.”
His breath catches. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.” I’m laughing now, with tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “I love you, I love you, I love—”
He surges up and captures my mouth in a kiss that steals the words right out of my mouth. His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head so he can take the kiss deeper, and I melt into him like I always do.
“I love you too,” he breathes against my lips. “God, Fern. I love you so much. I’ve been wanting to say it for weeks, but I didn’t know if you were ready to hear it.”
“I’m ready.” I kiss him again, harder this time. “I’m so ready.”
He slides his hands down my side and grabs my hips, pulling me on top of him. I go willingly, straddling his waist and bracing my hands on his chest. The new position puts my growing belly between us, and Connor’s eyes drop to it with something like reverence.
“Is this okay?” he asks. “I don’t want to hurt you or the baby.”
“Skylar said it’s fine. More than fine, actually.” I roll my hips experimentally and watch his eyes flutter closed. “She said it’s good for me to stay active.”
“Active,” he repeats, his voice dropping to a growl. “I can work with active.”
I lean down and kiss him again, slower this time.
His hands glide up my back, taking my shirt with them, and I sit up just long enough to pull it over my head.
Connor’s eyes rake over me, taking in the changes that pregnancy has made to my body—fuller breasts, rounder belly, and softer curves everywhere.
“You’re so beautiful,” he muses.
I reach behind me and unclasp my bra before letting it fall away. Connor’s hands immediately come up to cup my breasts, and his thumbs brush over my nipples until I gasp. They’re more sensitive now than they’ve ever been, and every touch sends sparks shooting through my entire body.
“I want to taste you,” I tell him. “All of you.”
His eyes go dark with want. “Fern.”
“Let me.” I start working my way down his body, pressing kisses to his jaw, his neck, the hollow of his throat. “Let me show you how much I love you.”
He doesn’t argue. Just watches me with hooded eyes as I push his shirt up and over his head, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest and stomach. I trace my fingers over his abs, following the lines of muscle down to where they disappear beneath his jeans.
“Lift your hips,” I instruct.
He obeys, and I work his jeans and boxers down his legs. He’s already hard, straining toward me, and the sight of him makes my mouth water.
I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, and he groans at the contact. He’s hot and heavy in my palm, and I stroke him slowly, watching the way his stomach muscles clench with each movement of my hand.
“Fern,” he grits out. “You’re killing me.”
“That’s the idea.”
I lower my head and run my tongue along the underside, from base to tip. Connor’s hips jerk off the mattress, and I press my free hand against his stomach to hold him in place.
“Easy,” I mumble against his heated skin. “Let me take care of you.”
I take the head of him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive tip.
He tastes like salt and skin and something uniquely Connor.
His hand finds my hair, and his fingers thread through the strands, but he doesn’t push or guide.
Just holds on like he needs something to anchor him to this moment.
I take him deeper, relaxing my throat and letting him slide in, inch by inch. Connor’s breathing goes ragged, punctuated by low groans and muttered curses that make heat pool between my own legs. When I pull back and suck hard on just the tip, he makes a sound that’s almost a whine.
“Fuck, Fern. Your mouth feels incredible.”
I hum around him, and his whole body shudders in response. The vibration seems to drive him wild, so I do it again, letting the sound travel through him while I work him with my hand and mouth together. His grip on my hair tightens just enough to send a thrill down my spine.
I pull back until just the tip rests against my lips, then swirl my tongue around the ridge before taking him deep again. His hips buck despite his efforts to stay still, and I relax into the movement, letting him set a shallow rhythm that pushes him further into my mouth with each thrust.
“You feel so good,” he groans. “So fucking good. I don’t deserve you.”
I release him just long enough to look up at him. “Yes, you do.”
Then I take him back into my mouth and redouble my efforts. I hollow my cheeks and suck hard, bobbing my head in a steady rhythm while my hand works the base of him. Connor’s free hand fists in the sheets beside him, knuckles going white as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.
“I’m not going to last,” he warns me. “Not if you keep doing that.”
I pull off him with a wet sound and stroke him firmly, matching the rhythm I’d set with my mouth. “Who says I want you to last?”
“I want to be inside you when I—”
“Later.” I run my thumb over his tip, spreading the moisture gathered there. “Right now, I want you to let go. I want to watch you come apart because of me.”
His grip on my hair tightens again. “Fern.”
“Let go for me, Connor.”
I take him back into my mouth, as deep as I can manage, until my nose brushes against his pelvis. I hold there for a moment, swallowing around him, and he lets out a sound that’s almost a sob. Then I pull back and do it again, setting a relentless pace that leaves no room for thought or control.
My free hand cups him gently, rolling and massaging while my mouth works the length of him.
Connor’s whole body goes taut beneath me, every muscle straining as he fights against the pleasure building inside him.
I can feel him getting closer, can feel the way his thighs tremble and his breathing turns to ragged gasps.
“Close,” he manages. “Fern, I’m so close. I can’t—”
I look up at him and lock eyes, letting him see how much I want this. How much I want him. How much I love watching him lose himself because of me.
And then his head falls back against the pillows, and his hips thrust up one final time as he comes with a shout of my name. I take everything he gives me, swallowing around him and working him through every pulse and shudder until he collapses back against the mattress, spent and boneless.
I release him gently and press a kiss to his hip before crawling back up his body to lie beside him.
“Hi,” I say, grinning at the dazed look on his face.
“Hi yourself.” His voice is wrecked, hoarse, and breathless. “That was… I don’t have words.”
“Good. I like leaving you speechless.”
He laughs weakly and pulls me close for a kiss. When we break apart, he rolls us onto our sides and tucks my head under his chin.
“Give me five minutes,” he murmurs into my hair. “Then it’s your turn.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to. You’re my whole world now, Fern. You and this baby.” His hand slides down to rest on my stomach. “And I’m going to spend every day for the rest of my life proving it to both of you.”
I snuggle closer to him, feeling warm, safe, and completely loved.
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I’m counting on it.”