Chapter 26 #3
I obeyed, hands bracing on the solid wall of his chest, nails scraping lightly over the flexing ridges of muscle as I rode him harder.
The bedframe creaked in protest, a rhythmic counterpoint to the wet slap of skin on skin, the air growing heavy with the tang of sweat and the heady musk of our joining.
Pleasure spiraled upward, a tightening coil that made my thighs quiver, breaths coming in sharp gasps.
He watched with possessive glee, breaths devolving into low growls that vibrated through where we connected.
"God, look at you—my wife, taking me like this.
" His hand snaked down, fingers finding my clit again, rubbing firm, insistent circles that shattered me.
The orgasm crashed over me like a wave against cliffs, body seizing in tremors, inner walls fluttering wildly around him as ecstasy blanked my mind, leaving only white-hot bliss and the distant echo of my own cry—high and keening, swallowed by the night.
But Kayden's hunger was far from sated. As the aftershocks rippled through me, leaving me limp and hazy, he surged upward with Alpha grace, flipping our positions in a blur of motion.
Suddenly I was beneath him, pinned by the delicious weight of his body, wrists caught loosely in one hand above my head.
"My turn," he rasped, voice a dark promise, and he thrust back in—deep, harder this time, the angle letting him bottom out with a grind that stole my breath.
His free hand hooked under my knee, hitching my leg higher, opening me wider as his hips snapped forward in a relentless rhythm.
Each plunge was a claim, raw and urgent, like he sought to etch himself into my very soul—the slap of his pelvis against mine, the grind of his base against my clit, the way his sac drew tight with every withdrawal.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, heels digging into the flex of his ass to pull him deeper, nails raking down his back in red trails that would bloom into marks by morning.
Moans spilled from me unchecked, mingling with his grunts—deep, guttural sounds that rumbled from his throat like thunder in the distance.
Sweat slicked our skin, turning every slide into a glide of liquid heat, the scent of it sharp and salty, mingling with the lingering floral notes of the petals crushed beneath us.
He captured my mouth in a fierce kiss, tongues tangling in a messy duel, tasting of salt and shared desperation as he drove us higher.
The room spun in sensory overload: the creak of the bed like a ship's timbers in a gale, the cool silk of sheets twisting around my ankles, the distant hoot of an owl beyond the windows calling to the moon.
"Come for me again," he demanded against my lips, shifting his angle just so—to hit that hidden spot deep inside with unerring precision.
It was like lightning forking through me, pleasure exploding in fresh waves, my body clenching vise-tight around him.
I shattered a second time, crying out into his mouth, the pulses milking him relentlessly.
It pulled him under with me; his rhythm faltered, thrusts turning erratic as he buried himself to the hilt.
A guttural groan tore from him—"Layla"—as he spilled hot and deep, pulse after pulse flooding me with warmth, his body shuddering in release before he collapsed atop me, spent and sated.
We lay tangled there, breaths syncing in ragged harmony, his weight a comforting blanket against the night's chill.
The air hummed with the aftermath: the faint metallic tang of exertion, the crushed petals releasing bursts of fragrance with every shift, the soft hush of wind through the eaves.
Slowly, he rolled to his side, drawing me into the curve of his body, one arm slung possessively over my waist. His lips pressed to my forehead, lingering in a kiss that tasted of salt and forever.
"Love you, Layla Blackwood," he murmured, voice still roughened, chest rising and falling against my back.
I smiled into the crook of his neck, heart swelling until it ached, my fingers tracing idle patterns over the sweat-damp planes of his chest—swirls like the runes we'd etched on our rings.
"Love you too." In that cocoon of linens and moonlight, scented with the raw essence of us, everything aligned—the world outside fading to irrelevance.
We were whole, bound, and the night stretched endless before us.
Two years later.
"Mommy! Mommy! She's crying!" Kai's voice echoed from the nursery.
I set down my design sketches and headed over. In the cradle, a tiny baby waved her little fists, her face red from wailing.
Cecilia, mine and Kayden's daughter.
"Oh, baby, what's wrong?" I scooped her up, rocking her gently.
She had soft black curls, and her eyes, not fully set yet, already showed amber hues.
Like mine.
"Is she hungry?" Kai stood on tiptoes to peek. "Can I feed her?"
"She's too little—she needs milk," I said with a smile. "But you can grab the bottle for Mommy."
"Okay!" Kai dashed off.
At eight, he'd grown so much, looking every bit the little boy.
"I'm back," Kayden called from downstairs.
"Daddy!" Kai bolted down with the bottle. "You're home!"
"Yeah, how was training today?"
"Great! The instructor said I improved!"
"That's awesome. I'll coach you myself sometime soon."
Footsteps climbed the stairs, and Kayden appeared in the doorway, still in his suit. His eyes softened at the sight of me holding Ceci.
"She's crying again?" He came over and kissed my forehead.
"Yeah, probably hungry."
"Let me." Kayden took the bottle, tested the temperature, and fed her. Ceci quieted instantly, sucking contentedly.
"How was work?" I asked.
"Good," Kayden replied. "Signed the northern trade deal, and that new mine project's approved."
"And you? Designs finished?"
"Almost," I said. "This series is called 'Moonlight Legends'—it incorporates a lot of werewolf totems."
"Sounds great."
We sat on the nursery sofa, watching Ceci drink her milk. Kai squeezed in between us.
"Daddy, tomorrow you're teaching me to shift, right?"
"Yeah, if you're ready."
"I'm ready!" Kai said excitedly. "I'll be the coolest wolf ever!"
"Of course," Kayden laughed, ruffling his hair. "You're my son."
THE END