Twenty-Nine
S tretching, I reach over to find Draven, but my palm falls against soft silk. The house is quiet, the room is dark — the sun isn’t up yet. Why, then, has my bastard beloved left his very pregnant woman in bed all alone?
A groan escapes me as I push myself up, feeling the plug shift in my ass. He woke me up two hours ago to slip it in, then sent me right back to sleep. “Dray?” I call, glancing toward the open bedroom door. All I see is the faint glow of Christmas lights coming from the living room.
That’s right. It’s Christmas morning.
No wonder he isn’t in bed anymore.
I’ve been teasing him for weeks about the wrapped presents under the tree. Knowing him, he’s already unwrapped every single one of them with no regard to the paper or the bows. Bastard, baby, murderer, psycho, savior, destroyer of presents.
He’s earned it though, so I won’t say anything even if he has.
As I force myself to pee before the festivities start, I take a few extra moments to just breathe. It’s been almost half a year since the wedding and so much has changed about our lives. We’re in a home now, a real one, one with proper insulation and furniture not covered in plastic. The cabin we ran to served its purpose, but this? This house is everything I ever dreamed of. It’s small enough not to be intimidating and gives me a sense of belonging that I’ve never had.
It’s my home. Our home. The place where my daughter will grow up, and maybe her siblings too. We’ll love here, and love hard. We’ll grow and tease and fight and learn, spend Christmases throwing red and gold tissue paper all over the living room and Thanksgivings burning turkeys.
We’ll cry here too, I’m sure.
But it’s ours, and that’s what a home is for — to hold the good and siphon the bad, trapping every memory and moment inside four walls. The decor will change and so will we, but above all else, this home will serve as a reminder that we had each other even when all hope seemed lost.
My chest tightens as I slip into my coziest pajama pants and waddle out to the living room, feeling the plug shift with every step. My tits are sore and leaking and the bites he left last night are starting to bruise, but I’m... happy. Really, truly happy.
Dray, just like last year, is sitting in an armchair next to the tree with a Santa hat on his head and a cookie hanging out of his mouth.
Not one present has been touched.
“You got up without me,” I chide softly. “You might have an addiction to those cookies.”
“You’ve made me into an addict of multiple things, little keeper. Most of all you.”
He beckons me closer with two fingers, sending a rush of heat through me that has my pussy wet and my thighs clenching together. I know what he wants. It’s harder now that I’m seven months pregnant, but I sink to my knees and crawl toward him anyway. This is where we started. In a room just like this, with my knees scraping soft carpet and those blazing blue eyes staring down at me.
But this time, I’m not gambling with my future. I’m cementing it. “Yeah? What exactly about me is so addicting, Dray?”
He finishes his snack and stares at me hungrily, legs spreading further to accommodate me. “Everything about you. Your smile, the way you move, taste, and smell. How you sound when you choke on my cock or beg me to come. I’m addicted to your soul, and how it feels just to be near you. And my addiction started in a place just like this.”
We don’t talk about that night very much. He took advantage of me and he knows it, but looking back, I’m not sure we’d have ended up here if he hadn’t. The trust we built while keeping each other’s secrets, the lust that was born, and the us vs them mentality we bonded over all laid the foundation for where we are now.
If he’d have simply escorted me, hatred would’ve remained hatred.
“It did,” I agree, reaching up to palm his cock. “And what are we bartering for now, Dray? That night, it was my freedom.”
He hums, cock jerking against my hand. “How about your last name?”
So, my freedom yet again, just in a different way. But this time, my stomach erupts in butterflies and my heart skips a beat. I can’t imagine anything I’d be more willing to give up. “Are you asking me to marry you, Draven Creed?”
“I am,” he replies, his hands reaching out to cup my face. “Be my wife, Sullivan, and I’ll promise to be everything you could ever need until I leave this world behind. You’re the light I didn’t realize I was searching for, the only thing that brings me true happiness. Say you’ll marry me, little keeper.”
Pride threatens to cleave my chest in two. Reaching up, my thumb brushes the scar just under his eye as I take in my beautiful bastard, all his rough edges and soft curls. I wanted him to wait until after our daughter was born, but why? He loves me more today than he ever has, and looking good in a dress won’t change a thing. This is it for me. He’s it for me.
“Yes.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss me heatedly, but I can immediately tell it isn’t enough. “Come here.”
He lifts me up onto his lap to deepen it, his fingers digging into my skin as I feel him hardening underneath me.
Now this feels like Christmas.
But before I can do anything to get him inside me, he stops me.
“Wait,” he grumbles against my lips. “Shit, I did this backward again.” Fumbling, Draven stands with me in his arms to set me on my feet, then pulls something from his pocket before kneeling in front of me. “It’s time you have the right ring on that pretty finger. Say you’ll marry me one more time.”
Twice, I’ve had rings put on my finger. Twice, they were full of empty promises. Twice, they were put there by men I didn’t love, men who could never truly love me. But this time, gazing down at him, I know it’ll be the last. This ring will be the last.
My fingers tremble with an overwhelming sense of relief and happiness as I nod once more. “Yes, Dray,” I whisper again. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“That’s my girl.” Grinning, he slides it onto my finger and stands up to kiss me again, undressing me as he does.
When we’re back in his chair and those lips are traveling down my chest to my breasts, those feelings inside burn hot with arousal. “Dray, I— fuck.” He’ll find out soon anyway. “I’m lactating. Be careful.”
“Lactating?” He freezes, pulling back to look at my nipples, and when he leans in and flicks his tongue along one, I shudder.
He can’t do that, can he?
He’s Draven Creed, he can do whatever he likes.
The soft moan it pulls from me eggs him on to fully suck it into his mouth. This time he moans with me, his hands squeezing the hell out of my ass so the plug shifts. “How’s it feel?”
He moves to the other one and sucks it in too, making my eyes flutter as a thousand sensations war for my attention.
“G-Good,” I stammer out, grinding down on his cock. “Fuck.”
I can tell the moment he actually tastes something. A surprised groan vibrates through my chest to my core, and he sucks harder for more. “Tastes fucking sweet.”
Dray tugs on the plug like he’s dying to get inside of me, and I’m two steps ahead of him. Maneuvering around my bump is harder these days, but I reach down and work his cock out of his red plaid pajama pants and stroke.
“Give it to me, Draven. Fill my tight little ass with something better than that plug.”
It makes him grin widely as he ruts up in search of it. “My horny girl. You’ve been missing this, huh?”
When his teeth nip my nipple, my body jerks. It feels like fire and ice all at once. “Yes.” The moment the plug is free, I sink down, taking him almost too quickly. “You don’t fuck my ass nearly enough.”
“Let me make up for that, future wife.” His voice is strained as he bottoms out, releasing a long drawn out moan. “You have no idea how good it feels when you strangle my cock. I’m going to start fucking your ass every week.”
He thrusts up while simultaneously sucking my breast back into his mouth, and the combination has me lightheaded. Letting out a breathy laugh, I tip my head back and grip his shoulders to stay steady. “Promise? I’ll be your wife soon. Don’t disappoint me.”
Dray slows, his lips trailing kisses up to mine before he stills and tells me what I need to hear. “I’m going to do everything in my power to never disappoint you. Ever. Not in this, not in anything. The world has done that enough, and there isn’t anyone that could stand in my way. You will be my wife... I’ll even take your last name if you’d prefer it.”
It’s hard to think straight with my tits leaking milk and a cock splitting me in half, but I try. Leaving the Creed name and legacy behind is tempting. Very tempting. Knowing our daughter won’t grow up with that burden, that shadow hanging over her head? I’d be a fool not to accept.
But Harbough isn’t much better. My father came through when it mattered most, but where was he before that? He stood aside and let Ephraim break the law, hurt people. I don’t want my baby carrying his legacy, either.
“Screw both of our names,” I growl, kissing him fiercely. “We’ll pick a new one. Something just for us, just for her. The past doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Whatever you want, beautiful. Nothing matters but us. Ride me, show me how much you missed my cock filling your ass.”
“I can’t live without you,” I whisper, moving faster as I bounce. “I need you always, Dray. Your eyes, your lips, your hands, your cock... your cum. I can’t get enough.”
A sharp, desperate kiss cuts off his words as I clench a little tighter, move a little rougher. I’m so full it’s hard to breathe, hard to think. But having him like this is different. It’s... total devotion.
And for the girl who couldn’t get off without touching her clit, I’m dangerously close to orgasm without my pussy being involved at all. “Come with me,” I rush out. “Come in my ass, baby. Remind me you own every inch of me.”
“I love you so much, little keeper. You own me just as much as I own you. Always.”
When he buries himself deep and I feel his cock begin to lurch with his release, I swallow down his groan.
The lights on the Christmas tree twinkle beside us as I give myself over to him, mind, body, and soul. There will never be anything he refuses me, nothing he wouldn’t do to keep me happy. And when it feels this good to have his lips on mine and his cock inside my body, well... pawns have done worse for themselves. Far worse.
I think this is what they call checkmate.