Chapter 6 The Quickening #3
She stroked him, feeling his thickness, heat, and hardness. He trembled under her hand, jaw tight, eyes closed.
"Enough," he said. "I need to be inside you."
He positioned himself, pressing his cock's head against her opening. She felt him, thick and ready. He pressed inside, inch by inch, filling and stretching her.
She gasped. He stopped. "Okay?"
"Okay. More."
He pressed deeper, sliding inside, claiming her. She felt every inch, the fullness, and the warmth. When he was fully inside, he stilled, his forehead against hers.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you."
He moved, slow and deep, each thrust gentle and careful. His hands gripped her hips softly, holding her. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper. He groaned.
"You feel different," he said. "Warmer. Tighter."
"Pregnancy changes things."
"Good things."
He kept the pace slow and deep, each stroke pressing him to the hilt, each stroke dragging against sensitive spots. The pressure built, slowly and differently, deeper and fuller.
His mouth found her breast again, sucking and licking. She ran her fingers through his hair, holding him. His tongue swirled around her nipple. She arched.
"Come with me," she said. "Inside me. I want to feel you."
He thrust deeper, slow and hard, three times, then four. She felt the pressure crest and break. Her body shuddered; her walls clutched around him. She cried out, a trembling cry. Her body shook.
He followed, one final, deep thrust. She felt him thicken, then the hot spurt, filling and spilling out. He groaned, a broken sound. His body shuddered, and his arms shook.
He stayed inside her, holding her, his face against her neck, his breath warm on her skin.
"I love you," he said again.
"I know."
They lay in the dark. The cottage was quiet around them. Outside, the ocean. Roses in the garden. The child is growing in her belly.
She pressed her hand against her stomach. His hand covered hers. Their fingers laced.
"We're going to be okay," she said.
"How do you know?"
"Because I can hear your heartbeat. And I can feel ours."
He pulled her closer, wrapping around her. Their bodies tangled, their breath syncing. The bed. The cottage. The night.
She slept. For the first time in weeks, she slept through the night. No nausea. No anxiety. No fear. Just his arms around her, the sound of the ocean, and the quiet knowledge that she was not alone anymore.
Morning came soft. Gold light filtered through the curtains. She woke to his hand on her stomach, his breath on her shoulder, his body curved around hers.
The phone rang.
She reached for it. Her mother's name appeared on the screen. She answered.
"Hi, Mom."
"Vesper." Elena's voice was too bright. "How are you, sweetheart? How is the estate? How is Cillian? Are you two getting along?"
"We are getting along, Mom."
"Good. Good. Listen, I have news. Richard and I are coming home early. We'll be there next week. We want to see the estate. Check the paperwork. And I miss you."
Vesper's stomach dropped. Next week. Her mother was coming home next week.
"That is great, Mom."
"Isn't it? I cannot wait to see you. We'll have dinner. Catch up. Oh, and Richard wants to talk to Cillian about the estate transfer. Something about the clause."
The clause. The breeding clause. It stated the estate passed to biological grandchildren. That clause was now in play because she was carrying Cillian's child.
"Mom, I need to tell you something."
"What is it? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong. But when you get here, we need to talk. Cillian and I. With you and Richard."
"About the paperwork?"
"About more than the paperwork."
A pause. Elena's voice shifted. "Vesper, what is going on?"
"I will tell you when you get here. I love you, Mom."
"I love you too, sweetheart. Are you sure everything is okay?"
"Everything is fine. Everything is good."
She hung up. She set the phone down. Cillian was awake. She felt his body tense behind her.
"She is coming home," she said.
"When?"
"Next week."
He was quiet. His hand tightened on her stomach. "Then we tell them."
"All of it?"
"All of it. The baby. Us. Everything."
She turned in his arms, facing him. His eyes were clear and steady. No fear. No hesitation.
"You are not scared?" she asked.
"I am terrified. But I am not letting you face them alone. We are together. That is what matters."
She kissed him. Soft, morning lips. He tasted like tea and sleep and love.
"One week," she said.
"One week." He pressed his forehead against hers. "We have one week to figure out how to tell our parents that their children are having a baby together."
"There is no good way to say that."
"Then we say it bad and mean it good."
She laughed. He smiled. The third real smile. She collected them now. Each one a gift.
Outside, the roses bloomed. The ocean whispered. The cottage sat in the morning light. Their cottage. Their home.
She pressed her hand against her stomach. Seven weeks. A heartbeat. A life.
One week until the world crashed in.
But right now, in this bed, in this cottage, in this moment, the world was small, warm, and theirs.