Chapter 12 #2
He turns and reaches for Jessica, lifting her off her feet and spinning her in a circle before she can protest. Her combat boots kick at empty air and her laugh cuts through the noise—sharp, surprised, the sound of a woman caught off guard by joy.
Finn sets her down and she shoves his chest, but she's grinning, and a charge flickers between them that has nothing to do with celebration.
My brother's story isn't mine to write.
Sarah leans into me, her head against my ribs, and the bond hums with a frequency I can only describe as home. The clubhouse glows with lantern light and laughter and the loud, messy, unbreakable chaos of family.
Later that night. Everyone's gone.
Sarah stands in the center of the room with lantern light spilling gold across her skin, and the sight of her stops me in the doorway.
The green dress hugs the new fullness of her body—breasts heavier, hips wider, the faintest curve below her navel where our child grows.
She watches me with those steady brown eyes, lips parted, her pulse jumping at the hollow of her throat.
I cross to her. My hands find the zipper at her back and draw it down one tooth at a time, knuckles dragging along her spine. The fabric pools at her feet. She stands in nothing but skin and moonlight and the scar of my claim.
"My queen."
She reaches for my collar—the formal silk she straightened hours ago—and works the clasps free. Pushes the tunic from my shoulders. Her palms flatten against my chest, tracing scars she's memorized by touch.
"My king."
I drop to my knees before her.
My mouth finds her stomach, the taut skin warm against my lips, and I speak in my mother's tongue.
Low, guttural words meant for the life growing inside her—orc blessings older than the clans themselves, promises my father whispered to my mother before I drew my first breath.
You are wanted. You are claimed. You will know the sound of your father's voice before you know the light.
Sarah's fingers thread through my hair, nails scraping my scalp. Through the bond her love hits me so hard my chest aches with it—fierce, steady and absolute.
I rise and lift her onto the bed. Settle between her thighs, my weight braced on my forearms, my mouth tracing a path from the bite mark down her throat to the swell of her breasts. She arches beneath me, her breath catching.
I take one nipple between my lips and suck, and her reaction hits me through the bond before the sound leaves her mouth—a jolt of pleasure so sharp it makes my cock twitch.
The pregnancy has rewired her. Every nerve ending dialed to ten.
Two weeks ago I barely grazed her nipple and she came so hard she bit through my pillowcase.
I give the other breast the same attention—teeth grazing the hardened tip, my tongue laving the sting away—and she grips my hair with both hands, her back bowing off the mattress.
"Knox—I need—"
"I know what you need." My hand slides between her thighs. She's already soaked—slick and hot and dripping before I've done more than touch her. I groan against her breast. "Already this wet for me."
"I've been wet since you told that elder you'd end a war for me." She grins up at me—flushed and breathless but still my Sarah. "Turns out threatening diplomats is my thing."
"Noted." I suck her nipple hard enough to make her gasp. "I'll threaten one every night if this is what I get."
Her laugh turns into a moan as my fingers find her clit.
I work her with firm, practiced strokes I've mapped across dozens of nights in this bed—the exact pressure, the exact rhythm that makes her hips roll against my palm.
Her body opens for me the way it always does, and I slip my fingers inside to check she's ready.
She's drenched. Clenching around me so tight my cock throbs.
"Knox—" She rocks against my hand. "Not your fingers. You."
"Patience." I curl my fingers and her whole body shudders. "You know the deal."
"I know the deal. I also know I've taken your cock dozens of times and I'm not going to break."
"Humor me." I press deeper, feel her pulse around me—slick, swollen, ready. "There. That's my girl."
I pull my fingers free and bring them to my mouth. Her eyes darken as I lick them clean.
"Shut up and fuck me."
A growl tears loose from my chest. I shed my jeans and settle between her thighs. My cock presses against her entrance—hot, leaking, straining toward the heat of her. She wraps her legs around my waist, heels digging into my lower back, pulling me forward.
I slide inside her in one long stroke.
Her moan breaks into a sob and the sound unravels me. I hold still, buried to the hilt, her tight heat gripping my cock so hard I grit my teeth against the urge to come. My forehead drops to hers.
"I love you."
Her eyes fill. "Say it again."
"I love you." I pull back and thrust forward, slow and deep. "I love you, Sarah."
"I love you too." Her voice breaks on the second word. "I always will."
I thrust again—deeper this time, grinding against her clit at the base of every stroke. She moans and her nails drag down my back, her pussy clenching around me with every push. Tonight I take my time.
"You feel so fucking good." I grip her hip and angle deeper, hitting the spot that makes her cry out. "Every time. Every fucking time, you wreck me."
She reaches up and cups my face, pulling my mouth down to hers. I kiss her deep and filthy while my hips keep moving, swallowing every moan she feeds me. Her legs tighten around my waist. Her heels dig into my ass, urging me faster.
I give her what she wants. Drive into her harder, my cock stretching her with every stroke, the wet sounds filling the room. Her scent thickens—arousal layered on need that makes the feral thing inside me roar.
"Knox—I'm going to—"
"Let go." I thrust deep and hold, grinding against her clit. "I've got you. I always have you."
She breaks apart with a scream, her inner walls clamping down on me in waves, milking my shaft.
I bury my face in her neck and let go—spill inside her with a groan that shakes my bones, my hips jerking, my arms trembling.
She holds on through all of it. Takes everything.
Wraps herself around me and refuses to let go.
For a long moment we lie together, foreheads pressed close, my cock still buried inside her. I pull out and she makes a soft sound of protest, but I gather her against my chest and she settles there, her fingers tracing idle patterns across my skin.
"Knox?"
"Hmm."
"We can't raise a baby in the clubhouse forever."
I press my mouth to her hair. "I've been thinking about that. There's land past the south gate. Enough to build on. Close enough that the brothers are a shout away, far enough that we're not living on top of the bar."
She props herself on her elbow, her eyes bright. "A house."
"Our house. With a yard big enough for a kid to run in. And a nursery with a door wide enough for me to carry them through without turning sideways."
Her smile starts slow and spreads until it takes over her whole face. "Make the nursery big enough for more than one. Eventually."
My breath stops in my lungs. I look up at her—this woman who arrived in Nightfall Cove with a dead car and a bruised soul and became the center of everything.
"As many as you want, sha'keth va'run."
"As many as we want."
I pull her against me. She tucks into the space beneath my chin—the space that existed before I met her but belongs to no one else.
Tomorrow, more letters will arrive with the Bloodstone seal. More threats. More ghosts from a kingdom I left behind. Gar'than will deliver my message and the clans will sharpen their response.
Sarah falls asleep against my chest, her breathing slow and even—the rhythm of a woman who no longer fears the dark. My hand rests on her stomach, palm wide enough to span the place where our child grows.
I walked away from a throne when I left the Bloodstone Mountains. Crossed the border with nothing but a stolen motorcycle and a rage too big for the mountains to hold.
Tonight, with my mate warm against my chest and my child growing beneath my hand and my brothers sleeping under the same roof, I understand what I couldn't see back then.
I didn't walk away from a throne.
I walked toward a better one.