“Catching me. Claiming me. Keeping me.”
“Thank you for letting yourself be caught.”
“Wasn't really a choice. Body decided before my brain caught up.”
“Bodies are smart sometimes.”
TWO MONTHS AFTER PORTAL DAY
I wake to Khor's tongue between my legs and immediately roll sideways to vomit into the basin we now keep beside the bed.
“Sorry. Don't stop.”
He doesn't, his talented tongue working me through the nausea. Somehow the orgasms help, the endorphins settling my rebellious stomach. By the seventh one, I'm feeling almost normal.
“This is the fifth morning,” he says, rising up to position his cock at my entrance.
“I know.”
“Your scent has changed.”
“I know.”
“Mara...”
“Just fuck me first. Then we'll talk about it.”
The morning breeding is gentler lately, him being careful even though I haven't asked him to. When he's locked inside me afterward, his hand goes to my still-flat belly.
“How long since you bled?”
“Three months. Maybe four.”
“The nausea. The scent change. Your breasts.”
I look down. They are fuller, tender when touched, the nipples darker.
“You think I'm...”
“Carrying. Yes.”
The word sits between us, massive in its implications.
His hand spreads across my belly, protective and possessive.
“Ours,” I breathe.
“Ours.”
SIX WEEKS AFTER BIRTH
Our son sleeps between us, finally. For six weeks, I haven't been able to think about anything but keeping him alive, fed, safe. My body has been healing, recovering from the violent birth that nearly tore me in half. Khor has been patient, so patient, taking care of us both.
But tonight, for the first time since Khor-Mara was born, I feel that familiar heat building.
“You're staring,” Khor murmurs in the dark.
“You haven't touched me in six weeks.”
