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Torben has the look. I know that look. It’s the one that says he wants to mess around, but he’s holding back because of my extreme state of pregnancy.
“I don’t always have to be the aggressor because I’m the pregnant one, you know,” I say, stroking the inside of his thigh with my foot.
“You’re too tired. And you’re changing the subject,” he warns.
“Correct on both counts. But you like this type of redirection,” I remind him, letting my foot roam over the pole that’s pitching a tent in his trousers.
“You’re not wrong about that,” he says, letting go of my foot and sliding behind me on the bed.
Torben drags a hand up the hem of my shirt, his calloused fingers spanning one bare buttock. Pure need blooms between my thighs.
I settle against him, feeling his need press against my backside.
Now his hand roams everywhere, alternating between squeezing my swollen breast and caressing all my accentuated curves like he can’t decide where to focus his energy tonight.
“Torben,” I whisper heatedly.
“Hailey.” I hear the soft clank of metal as his belt buckle loosens. The unzipping and the shift of material. The groan as he frees his cock.
And with that, he snakes his arm under my thigh and opens me.
“You’re so ready for me, my wildflower,” he says, teasing open my wet folds with the entire length of his cock.
My inner muscles flutter, anticipating the contact. I push back against him, begging him to put it in, bathing his length in my honey.
He sneaks the head of his cock into me as I hook one leg behind him.
A guttural noise escapes me as Torben pushes in all the way to the hilt. I feel every ridge, every twitch, every swell.
I know him so well, and yet I still gasp when he reaches one hand around to toy with my aching clit.
“Gods,” I whisper.
He laughs, and my muscles jolt in response to the vibrations. “You don’t believe in multiple gods.”
I rasp, “I’m covering all the bases, baby, because you are some kind of magic, and it ain’t from heaven.”
Torben pulls out and slides back in hard. Sparks of pleasure erupt through me.
“You are,” he growls. “You’re my heaven. You saved me from a living hell.”
He says this though we both know he chose his own path.
But I’ll take the credit if he wants to give it.
On a firm, terrific thrust, we share one release.
Exploding.
Brain-melting.
Comforting.
Protecting.
Defining who we are together.
Not perfect, but far preferable to the alternative.
Crown or no crown, he’ll always be my Favored Prince.
THE END
