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He seems excitable, but I also sense a thread of nerves running through his energy. At the top of the stairs, instead of turning right toward the master bedroom, he steps behind me and puts his hands over my eyes.
“Trust me?” he says, close to my ear, his voice low and growly.
“Only with my life,” I reply, beyond intrigued.
He guides me left, along a passageway, and, I think, into another room.
“Surprise,” he says, and drops his hands.
My eyes fly open and I give a little shriek of delight.
We’re in the second biggest bedroom, which has already been painted a fresh lemon yellow. And in the middle of the floor is a crib. It’s made of rich, golden-brown wood, and it looks freshly varnished.
“Where did you…wait—?” I spin around to face him. He looks very uncharacteristically bashful. “You made it yourself, didn’t you?”
He shrugs, but a smile tugs at his lips.
I don’t know how I know this—he could’ve bought it from a carpenter, of course. But somehow, I know it’s Forge’s handiwork. And I’m so touched. Not just by the beauty and evident craftsmanship, but by his dedication to our growing family.
Then a memory floats into my head and I point at finger at him. “That time, a week or so ago, when you came home with a wood shaving in your beard… you said the wind must’ve blown it there or something… You were working on this crib, weren’t you?”
“Maybe.” Finally, he breaks into a grin and loops his arms around my waist. “You really like it?”
“Are you kidding? I love it!” I exclaim. “You’re so clever.” I drag his head down to my level and pepper his face with kisses.
“Now you can show me how much you like it,” he growls. Keeping his arms around me, he walks me out of the baby’s room, and along the passageway.
As soon as we’re in the master bedroom, he eases me down on the bed, then he pushes up my dress and tears off my panties.
I’m already wet, ready for him. Seven months on, and I want him as much as I did on the day he first claimed me. More probably, as my desire is now entwined with my love and admiration for him.
I reach for his swollen cock, but he bats my hand away and insists on licking me first.
He makes sounds of appreciation as he spreads my thighs wide and tends to my pussy. He’s a master. He knows exactly how long to tease me, how much pressure to put on my aching clit, and it’s not long before the telltale tremors start up in my core.
“Inside,” I manage to say. “…Please,” I add, because he loves it when I beg for his cock.
With a growl, he yanks off his own clothes and turns me onto my side, because that’s the only way he can enter me with my belly so big.
I give a wild cry as he fills me up. His cock feels so good. Still so much to take, but when it’s deep inside me, I feel like it’s made for me.
“Sexy mama,” he grunts as he thrusts, his cock slick with my wetness. He’s spooning me, grasping my swollen tits through my dress. It feels dirty, urgent, and I love it.
“Give me all you’ve got,” I say, and he does. One final thrust sends me over the edge, and I spasm around his pulsing cock, at the same moment that he explodes inside me with a roar of satisfaction.
“I love you,” I murmur as I slump in his arms, all spent.
“I love you more,” he growls. Then he holds me in his arms until I get drowsy. And I know he’ll stay like that, happily, dozing beside me until I wake up again.
Because this grumpy, growly ex-biker wolf is the tenderest mate in the world.
THE END
