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He chuckles, shaking his head. He blows a breath over my pussy, and a moan escapes me. “I never had to force you.” He brings his lips to hover just over my clit. “You’ve always wanted me, Lorelai.”
Then he dives in, licking and sucking until I am a trembling mess. As he brings me to another climax, I feel the eggs shifting, the pressure intensifying as they move deeper. It only heightens my pleasure as Slyth rewards me for taking him so well.
By the time he’s done, my eyes are too heavy to stay open and I’m exhausted again. Slyth settles me into bed, curling around me as he kisses my neck and cheek. “You’re all mine,” he murmurs, bringing his hand to my stomach and cupping it.
Instead of arguing this time, I just sink into him.
29
SLYTH
My heart thumps in my chest. Every step forward is more nerve-wracking than the last. I try to remember everything I’m supposed to say. I try to center myself to appear cool and collected.
My feet kick against the dirt, and I glimpse the dense canopy above me, looking up at how the sunlight parts through the leaves, setting the world ablaze with brilliant hues of orange and gold.
Above me, pavos scream and flutter from one tree to the other, unconcerned by anything pressing or mortal. I take a second and breathe deeply, then look down at my feet and at the tail that swings casually behind me.
A wood sign beckons me, guiding me forward with an arrow. It looks well-worn, but only synthetically, bearing the wordsSlyth and Lorelai, Your Destiny Awaits.
Picking up my feet and walking with pride, I carry myself forward before my eyes meet a small crowd of people who have gathered in anticipation of us. I hang my hands at my sides, suddenly unaware of what to do with them.
Several guards sit between the aisles, and Prince Zalith and Princess Aurora smile up at me warmly. Lasta urgently gestures. I can see him gripping his collar, looking down at his neck, while mouthing something blankly. I shrug at him, and he just starts pointing down his neck, wiping something away.
I realize a stray bit of food is on my attire.
Wiping it aside before anybody can notice, I stride onward, carrying myself with big steps in spite of how weak I’m feeling.
Stopping at the altar, I look out over the crowd. Lasta has already moved over to the keg and poured himself a goblet. He downs it casually before immediately refilling it, and I feel a tinge of pity for him.
Having seen how averse he is to any sort of relationship, voicing it on numerous occasions, I have to deny my initial instinct… that he’s drowning himself in loneliness.
I shake my head.
I’ve lost sight of the meaning of this. I’m wracking my nerves and pitying my guests. It’s supposed to be a joyous occasion. It’s supposed to be our day.
The crowd is far more patient than I am. The priest makes banter with me. I nod and laugh, but his words are utterly lost on me.
What if she doesn’t show up?
I know it’s an irrational fear, given everything that I know, but I can’t stop it from crossing my mind. The later it gets, and the more our guests are kept waiting, the more I worry.
Smiling at everybody in the seats, I look out over the crowd, waiting.
A harp begins to play, and I stand upright, looking as confident as I can. It produces tones both melancholic and jovial at the same time.
Nobody in the crowd is uneasy or nervous. So I try to correct myself, reminding myself that she’ll be here and that I have a wonderful celebration to look forward to. I can barely imagine everything working out, but at some point, I need to learn to stop expecting disappointment and tragedy.
Then I see her, garbed in green, and my heart skips several beats.
She’s so beautiful.
The dress she’s standing in is tailored to her personality. The fabric falls over the massive bulge in her stomach like leaves, and subtle strands of brown have been integrated into the dress, giving the impression of the branches among a dense forest. I look down at her stomach, knowing that my eggs rest deep within her, and I can’t help but feel a swirl of pride and a touch of arousal.
What’s more, the dress is cut around the waist, ensuring freedom of movement by opening her legs. She glides seamlessly forward, looking both the part of a forest warrior and of my bride.
I still remember dodging her blade and having it stick into the tree behind me with atwang. I remember how scared she was that I’d reject her.
Now she is mine, and mine alone.
