Page 123 of Born for Silk

"Another and then using the same hands to touch you—" His muscles tighten. He lifts my thigh higher, angling me, holding me like a doll for his hard final thrust.

"Fills me with rage.” He comes inside me with a throaty growl that projects through the room, warning every inch of space, every fibre, that he claims me. As he spurts inside me, rumbles of his pleasure vibrate against my spine and blanket me in pride. I can bring this man, this beast, pleasure with my body. I suppose that is powerful… But one should not think such things. Not about a king.

His long exhale beats down on me as he relaxes, lowering my thigh to meet the other, but he does not drop the muscle. Instead, kneads the tension.

“That’s my good girl.”

I press my head back into his heaving chest, feeling him. Feeling his heart thumping like a well-worked machine. His length still slowly pulsing.

“I mean no disrespect, my king.” I breathe. “But monogamy is self-serving. I do not own you, and it would be?—”

“You own me.”

My breath lodges beneath his palm. “Pardon?”

“I am the king of The Cradle.” He relaxes his grip around my throat, resting but not releasing. “I was built to protect and serve the land, but I swear to you that no part of it is more important than the piece beneath your feet.”

“My king,” I sob, happy.

I love you. I love you.

My heart feels like it may burst through my chest. I want to cry, because this is terrifying. Want to shake the moment, pinch it, because it isn’t real. Can’t be.

“Say it.”

I blink. “Say what?”

“What you are thinking. I demand it.”

I snuggle backward into him, and he doesn’t tense. He relaxes. His heavy bicep surrenders to his fatigue, becoming a heavy band that pins me down. His palm continues to cradle the pulse in my neck.

The pulse that he owns.

That speeds for him.

Slows for him, flutters.

Beats for him, hard.

“I love you, my king.”

The beast inside purrs under the affect of my words, and I feel something shift. Something deep inside him that was black and hard. I feel it soften.

Then he says, “Rome.”

My eyes fill with tears, but I don’t know why. I am a silly, little girl. It’s only… I have never said his name. I have heard it, thought it, but never, wouldn’t dare, say it.

The word comes from a smile. “Rome.”

“Say it all again.”

“I love you, Rome.”

A Silk Girl’s

Second Trimester

Aster

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