Page 61 of Owned In Misty Mountain

I kiss her everywhere.

Whisper against her skin: “So fucking beautiful.”

I lick and taste until she’s moaning, thighs trembling.

Then I pull her into my lap.

And sink in slow.

She gasps.

I wrap one hand around her belly.

“You feel that?”

She nods, eyes wide.

“That’s all mine. Inside and out.”

—-

I fuck her slow.

Praise every inch.

Tell her what a perfect wife she is, what a gorgeous mother she’s going to be.

And when she comes, I bury my face in her neck and follow—deep, shaking, overwhelmed.

—-

After, I tuck her into bed.

I rub her feet. Feed her one bite of strawberry at a time.

And when she finally drifts off, belly rising beneath my palm, I just lay there.

Breathing her in.

Building our forever.

Twenty Six

Shanay

I know it the moment I wake up.

Not in a dramatic way—there’s no movie-style gasp or splash of water. Just a deep, low ache in my back, a pressure I can’t quite ignore.

I shift in bed, wincing.

“Mike,” I whisper.

His arm’s already around me, hand splayed over my belly. Protective, even in his sleep.

“Hmm?” His voice is rough, half-asleep.

“I think it’s happening.”

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