Page 58 of Owned In Misty Mountain

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He lifts me again—this time to the couch—and lays me down like I’m glass.

“Mike—”

“Shh. Let me.”

He peels off my sleep shirt, trailing his fingers over my curves, reverent and raw.

“You’re carrying my baby,” he mutters, pressing his lips to my hip. “You think I’m not gonna spend the rest of my life worshipping this body?”

I moan as his mouth finds its way between my thighs.

“You’re perfect,” he rasps. “All of you. Every inch. And now it’s all mine.”

He eats me like he’s starved—slow, possessive, relentless.

And when he finally climbs over me, cock hard, eyes wild?

He sinks in bare and groans like he’s home.

—-

“Gonna keep you pregnant,” he mutters against my mouth. “Soft and full and glowing for me.”

“You’re insane,” I pant.

“You’re mine.”

And when I come with him deep inside me, body shaking, belly blooming with new life?

I know he’s right.

Because I’m his.

Forever.

Twenty Five

Mike

I wake up before the sun.

Because she shifted in her sleep.

Just a little.

A soft sigh, the kind she makes when the baby rolls over. The kind that makes me bolt upright like someone fired a gun.

She’s fine.

Peaceful.

Hand curled under her cheek, lashes fluttering, her belly rising slow and full with every breath. My baby’s in there. Our baby.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I sink back down beside her, press my hand over the gentle curve of her stomach, and breathe through it.

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