Page 28 of Unleashed (Dark Sovereign #11)

EVERLY

Iwake slowly, surfacing from some dream I can’t remember. The first thing I register is weight. Heavy, steady, spread over the curve of my stomach.

My lashes flutter open, and my breath catches. His scent. The smell of leather and bourbon and something uniquely him. My husband.

“Isaia.”

“Baby girl.” His hand’s on my stomach, fingers splayed wide across the swell, possessive, protective, trembling like he’s both worshipping and breaking. I shift instinctively, but my wrist jerks against resistance. Isaia’s other hand pins me flat to the mattress, keeping me right where he wants me.

“Don’t,” he rasps, voice low and raw against my ear. “Don’t move.”

My heart pounds, throat tightening as I feel his heat, hear his breathing.

“Isaia,” I whisper, part plea, part curse.

His grip on my belly tightens, reverent and desperate all at once. “I needed to feel this,” he murmurs, like he’s talking more to himself than to me. His nose drags along my hairline, his breath hot on my skin. “I needed to feel our baby. Needed to know you’re both real.”

Those words sink into me, molten and jagged all at once, and I can’t breathe for how much I’ve missed him—his touch, his weight, his voice unraveling in my ear.

“Am I dreaming?” I whisper, arching into his palm, craving more of the pressure he’s holding over me. “Please tell me I’m not dreaming. That you’re really here.”

“I’m here, baby girl.” His thumb strokes a slow, shaking arc across the swell of my belly, and the sound that leaves him—half-groan, half-prayer—splits me wide open.

“Do you know what it’s done to me?” Down the line of my jaw, he drags his lips, words vibrating against my throat.

“Seeing you rub circles over this bump with those sweet little hands, like you’re touching a secret I’m not allowed to share.

Watching you in shop windows, looking at yourself like you don’t believe what’s happening.

Do you have any fucking idea what it’s like to crave you, yet I can’t fucking touch you? ”

My pulse races, every nerve alive under his confession.

“Is…” My voice cracks, trembles. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Every second.” His hand at my wrist tightens just enough to remind me who’s in control, who always has been. “And every second I couldn’t touch you felt like I was bleeding out.” Soft lips brush down my throat.

I should ask questions. Should scream at him. But my body betrays me, trembling, wet, begging. All I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is for him to kiss me.

When I turn my mouth toward him, he shifts, slipping downward, dragging heat and shadow with him until he’s at my hips. His palm drags the hem of my oversized shirt up, slow, deliberate, exposing bare skin inch by inch until the fabric pools above my stomach.

Cool air ghosts over my thighs, but it’s nothing compared to the sear of his breath where my panties cling, thin white cotton soaked already.

“Fuck,” he curses and lowers, pressing his face there, nose pushing against the damp spot, inhaling deep like he’s drowning in me. A ragged groan shudders through him. “God, I’ve missed this scent. Missed it so bad I thought I’d lose my fucking mind.”

My hips buck, desperate, and his arm lashes to my hips, pinning me down. “Don’t you fucking move.”

“Please,” I whimper, writhing under him, the ache unbearable.

“You think I don’t know what you want?” He inhales again, tongue darting against the cotton, then he takes it between his teeth, nipping my sensitive flesh underneath. Sparks explode through me, and I moan helplessly.

“Christ. I dreamt about this every night. Waking up hard, fists useless, because nothing—nothing—feels like your pussy.”

I’m trembling, soaked, nails clawing the sheets, needing him there, needing him inside me, needing everything. Lust owns me, body and soul, and I’m seconds away from begging.

But instead of tearing the panties off, instead of giving me what I’m starving for, he moves upward—lips dragging, tongue flicking—until he reaches the swell of my belly.

The shift breaks me open in another way entirely.

His mouth softens, reverent, pressing kisses to the curve, one after another, slow and lingering. His big hands cup around me, holding me as though I’m holy, his lips worshipping the proof of what we’ve made together.

“Mine,” he murmurs against my skin. Another kiss. And another. “This. You. Him. Her. Whatever’s in here—it’s all mine. All ours.”

Tears burn, the tenderness of it too much, too good, too devastating, and my thighs press together, slick and aching, my heart tearing itself in half with love and need.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, baby girl. You have no fucking idea.” Gently, he lays his head on the curve where our baby grows, closes his eyes, and just breathes.

It’s powerful and heartbreaking all at once, and I can’t fight the tears as I weave my fingers through his pitch black hair, the strands thick and soft.

“I don’t know how to live without you,” he murmurs. “Without you, my heart doesn’t beat.”

A tear rolls down the side of my face, and I bite my bottom lip to keep myself from sobbing. “Neither does mine.”

He sucks in a breath, then places a kiss next to my navel, his hands brushing whisper-soft across my skin, igniting a flame that burns deep. Tender lips stroke downward…down…anticipation fiercely blooming.

“Isaia, I need you.” My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, pleading. “Don’t tease me.”

“Teasing?” His tongue drags low across my stomach, velvety, wet. “No, baby. This is worship. This is me remembering that I’m not just your husband—I’m the man who fucking made you swell with my child.”

My breath hitches hard, hips rocking despite his hold, the ache now unbearable.

“Say it,” he growls, teeth grazing the band of my panties. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I gasp, shuddering so hard my bones quake. My nails scrape his scalp, tugging his hair. “Always yours. Always.”

“Good girl.” His lips curl against my skin, satisfied, wicked. In a blur, he hooks his fingers under the elastic of my panties and drags them down my thighs, slow enough to make me sob. The cotton sticks to my wetness before peeling away, and his groan reverberates through the dimly lit room.

“Fuck. Look at you.” His fingers part me, slick on his skin as he spreads me open. “Dripping like this pussy remembers who owns it.”

Heat sears my face, but shame doesn’t exist here—not with him. Not when my hips roll shamelessly toward his mouth. “Isaia, please.”

“You begging already?” His tongue flicks once, so fast, so deliberate, I jerk like I’ve been shocked. “I’ve barely touched you.”

“I can’t—” My voice shreds as he drags his tongue from the bottom of my slit to the top, slow and thorough, ending with a harsh suck to my clit that rips a cry from my throat. “—fuck, I can’t take it.”

“Yes, you can.” His hands tighten, bruising, keeping me wide.

“You’ll take everything I give you.” Another lap of his tongue…

another, each swipe more confident, more demanding, until my legs are quivering, my head thrown back into the pillow, my world reduced to the hot, relentless pressure of his mouth on me.

“Even if it takes me all night.”

“Isaia—oh, God—” My voice breaks, high and wild, my hips straining against his iron grip.

He pulls back just enough to speak. “Look at you. Legs shaking, pussy slicked up, all for me. You love it, don’t you? Love when I drag it out. Love when I keep you aching, desperate, so fucking needy you’ll beg me to let you come.”

“Yes,” I gasp, tears pricking as my body begs for release.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, tongue slashing over my clit once more, sharp, brutal. I cry out, body convulsing, but he pulls back again, licking his lips like he’s savoring me. “You’re fucking beautiful, Everly. My perfect little mess.”

And then he devours me.

Tongue. Lips. Teeth. Savage and relentless, obscene sounds filling the dark as he eats me like he’s starved. Every time I climb, every time I teeter at the edge, he pulls back—swiping his tongue lazily, blowing cool air against my swollen clit—just to watch me writhe.

“You wanna come for me, baby girl?” His voice is filth and gravel, hovering just out of reach. “Wanna soak my tongue, let me drink what’s mine?”

“Yes!” I cry, arching, fists gripping the sheets. “Please.”

“Not yet.” He slaps my inner thigh, sharp enough to sting, and the shock of it sends my pussy fluttering hard around nothing. “You like that, don’t you? My desperate little wife. Clenching like you’re already full.”

“Fuck,” I cry out, tears stinging. “I need you inside me.”

“Not until I’m ready.” He slides two thick fingers inside me without warning, curling them instantly against that spot that makes my vision go white.

“I’ve spent months dreaming of this, of finally touching you…

kissing you—” His tongue lashes against my clit, and I jerk, “—licking you. I’m not rushing this, baby girl. I want you to feel my torture.”

“You think it wasn’t torture for me?” I rasp, hips straining, tugging his hair. “You think I haven’t dreamt of this? Of you inside me?”

“Jesus, fuck,” he curses, voice raw, guttural, like my words just gutted him. His fingers go deeper, the heel of his palm grinding my clit with brutal precision. “Let me hear you say that again.”

“It was torture,” I choke, my body unraveling. “Every night—I ached for you. I needed you, Isaia.”

His mouth crashes back onto my pussy, growling into me, feral, starved—tongue savage and fingers vicious.

“I craved your touch,” I sob, thrashing as he destroys me.

His jeans unzip, the sound sharp, my whole body jolting when his cock brushes my lower thigh, hot with the promise of a pleasure my body’s breaking for.

“You missed my cock, haven’t you?” His words vibrate against me as he speaks into my cunt, fingers still fucking me. “Say it.”

“God, yes.” Tears slide hot down my cheeks. “I missed your cock. I missed your cum.”