Page 207 of May: Bloom & Bane

I sink back against the workbench, and pull her down over my lap. Warm thighs straddle mine, the well of our daughter a soft curve pressed between us.

“Comfortable?” I ask.

“Don’t tease me, Ash. You know how bad my hormones have been lately.”

“You’re right, angel. I’m sorry.” I trail the lily down the front of her dress, slipping it beneath the hem and sliding it slowly up the inside of her thigh, finding nothing in my way.

My eyes flick to hers, and Sage, who has been quietly losing his mind in the back of our skull, short-circuits entirely.

“You naughty girl.” My voice drops in glee. “You came looking for us with nothing on under this dress.”

“I woke up alone,” she says, not even pretending to be sorry. “And I had a feeling.”

She had a feeling, Sage scoffs.

“You had a feeling about what, ash’kaela?” I drag the venya petals higher until they brush over her slick, swollen pélas.

“I had a feeling you guys were up to something—” She jerks in my lap as the heat of my venom begins warming against her kísh.

“Did you hear that, Sage?” She’s already soaking the bloom… and my lap. Thank aevún for these new hormones. (Gods) “Our mate came looking for us with no panties on. Because she thought we were up to something.”

“I think she wanted us to taste more than the sandwiches,” Sage quips.

“Are you two going to stop narrating and touch me?”

“Say that again, mí’maru.”

The lily’s petals part as I press them harder against her, letting the venom soak straight into the little bundle of nerves already throbbing under my hand.

She lifts her chin. Her skin flushed, muscles trembling, and somehow she still looks down at me like she has the upper hand. “You heard me. If you two aren’t able to handle it, I’ll just go take care of it on my own.”.

She wouldn’t, Sage rasps.

She absolutely would. That’s the problem with mating a hormonal little redhead. She threatened to urinate on my shadow just this morning—and she wasn’t bluffing.

“On your own,” I repeat, savoring the way the words make her breath stutter. “She thinks she’d do a better job, Sage.”

“She would not,” Sage says, scandalized by her claim.

I pull the lily away from her, earning myself a frustrated whine, which is, frankly, my favorite sound in any world.

“By all means, ash’kaela. Show us—we want to watch you take care of it yourself.” I catch her wrist before it can travel anywhere useful. “Oh—were you going to use these hands? The ones I’m holding?”

“Ashán—”

“Sage. She’s run out of options. I think we’d better help.”

He grabs two of the rose-colored buds from the case, and rolls them once between his fingers to wake them, before he eases the front of her dress down and her breasts spill free into the warm air.

Vresh, both of us breathe at once.

Pregnancy has been rebuilding her by the week, and nowhere more devastatingly than here. Fuller now, heavy enough to sway with her breathing. Her nipples have deepened from soft pink to a rich, dusky shade, swollen, peaked and impossibly sensitive. Beneath the pale skin, new veins trace toward each straining tip like rivers feeding a bloom. My little mortal mate is building life under her skin while I sit here with a mouthful of promises not to taste it. Níva is already dripping from both breasts, running down the curve of the life I put inside her.

“Your body is changing so beautifully, Saevúra,” Sage rasps.

“They ache,” she whispers. “All the time now.”

“Breathe in, luváel,” he murmurs. “We’re going to make you feel so much better.”