by Piper Scott
“You aren’t, but even if you were, there are ways. There are always ways.” Hugh withdrew his finger from Finch’s body so he could cradle his belly, then kissed the smooth, tight skin that stretched over their child. “I’ll have you know, I happen to like the look of you swollen with my child. I think you should do it far more often.”
A pulse of arousal shot through Finch, stirring some life back into his cock. “Sir…”
“Hmm?”
“I… if you’re sure. The last time you knotted me I wasn’t quite so enormous. I seem to be growing at an exponential rate.”
“Everard assures me you are growing at exactly the correct rate and I should stop pestering him with questions at all hours of the day and night.”
“All right, then. But I think this is going to be a touch awkward. I resemble a beached whale.”
“Nonsense. And do you trust me?”
“Of course,” Finch said at once. “With everything. Body, heart, and soul.”
Hugh smiled and it was endearingly beatific. “Good. Just put yourself into my hands.”
“I already have, sir.”
“I love you, my darling Finch.”
Finch smiled back at his dragon’s earnest face. “I love you, too. For the rest of my life.”
What Finch had said, he meant, and while the bond he shared with Hugh was new and still mysterious to him in many ways, he tried to focus the emotion he felt into the place deep inside where he so often detected Hugh’s presence. While he did, Hugh lifted him up as if he weighed nothing and proceeded to make love to him in places and positions around the hoard that seemed to defy gravity and physics. Hugh must have gained mastery over time and space during their separation—it was the only explanation for the second orgasm that roared through Finch like a speeding train. He thought it might have been the most intense one of his life.
After Finch stopped sobbing out his release, Hugh carried him deftly back to the bed in the center of the room and put him down carefully, like Finch was the most precious and fragile Meissen figurine in his entire hoard, then spooned him from behind.
Sleepy and content, Finch still had to point out, “I thought you were going to knot me, sir. Did you change your mind?”
Hugh growled in his ear. “I’m not done with you yet, Finch. Don’t think you can fly away from me.”
“I’m fairly sure I couldn’t walk away from you, let alone fly,” Finch replied, snuggling his posterior against Hugh’s still-hard cock.
“Good. Never, ever leave me. I won’t allow it. Do you hear me, Finch?” Hugh raised Finch’s leg then guided his cock back into Finch’s body. He began to slowly fuck Finch with a methodical rotation of his hips. “I love how you take my cock. You were always my star, so remote and beautiful and untouchable, but now you’re mine and I’ll keep making you mine over and over and over. My dragonet. My love. My mate. Are you ready for me, sweet Finch?”
Finch felt like he’d been ready for this his entire life. “Yes, Hugh,” he gasped. “Please. I need—”
Hugh thrust into Finch even more deeply and let out a tremendous roar of pleasure. His hot spend filled Finch’s body, then there was the delicious feeling of utter fullness and connection.
While Finch basked in the moment and enjoyed the way Hugh’s knot bound them together, his mind drifted to random things, rather like a child gathering shells at the beach, keeping some and discarding others based on an inner logic no one else could begin to understand. Part of it, he was sure, came down to Hugh’s influence. In small ways, feeling the things Hugh did shaped Finch’s train of thought. The bond truly was a curious and wonderful thing.
“Hmm?” Hugh asked in a near whisper after several moments of silence. Curiosity flowed through their mate bond. “What’s this, Finch?”
“What’s what?”
Hugh brushed his fingers over Finch’s left shoulder blade. “This. I don’t remember you having freckles, even though Misha and Perry mentioned something to the contrary. Do you think it’s your mate mark? I’ve never noticed it before now, but it might have been out of inattention. How do these blasted things work, anyway? No one ever thought to tell me.”
Finch had no answers for him, because during his time in the Pedigree, mates had still been exceptionally rare. No one spoke of them much, except in passing daydreams, and even had there been lessons, there wouldn’t have been much to teach. Hugh likely knew as much, if not more, about mate marks as Finch did. “I don’t know, sir. I don’t recall having any kind of freckle there, although I suppose I could be mistaken.”
“It’s very unusual,” Hugh said with some finality. “It’s almost triangular in shape, but not quite. And it is fairly pale. If I squint at it just right, it resembles a piece of cake, which, well, has me quite convinced it is a mate mark, since you are even more scrumptious than Chef Funfetti’s finest culinary creation.”
Finch started laughing and felt like he might never stop. “Hugh. No.”
“What?”
“I’m no slice of cake.”
“What are you trying to say by that, Finch?” Hugh wrapped him in his arms, and soon enough their bond was flooded with waves of love and humor. “If you’re not the omega equivalent of Funfetti cake, then what are you? You can’t mean”—he gasped—“that you’re secretly Chef Funfetti, and have been this entire time?”
Finch’s mouth ached from laughing. “Drat. You’ve found me out.”
“I knew it!” Hugh peppered the back of Finch’s head with kisses. “You. Are. Incorrigible. What am I to do with you?”
“Well, that depends on how much cake you’d like.”
Hugh snorted. “All of it, naturally. Or rather, all of it so long as I can still have you. In the event that I can’t, then none of it. I’d much rather have you by my side than cake on my plate. I love you too much to trade you for anything.”
“And I love you, sir, enough that you may have cake every night if you wish it.”
A growl of dragony satisfaction rolled through Finch’s mind.
“And me, too,” Finch added, in case it wasn’t clear. A note of sheer joy rang inside of him that had nothing to do with Hugh’s influence—it was all his own. “Always and forever, for as long as we both shall live.”
35
Hugh
Finch kept his word—Funfetti cakes were had. Often. But not quite as often as Hugh had Finch. The man was irresistible, and Hugh partook of him at all hours of the day. Sometimes that meant slipping into the shower with Finch in the morning, where Hugh lifted him up and let Finch hold on to whatever was within arm’s reach while he slid into him. Other times it meant kidnapping Finch in the middle of the day and whisking him away from his duties to the bedroom, where Hugh reminded him in myriad ways how treasured he was. Most times, unless Finch was exhausted, Hugh indulged in him at night, lighting the air above them with dragon fire so he could watch the shadows dance over Finch’s body as he came. And to Hugh’s delight, the closer Finch came to giving birth, the more he sought Hugh out. There was nothing quite like lifting his beloved secretary onto his office desk and knotting him amongst his paperwork. The hitch of Finch’s breath as he found satisfaction and the way their mate bond twanged with their mutual desire was much more interesting than investment documents, to be sure.
So when, late one night, Finch woke Hugh from a deep sleep, Hugh assumed he was being called into duty.
“Finch, you minx,” he whispered as he drew Finch onto his body. The insides of Finch’s thighs were already wet and slippery—he must have spent time preparing himself before waking Hugh. “You absolute temptress. Tempter? What the devil is the male equivalent of that word? Whatever it is, you and it are synonymous.”
“Hugh,” Finch said in a low voice, “I appreciate it, but—”
“Mm, yes, butt.” Hugh squeezed the delightfully rounded muscles in question. “And what an amazing butt it is. I can hardly resist.” It took no effort at all to squeeze his hardened cock between Finch’s
cheeks, brushing by his hole, but not yet slipping inside. “How do you want it this time, my love? Prolonged and sweet, or hard and instantly satisfying?”
“Hugh,” Finch repeated, a little more sternly than before. “Neither. I—”
“Both, then.” Hugh took Finch by the hips and tried to lift him up, but was swatted for his trouble. Right on his snoot. Or nose, rather, since he wasn’t in his dragon form.
“No,” Finch said firmly. “Now is decidedly not the time.”
Something seemed very off about his precious Finch. Hugh sniffed. His senses weren’t as good in his human guise, but Finch smelled different. Not bad, but definitely different.
“Finch? What is it? I feel like I’ve gone batty, but something about you doesn’t quite feel the same. Or smell the same, for that matter. There’s something…”
Finch cuddled close in Hugh’s arms, resting his head against Hugh’s shoulder. His cock was somewhat disappointed it wasn’t getting to immediately sink into Finch’s body, but just holding his love close satisfied both him and his dragon.
“You’re right,” Finch said. “Something is different. I’m almost seven hours into early labor, and I think the time has come where active labor isn’t far off.”
Hugh went very still and very flaccid all at once. “What?”
“I’m having the baby, Hugh. We’re having a baby. Our baby.”
“I… see.” Hugh’s mouth was suddenly very dry. “Did I… make things terrible by trying to stick my dick in you just now?”
A surprised laugh burst from Finch. “No.”
“Good.” He swallowed hard and lifted Finch off his wilted penis, setting him to the side. “Seven hours, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“How long have we been asleep?”
“You’ve been sleeping for five hours, sir. It’s three in the morning. I haven’t been able to sleep at all, which I suppose is to be expected in my condition.” Finch sucked in a pained breath through his teeth. It whistled slightly. Hugh, terrified, looked on in silence until Finch’s shoulders slumped and he resumed the conversation. “In my mind, there was no point in worrying you over what could have been false contractions. If they turned out to be real—which they did—there’d still be hours before I moved into active labor. It seemed much more compassionate to let you sleep.”
Hugh gawked at him. His gaze drifted from Finch’s face to his pregnant belly, which didn’t sit the same as it had yesterday. “I… see.”
“Now that I believe I’m in active labor, I thought it prudent to wake you,” Finch said. “I’ve already been in contact with Everard. He’s scheduled to arrive in the next hour or so. I’ve also been in touch with the staff to let them know additional bedsheets, blankets, towels, and other effects will be required. The nursery is currently being deep-cleaned and preparations are being made to compensate for my absence. All that’s left is for you to shower and dress in anticipation of your brother’s arrival.”
Hugh wheezed at him.
“I understand that this is a very trying time, sir,” Finch said as he squeezed Hugh’s arm. “Rest assured that no detail has been overlooked. All will be well. Now, please see yourself into the shower. You wouldn’t want to look disheveled when Everard arrives, would you?”
Hugh’s head wasn’t all there, but the neurons he had left fired off a prickly memory. “That cake-stealing bastard.”
Finch smiled. “Yes, sir. That’s the one. Speaking of, while I don’t condone such activities taking place on the grounds of the estate, would you like me to get in touch with Gabriel? I’m sure he could arrange to have something brought to you that would help take the edge off, so to speak.”
What did Gabriel have to do with Everard? There was a nagging sensation in the back of Hugh’s mind like he should have been able to make the connection, but everything was a little hazy. The only thought able to permeate his thick cerebral fog was that in no time at all, Finch would make him a father. The thing he’d wanted all his life was finally coming to pass, only now not only would he have a son or daughter, but he’d have a perfect partner to share fatherhood with.
Blood rushed to Hugh’s face. He was sure every bit of skin from his shoulders up was red. Stunned, he stared at Finch and announced to any eavesdroppers, “We’re going to have a baby.”
“Excellent deduction, sir.” Finch patted his knee, then pushed him toward the side of the bed. “Go shower. It’ll help you feel better. While you’re in there, I’ll get in touch with Gabriel and see if he doesn’t have something to help you calm down a little.”
Hugh left the bed, the bottoms of his bare feet meeting the cold wood floor. “You shouldn’t be doing anything, Finch. I’m the one who should be doing everything. You’re having a baby. Our baby. I—” The gravity of the situation hit, and Hugh’s knees threatened to buckle. He caught himself on the side of the bed. “You’re having our baby,” he gasped.
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re going to be fathers.”
“We are.”
“A baby,” he squeaked, and melted onto the mattress.
Finch carded his fingers affectionately through Hugh’s hair, which would have felt nice had Hugh’s head not been spinning. “Yes. But first, you’re going to have a shower. Adjust the heat after you get in to cool the water down. It’ll help wake you up and jolt you out of your fugue state.”
“The… the… baby, Finch,” Hugh despaired. “Whelps can care for themselves, but a baby? I’ll never be good enough for a baby. I’ll break it.”
“Nonsense. You’ll be an excellent father.” Finch patted him on the head. “Now, off to shower with you. I need you ready for when Everard arrives. By the time he gets here, there’s no telling what condition I’ll be in. I need you ready to speak with him if I can’t.”
“A baby,” Hugh whispered as he slid off the bed and wobbled toward the bathroom. “We’re really having a baby…”
“Cold water, please,” Finch reminded him as he hobbled through the bathroom door.
Hugh heeded his word and took the coldest shower of his life. It still didn’t help.
Hugh took longer than he should have to shower and dressed just in time to greet a sleep-cap-wearing Francis at the bedroom door. The major-domo narrowed his eyes at Hugh as if Hugh’s personal failings were keeping him from a full night’s rest. “Mr. Everard Drake, sir,” he said, then stepped aside to admit Everard, who had brought with him a doctor’s bag.
“Good morning, brother,” said Everard. “It’s come to my attention that your little hole punch is filled to bursting. May I come in to see him? You might never get him unjammed otherwise.”
At the sight of his brother’s smug, if slightly exhausted, face, Hugh’s dragon did something it never had before—it reared up in his mind and hissed. The sound escaped Hugh’s physical body, causing Everard to roll his eyes.
“Oh, hush.” Everard tapped him on the tip of his nose. Hugh startled and recoiled. “I’m not here to steal him from you. I do still remember what happened the last time he was taken from you, and I’d prefer not to have to go through such an ordeal again. Now, step aside. I have a niece or nephew to deliver.”
Hugh’s dragon snorted in irritation, but Hugh himself was too gobsmacked to say much of anything. He stepped aside, granting Everard passage. Once the way was clear, Everard approached the bedside and set down his doctor’s bag. “Hello, tape dispenser. Has there been any change since you called?”
“Yes,” Finch said calmly. “My contractions are now, on average, three minutes and five seconds apart and last for sometimes over sixty seconds.”
“Already?”
“Yes. It’s early, isn’t it?”
“A trifle. And your pain?”
“Terrible.”
Everard nodded sagely, then looked over his shoulder at Hugh. “Brother, make yourself useful and see to it that your staff know there are approximately two to three hours before my future niece or nephew is born. We’ll n
eed towels, blankets—”
“Pardon me, but it’s already done.” Finch took a deep, pained breath and shifted on the bed, where he’d come to settle. A section of their mate bond had been blocked off, preventing Hugh from feeling his pain, but Hugh ached for him regardless. “All necessary linens will be brought to the room shortly. I’ve also—”
Finch cut himself off, going rigid from agony. Hugh, terrified for him, rushed to the bed and clasped his hand. “Finch?”
“I’ll be fine, sir,” Finch strained through his teeth.
It did not sound like he’d be fine.
Defeated, Hugh sat on the bedside and worried over him. There had to be something he could do. What good was he if he couldn’t comfort his mate in this time of great need? Yes, Everard was a doctor, but Hugh was Finch’s mate, and Finch needed his unwavering support.
“I love you, Finch,” Hugh told him, channeling as much of that sweet energy as he could through their bond. It warmed his connection with Finch like sunlight. If he was lucky, it would help take away some of Finch’s pain. “I’m here for you no matter what.”
“And I’m here for you for the delivery,” Everard supplied in a dry tone of voice that grated on Hugh’s nerves. “Hugh, I’m afraid I need access to your mate to check how far along he is. You’ll need to move.”
Hugh hissed again at the insistence of his dragon, but ultimately complied. As irritating as he could be, Everard was there to help Finch, not hurt him, and it was in Hugh’s best interest he let the man do his job.
What he hadn’t realized was that Everard’s business was apparently between Finch’s legs.
When Everard pulled the covers back, Hugh bristled. “Brother.”
“Hugh,” Everard said, sounding very tired. He gave Hugh the flattest look. “Really? Where do you think babies come from? Be thankful my adorable strip of beef jerky elected to stay home until Chuck wakes up, for he would be much more invasive. Now be a good boy and open my bag. No, not that pocket, the other one. I’m going to need my inspection mirror.”
