Killian doesn’t argue. He also won’t give me the chance to pay for it. That’s going to be a huge argument a few years down the road when the girls and I are making more money with farm-to-table stuff than his males earn at the fights. I can’t wait.
“Hey. I want to pick the fabric.” I wish I could give it a sniff, too, but neither my wolf nor Killian’s—nor Killian himself—will let me leave pack territory this close to giving birth.
“I’ll have whoever gets it text you pictures and you can pick. That work?”
It does. I lean my head on Killian’s upper arm. He drops a kiss on the top of my head and grabs the bottom of my braid.
“I liked that sofa,” he sighs.
I kiss the bulging muscle under my cheek. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
Abertha says sex is really great at this stage of pregnancy for moving things along. Also, I’m completely, utterly addicted to my mate.
Killian’s wolf purrs like a pleased pussy cat. The dirty voyeur.
“Una, I’d get rid of every stick of furniture in this place if it made you happy.”
I giggle. “I know.”
He nuzzles my hair. “I’d do anything for you. You’re the reason, Una.”
“For what?” I know, but I want to hear him say it.
“Everything. I love you, shy girl.”
“I love you, too, mate.”
Our hands find each other as we sit side-by-side, our wolves quiet and content, everything the way it ought to be—because we made it so.