11
Roark
Natalie was curled into my side. A fire burned in the strange hearth before us. But there was no fuel, no tree or brush feeding the flames. Still, it heated the room, and the little one who slept on my chest.
My son.
Just thinking the word caused my eyes to burn, my heart to ache. My son. And I’d missed so much already. My mate’s rounded belly, the swell of her breasts. I’d missed his birth, his first smile.
My son did not know my face, my touch, my voice.
But his mother did. My mate melted into my side, soft and sweet and more beautiful than I remembered and it had only been ten days. Her face was slightly rounder, her luscious curves more pronounced. I could not wait to strip her naked and claim her once more, remind her that I was her master, just as she’d vowed. And yet,
