The city never slept, but in the penthouse high above it all, time moved differently. Freya stood barefoot on the cool marble floor, one hand resting protectively over the gentle swell of her belly, the other pressed against the floor-to-ceiling glass. The lights of the metropolis sparkled like diamonds scattered across black velvet. Behind her, Draven’s reflection approached slowly, his powerful frame silhouetted by the low lighting. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, large hands splaying over her rounded stomach where their child grew.
“Still thinking too much?” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. His voice was that perfect mix of gravel and velvet that had ruined her from the very first forbidden touch months ago.
Freya leaned back into his solid warmth. “Always.
