Page 20 of Bred By the Silent Bidder
I slide the ring onto her finger, set with a single deep blue sapphire the color of her eyes at midnight. It fits perfectly.
The officiant pronounces us husband and wife.
I don’t wait for permission. I pull her against me and kiss her like the first night in the car, like the morning she rode me until we both broke, like every moment since. Grateful I can finally call her my wife. She kisses me back just as fiercely, her fingers curling into my shirt the way they did that very first time.
The small gathering applauds. Serik whistles. Cecily laughs through tears. Even Amelia’s mother claps, though her expression is still a careful mix of acceptance and lingering worry.
We sign the papers quickly. No fanfare. When it is done, I keep her hand in mine as we turn to face the others. My brothers step forward one by one. Rovin first, pulling us both into a brief, crushing embrace that says more than words ever could. The women surround Amelia, laughing and hugging. I watch her glow under their attention, the same way she glowed at Rovin’s dinner weeks ago. She belongs here. With them. With me.
Later, after dinner and toasts and the quiet departure of our families, we are finally alone.
I carry her up the stairs to our bedroom, the same room where we first came together, and will do forever more. Moonlight spills across the bed. I set her down gently and take my time with the zipper of her dress, kissing every inch of skin I uncover. She shivers under my mouth.
“Wife,” I murmur against her shoulder.
“Husband.” Her voice is husky, happy. She turns in my arms and pushes my jacket off, fingers working my shirt buttons with familiar impatience. “Say it again.”
“I am yours.” I lift her onto the bed, following her down. “Forever.”
We move together slowly at first, reverent. I worship every curve, every sound she makes, every time she whispers my name like a vow of her own. When I finally sink into her, deep and bare and home, she arches beneath me with a broken moan.
“Dayan—”
“I know.” I thrust slow and powerful, pinning her wrists above her head so I can watch her face. “I feel it too.”
We don’t last long. The day, the vows, the promise of everything ahead, it all crashes over us. She comes first, clenching around me, crying out as her body shakes. I follow seconds later, burying myself as deep as I can go and filling her with pulse after pulse, whispering filthy promises of the children we will make, the life we will build.
Afterward we lie tangled, her head on my chest, my hand resting possessively over her lower belly the way it has every night since the beginning.
She traces one of the scars on my ribs. “No regrets?”
“None.” I kiss her hair. “You?”
She laughs softly, the sound vibrating through me. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”
I roll us so she is tucked beneath me again. “Then let’s keep choosing each other. Every day.”
“Team Ameyan,” she whispers, already sleepy, already mine.
“Team Daylia,” I counter, then realize neither of these team names sound ferocious enough for me to actually use.
For the first time in my life, the silence feels complete.
Epilogue
Six months later
Amelia
I stand in the bathroom of our bedroom with my heart hammering against my ribs and a small white stick on the marble counter. Two pink lines. Clear. Undeniable.
I press a hand to my stomach, a disbelieving laugh bubbling out of me. It finally happened. Dayan had made it his mission from the very first night, filling me, claiming me, whispering dark, delicious promises about breeding me, about building the huge family he’d always wanted but never thought he’d have. And I had welcomed every single second of it.
I tuck the test into the pocket of my silk robe and go looking for my husband.
He’s in his study, as he often is at this hour, the low lamp casting shadows across the sharp lines of his face. From the doorway he looks exactly like the man the world fears: silent, imposing, scarred hands resting on the desk as he reviews something on his laptop that I probably don’t want details about. The kind of man who makes powerful people speak more carefully when he enters a room.
But I know the other version of him. The one who carries me up the stairs when my feet hurt. The one who asks what I want every single day and then moves heaven and earth to give it to me. The one whose rare smiles are only for me.
