The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

Chapter CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT!

Isabella’s back met the solid wall of his chest as he lowered himself to sit on the submerged stone bench, drawing her gently between his spread legs. She leaned back instinctively, a soft sound escaping her lips when his arms came around her , one hand splaying wide and protective over the full curve of her belly, the other resting just beneath her breasts.

"Oh, Cyrus..." she whispered, voice already breathy.

His palm was warm, slightly calloused from years of hunting and building their home. He rubbed slow, reverent circles over her stomach, feeling the subtle movements of their hatchlings within. A tiny kick answered his touch, and his breath hitched against her ear.

"They know their father," he murmured, lips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear. His voice dropped even lower, intimate and soothing, like a secret meant only for her and the lives she carried. "Rest easy, little ones. Your mother is safe. She is strong and beautiful and so very loved. I will guard all of you tonight... and every night after."

Isabella shivered, not from cold but from the sheer tenderness in his tone. It wrapped around her heart tighter than any embrace. She tilted her head back against his shoulder, exposing the line of her throat. "You always know exactly what to say to make me melt."

A low, warm chuckle vibrated through his chest. "Good. Because melting you is one of my favorite duties."

His free hand trailed slowly up her side, mapping the new curves pregnancy had gifted her. Fingers skimmed the underside of one heavy breast, not demanding, but worshipful...as if he were memorizing every change, every new softness. Isabella’s nipples tightened instantly at the light touch, a soft gasp slipping from her.

Cyrus pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, placing the first slow, open-mouthed kiss there. His lips were hot against her damp skin. He lingered, sucking gently, then soothed the spot with his tongue. Another kiss followed, lower, then another, each one deliberate and unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world to savor her.

"Mmm... Cyrus..." The sound came out half-moan, half-sigh. Heat pooled low in her core, sweet and aching, but gentle, the kind of desire that pregnancy had deepened rather than rushed. She felt cherished, desired, and utterly safe all at once.

He continued kissing along her neck and shoulder, occasionally murmuring praises against her skin. "So soft here... so full and perfect. Look at how your body has changed for them. For us. It drives me wild, Isabella, in the best way."

One of his hands dipped lower, cupping warm water and letting it cascade over her breasts in slow rivulets. Then his palm followed, gently washing her, in a sensual way. He massaged the soaproot lather he had prepared earlier in smooth, circling motions, thumbs brushing the sensitive peaks until her back arched lightly against him.

Isabella’s breathing grew shallower. "That feels... so good. Don’t stop."

"I won’t," he promised, voice husky. "Let me take care of every inch of you tonight."

He worked methodically yet lovingly downward. Strong fingers kneaded the sore muscles along her waist and lower back, easing the constant ache she had carried all day. When he reached the swell of her belly again, both hands cradled it, lifting the weight slightly in the buoyant water. The relief made her whimper softly.

"You carry so much," he whispered, kissing the spot just behind her ear. "Let me shoulder some of it, even if only for a little while."

His hands ventured lower still, washing her hips, her thighs, the sensitive skin between. Every touch was careful, attentive, igniting sparks that traveled straight to her core without ever becoming too insistent. Isabella’s head lolled back fully against him, eyes half-closed, lips parted on quiet, needy sounds she couldn’t quite suppress.

The air between them grew thicker, heavier with steam and unspoken want. Cyrus’s own breathing had roughened. She could feel the hard, unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against the small of her back — hot, thick, and straining. He didn’t grind or push; he simply held her closer, letting her feel what she did to him while his hands continued their tender worship.

"Cyrus..." she breathed again, a little helplessly, a little wantonly. One of her hands reached back to thread through his damp hair. "I can feel you..."

He groaned softly against her neck, the sound vibrating through her. "You always do this to me. Even more now. Seeing you like this — round with our hatchlings, glowing, trusting me with your body — it makes me ache in ways I never knew possible. But tonight is for you. For easing your tiredness. For reminding you how deeply you are wanted."

He continued washing her with painstaking care — between her legs with feather-light strokes that teased more than satisfied, along the curve of her ass, down her calves. Every pass of his hands felt like devotion. Isabella floated in the sensation, body lax and pliant against his solid frame, the water lapping gently around them both.

Time stretched. The only sounds were the soft splash of water, her occasional sighs and whimpers, and his low, soothing murmurs of praise.

"You are exquisite... My strong, beautiful mate... Carrying life so gracefully..."

When the last traces of soap had been rinsed away and her skin glowed pink from the heat and his touch, Cyrus pressed one final, lingering kiss to the junction of her neck and shoulder.

"Ready to get out?" he asked, voice still rough with restrained desire.

Isabella nodded, boneless and content. "Only if you carry me."

"With pleasure."

He rose first, water streaming down his powerful body, then lifted her effortlessly into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Her pregnant belly pressed warmly against his abdomen as he stepped out of the bath. Steam clung to them both.

Cyrus grabbed a fur towel and dried her up with the thick fur towel very slowly, and the more carefully he did it, the more comfortable Isabella felt.

The fur dragged softly over her damp skin like a lover’s caress. Cyrus started at her shoulders, patting in slow, deliberate circles, then let the towel glide down her arms. Every pass of the soft material brushed the sides of her heavy breasts, making her nipples tighten instantly into sensitive peaks. Isabella bit her lip as a shiver ran through her.

The fur had already been warmed, so the moment it touched her skin, she felt the last of the bath water disappear together with the little bits of cold that had clung to her body earlier.

Cyrus’s gaze darkened as he moved lower, carefully lifting each breast to dry underneath, his thumbs grazing the undersides in a way that was almost innocent but sent heat pooling straight between her thighs. He was hard already, she could see the thick outline straining against the cloth at his hips, yet he continued with that maddening gentleness, holding himself back and not making any advances on his pregnant mate.

He did not rub too hard, and he did not rush. Instead, he patted her dry bit by bit, moving from her shoulders down to her arms, then lower, then back up again as if he was worried he might miss somewhere and leave her uncomfortable later.

When he reached her rounded belly, he knelt and dried it with both hands cradling the heavy swell, thumbs stroking slow arcs over the taut skin. Isabella’s breath hitched. The touch felt worshipful... and undeniably arousing.

Because of how attentive he was, Isabella felt lazy in the nicest way.

A soft, involuntary sound escaped her when the towel brushed the sensitive skin between her thighs. She was already slick from the bath and his earlier touches, and the friction made her clit throb gently.

She just stood there letting him take care of her while the warm steam from the bath still lingered in the room. Every now and then, Cyrus’s fingers would brush over her skin in a way that was not even meant to be shameless, but because he was already her mate and because the bath had softened her body so much, even that little contact felt warm and intimate.

By the time he finished drying her properly, Isabella already felt as if her bones had become lighter.

Then Cyrus picked up her clothes and helped her dress.

He started with the soft inner wrap, sliding it slowly up her legs. His palms skimmed the insides of her thighs as he rose, stopping just short of where she was growing wetter by the second. Isabella’s knees weakened slightly.

That part alone would have been enough to make many women in the village stare in jealousy, because even though beastmen men were naturally very attentive to their women, Cyrus was especially good at it. He knew how to lift the fur wrap without tugging too much.

When he reached her breasts, he cupped them gently from below to settle the cloth properly, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples once, twice, as if by accident. Isabella gasped softly, her back arching toward him. He knew how to adjust the cloth around her shoulders so that the warmth stayed in.

He even crouched in front of her at one point so he could fix the lower part around her legs and make sure nothing sat too tightly over her stomach.

From this angle, his face was level with her belly and the apex of her thighs. His breath ghosted warmly over her skin, and she saw his nostrils flare slightly as he caught her scent.

Looking down at him from above, Isabella could not help softening again.

Heat flushed through her core at the sight of him so close, so devoted, and so clearly affected. His erection was even more obvious now, thick and heavy. This man truly knew how to take care of someone.

When he finally stood, she looked at him and said, "If you keep doing everything like this, I will become useless."

Cyrus smiled softly at once. "You say that every time."

"That is because I mean it every time."

Cyrus’s eyes darkened with clear hunger as they traced her body in the loose wrap. Cyrus’s eyes moved to her face, then to her stomach, and finally back to her face again.

"But it makes me want to do even more," he added quietly, voice lower and rougher. "Seeing you like this — full and glowing — stirs something primal in me. I want to touch you everywhere. Taste you. Remind you how much I crave my mate."

Hearing that made Isabella’s heart feel warm again, and because she was already in a soft mood after the bath, she did not even bother hiding it. She simply let him guide her over to sit near the side for a while longer.

The room was still warm, and because they were alone now, everything felt quiet in a way that made small questions rise more easily in her mind.

So after a moment, Isabella looked down at her stomach and asked, "Cyrus, what form will our babies come out in? Will it be egg form and they will hatch, or will it be live birth?"

The moment she asked that, Cyrus’s expression changed into one of thoughtful seriousness.

Then he slowly lowered himself in front of her and looked at her stomach as if the question had truly become very important to him too. After that, to Isabella’s great amusement, he bent his head and gently placed his ear against her belly.

For one second, Isabella only stared.

Then she started laughing.

Because he looked so serious.

Too serious.

As if he truly expected the babies to answer immediately.

Cyrus, however, continued acting as if he was listening very carefully. Then after a moment, he slowly nodded once.

Isabella laughed even harder. "What are you doing?"

Cyrus finally lifted his head and looked at her with a very calm face, even though it was obvious that he had only been playing with her.

"I asked them," he said.

That answer only made her laugh more.

"Oh really? And what did they say?"

Cyrus placed one hand over her stomach, rubbed it once very gently, and then answered in a tone full of fake seriousness, "It depends."

Isabella stared at him for one second, then another.

Then she leaned forward a little and asked, "You are making fun of me, aren’t you?"

Cyrus’s expression softened immediately. "Only a little."

Seeing how honest he was made Isabella laugh again, though this time it was softer. Then Cyrus finally explained properly.

"Since it has already been over three months now, then maybe they will not come out in egg form anymore," he said. "If it were earlier, then perhaps eggs would still be possible. But now... it may be different."

As he spoke, one hand remained on her belly, rubbing slow, possessive circles. His other hand slid up her thigh under the wrap, stopping just short of her core.

Hearing that, Isabella nodded slowly with understanding.

"Wow," she said.

Cyrus leaned in closer, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss just above her belly button. That one word was full of real shock, because even though she had already accepted many strange things in this world, the matter of how her babies would actually arrive still felt unreal sometimes.

"Whatever form they take," he murmured against her skin, breath hot, "they will be perfect. Just like their mother." His lips trailed higher, kissing the underside of one breast through the cloth.

Then another thought came to her.

She looked down at her stomach again and asked, "What will they look like?"

Cyrus’s eyes lifted to hers, dark with desire. At that question, Cyrus’s expression shifted.