Barbarian Mine (Ice Planet Barbarians #4)(27)

Her nose wrinkles and she tries to peek around me to the fire. “Oh no, did I burn your dinner? I got you spahgetteemawnster.”

She calls it a weird word in her language, but I recognize the creature from its shape, and know of her thoughtfulness. “Is not important.”

Har-loh looks upset. “I’m sorry. I was just tired.” She yawns as if to emphasize this. “I’m so tired all the time now.”

My hand goes to her rounded belly. She’s so big, like one of the dvisti females before she’s about to drop her kit. Of course, I don’t point this out. The last time I did, she cried and then blamed it on something called hor-moans. “You carrying kit. Is tired-making.”

“Tiring? Yeah, it is.” She shifts on the bed and rubs her back again.

I know what will make her feel better. I move to the foot of our nest, where her feet are propped up on one of the strange puffy things she insists she wants under her head. I take one cold foot in my hand and begin to massage it. She likes her feet rubbed, my Har-loh.

She moans and falls back in the furs. “God, you’re a good man.”

Her praise is pleasing and I do more, working her small foot over before switching to the other. As I continue to rub, her moans grow louder, and my cock responds in kind. The next time she groans, mine matches it.

A soft giggle escapes her throat and she pulls her foot from my grip to rub it against my cock. I’m wearing a breechcloth like she prefers, and for the moment, I hate it because I can’t feel her skin against mine. “Seems like someone missed me today.”

“Always miss you,” I tell her. Of course I do. She is my mate. The best days are the days we spend all day together. Now that she is carrying our kit, she has to stay closer to the cave. It’s hard not to resent my child at times because he already takes up so much of her time. But then I think of the family waiting for me, and my resentment fades. I have gone from being alone to having a wonderful mate and we will soon have a kit.

I would change nothing. Not a tail-flick of it.

I crawl into bed behind Har-loh and nuzzle her neck. Because her belly is so big, we cannot mate from the front as usual. For the past moon, we have been creative with our mating, and I pull her against me, gauging her mood.

She sighs and reaches back for my hair. “I love you, Rukh.”

“I love you, my mate,” I tell her and nip at her soft ear. My hands slide to the front of her tunic, to her sensitive, swollen teats. Breasts, she calls them. I touch one and she moans, tugging at her clothing. That tells me she wants my touch as much as I want her. I help her undo the laces at the front of her tunic until it falls open, and her ripe breasts are free for my hands. I gently brush over the nipples, because I know they’re too tender for much more.

She pushes back against me, whimpering, and her hand knots in my mane. I push her skirt down her thighs and she kicks it off even as I rip my breechcloth off my body. Then we are pressed against each other, flesh to flesh, body to body. Her khui hums loudly in her chest, and mine answers.

I murmur her name as I push her thighs apart and enter her from behind. She gives a soft little cry and holds tight to my hands as I begin to thrust into her, my spur prodding against the tiny bud of her backside with each pump.

We are perfection like this, me and my Har-loh.



? ? ?





The next morning, Har-loh wakes up and moves the small arrowhead from the first notch in her kahl-un-dur to the second one. “Dee-sem-burr second,” she announces. She rubs her side and winces. “This baby has to be coming soon, right?”

“I do not know.” I wish I had answers for her. She has so many questions and I do, too. The hollows under her eyes seem to be worse today, despite the fact that she slept heavily through the night. But there is no one to ask, and I do not know if this is normal. My memories of my father are so faint and growing dimmer with every day. Instead of his face in my dreams, I see Har-loh’s smile, her freckled skin, her soft body. “Come eat,” I tell my mate and gesture at her stool by the fire. I’ve even put one of her fluffy puffs on it to ease her bottom.

She sits down and gives me a grateful smile. “The baby’s active today.”

I put a hand on her belly and feel the flutters there, the gentle movement. I grin up at her, and then jerk my hand away as the kit kicks hard.

Har-loh winces. “Pissy today, too.”

“He is hungry. He need eat. You eat, too.” I get a chunk of dried, smoked meat and offer it to her.

She wrinkles her nose at the sight and looks unhappy. “Is that all we have?”

“No.” I pull out one of the baskets she’s woven and take out additional chunks of meat she has salted and smoked. “This one is raptor, and this one is spagayteemawnster, and this one is…” I hold it to my nose, sniffing. Burned dvisti. “Dvisti.”

“Maybe just water,” she says, and rubs her belly again.

“Eat,” I tell her, and ignore the gnawing worry that creeps up. I give her a bit of smoked dvisti since it is the tenderest, and she takes it from my hand and gamely nibbles on it. I notice she drinks more water than anything and eats slowly.

My worry threatens to consume me, and so I stay by the cave with her that morning. I tell her I have hides to cure, but we have more hides than two people can use. She stuffs feathers into one of her leather puffs for the baby, and then sews the edge shut. When I take a break, she pulls out her boots and smiles brightly at me. “Can we go get clams? I’m hungry for those.”