A week had gone by, and the counting down of the days until the baby’s birth was only one of the priorities on my mind. Arden was still secluded from me. He kept me at a point where I would not interfere too much with his emotions. It was hard to not feel isolated from him.

Whether he thought I didn’t care was only half of the problem. I knew he had something he was hiding. But what? I never had the guts to ask him. I treaded on uneasy waters with him. And was here by the grit of my molars and knew that there were still plenty of hurdles to jump over.

I had needs. An Alpha did. And with him being that way, I knew that I sincerely had to show him that his needs were entwined with my own. I cared to an extent that he knew I was more than just sexually obliged to him. He was my mate. That was what I honoured. We had a connection. And I would not let that slide by so easy without making sure that I kept the fire burning.

He purred last week when I rubbed behind his ear. His sweet spot. It was cute. I was aroused. And that was it. I went home at the end of the day desiring to turn that purr to the side of my ears and have us both working up a merry-merry-oooooo baby.

I needed to get him truly alone. Hormones raging. Sexual tension mounting when we would pass. There would be no time like the present to get him when he was up! I caught him in the living room. “What you up to?”

Arden was heavier. Still lovely to gaze upon, but that stomach was packing triplets. That was an exaggeration, but the waddling and crumbs around the sofa were evidence of the baby giving him one heck of an appetite. He ate for us all. The four of us would sit back and let him have seconds before we dug in.

And miraculously he stayed at the same weight. His face wasn’t rounder. Maybe a little chubbier. But it was as if the baby was consuming all the fat. Arden had his legs up, as usual. Glasses on. Reading a romance novel. Not my cup of tea at all, but I supposed being pregnant caused some changes: a little too estrogenic when there should be testosterone pulsating through his body.

“Just reading this novel I found underneath my bed.”

I squinted at the title. “Made of Roses.”

“Yeah. It’s a pretty dark story. I think one I can mirror.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hmm. The main character goes through a hell of a hard time.”

“And I hope the hero comes in the shape of a guy called Samson.”

“Well—”

I don’t let him finish. I’m already sweeping Arden up into my arms and he can’t fight back. He just wobbles as I bend my needs to get him securely into my arms and then raise him up. He pulls off his glasses and chucks them onto the sofa. Along with his novel. I take him all the way to my truck.

It takes a little longer to get there. My legs were spread – and my back slightly bent as I carried him. I take small and calculated steps. My face was straining to keep him up. My mate was no lightweight anymore. But I could do with the arm and leg workout, so I bounced him in my arms and he gripped my neck tighter than ever. Perfect. I wanted him to trust me. I would never drop him or the baby.

I said nothing to him as we drove. He didn’t know what was happening, or where I was taking him. Arden was constantly peering out the window: winding it down and checking the route. He was curious. Observant. And all the time he just sat back and let the truck roll-on to its destination that only I knew.

Oh, the power! To have him here so helpless. Me wanting to rest my hand on his lap and tell him, It’s ok, I’m only going to treat you to a good time and some true relaxation. But I keep my hands to myself. I snuck a peek at his jimmy-de, but I kept myself in check and controlled any urge to just pull the truck over and lay the smackdown.

He eventually found some words in all that curiosity. “Where are we going? What’s happening?”

I kept firing blanks. We were close, so he would see soon enough.

* * *

We reached the lake. I helped Arden down; carrying him all the way until we were both overlooking the water. I let him stand and gaze out across it. He became lost in the view. I gave the landscape a quick glance, but my plan was to get him into a small boat with the paddles on either side.

I left him in peace. And snuck over to unravel the rope from the dock’s cleat. But I left enough so that it didn’t drift off. I did it speedily, and then rushed back to sweep him up again from his trance at peeking out across the vast water and then brought him to the boat.

I paced it, but slowed down when Arden said, “I’m feeling a little queasy.”

“You hungry?”

“I could do with a bite.”

We neared the boat, and on one of the wooden seats was some sort of stew that looked a little worse for wear.

“That will do,” Arden said from in my arms.

“You might want to find something a little better to eat, Arden.”

“No.”

I placed him down and helped him into the boat by holding his hand and waiting for him to take the first step in. The boat rocked unevenly. I supported him with most of my strength, and then he managed to get the other leg in and salivated over that nasty looking stew. “I think it’s goulash.”

“It’s a ghoul of a meal. I agree with that.”

I heard him gushing and splashing down into that bowl. Slurping, and even belching mid-way. I unhooked the last piece of rope that was left around the cleat and got in: taking both oars into my hand and trying to avoid a beautiful pig by the name of Arden Wine.

Arden was chowing and emptying that bowl with a gusty enthusiasm. And I tried not to laugh at the sight of him eating that. I knew any minute he was going to complain of a stomach bug. It couldn’t go any other way. You’d have to have an iron gut. And by the looks of his face, his iron gut was burning via a furnace.

“What’s that other there?”

“The main prize. The other boat that I wanted you to see.”

I docked the oar boat, helped Arden out and carried him all the way into the larger boat and up the ramp. I couldn’t tell if he was smiling, but when I placed him on the deck, I could see that he was appreciative. This was the main attraction. And he seemed impressed with a quiet awe as I went down to the cleft shaped like an anchor and brought the rope out of its hilt.

When I came back up the ramp, Arden asked me, “You planned all this, didn’t you?” He leaned against the edge.

“What do you think?”

“I think you have plenty of tricks up your sleeve, Samson.”

“Not tricks.” I chucked the rope to the side. “But I sure would like to get a moment of your time on that seat.” I brushed my palms together.

“It looks comfy.”

“Then you won’t mind us sitting there and having a—”

He was already making his way to sit down. I went to the manning controls and got this vessel out into the middle of the lake. Then I went to join him: our bodies communicating that neither of us could just talk. We started to instantly kiss.

* * *

Our hands were rushing through each other’s hair. Hands falling behind both our backs; then back up to the neck where we both gripped and held, whilst we pressed our foreheads closer to each other. I bit his bottom lip and then released it. He winced, but it turned him on as he placed his hand on my knee and then rubbed up and down: each time getting closer to my manhood. Then I aggressively moved my hand underneath his shirt and had him rubbing my crotch.

This type of kissing was hot-hot-hot. The lake couldn’t cool us off enough. Next, I had to shove him down onto the sofa bed and lay on top of him: fully clothed. But I started to run my whole hand over his body before I reached his neck and took the route behind to the back of his head.

We closed-mouth kissed. I forced his legs open as I dug down with my waist. I dry-humped him and could feel his piece against mine. He winced with a moan and I grred without knowing that my eyes had dilated enormously. He ploughed those blunt nails into the centre of my back.

I heaved myself up and humped on him like it was a gift to get to that peckerwood. But before I could start to unbuckle his black-washed jeans, he pushed me via the chest and swung his legs out from underneath me. I was left with a stiffy that was not going to die just yet.

“Did I do something?”

“No.” He checked to see if I undid his zipper. “I just…I feel like I got carried away.”

“Uh…” I’m still unable to move with this bone-of-wood in my pants.

“I think my hormones got the better of me.” He patted down awkwardly on his knees. “I think I’d like a tour of your boat, though.”

“Um.” I placed both my hands down below deck and swung myself to let them hang off the sofa bed. I keep them there to try and press it down. “I was just going to suggest that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Well, not yet, of course. But…we might as well if you’re in the mood.”

Arden got up; held his belly and avoided where my hands were placed.

The motorboat was a steal of a price. And it was my haven away from home whenever I needed to think. I used it when the time was called for. My second baby. My lover on the lake and no doubt a true friend to keep me afloat. The inside of the vessel had a cooling station for drinks and meat; a sofa bed that was double sized; a three-seated sofa with a window to look-out from.

On the outside was room to stand near the edge and grip onto the handle to fish. It was narrow, but safe enough. The front of the boat had a pinned down towel, just in case sunbathing was on the menu. The cockpit was on top; with the throttle and gear shifts; and two seats for passengers to watch me manual programme if I got it off automatic.

There was a rubber dingy, life jackets, and a manual to help in the case of a storm or drowning. I manually took the throttle. Arden enjoyed the tour, but complained that his stomach was retching inside. He sat behind me, and I brought my boating baby to a certain point of the lake to switch the engine off, but Arden’s gut said I needed to leave; and then I heard Arden running down the five steps and slanting himself over the handlebars.

I peered down at him, and witnessed him throwing-up the goulash, his nerves, the baby’s nauseated effect, and anything else that had been present inside of that gut. When he was done puking, I decided to move the boat a little further, no need to be seeing and smelling that.

I gave him a towel, and he cleaned himself up by the sink. “If you need anything else, just ask me, Arden.”

“I should be fine. I just want to get the taste of puke out of my mouth.” He did this bleurgh sound and gurgled some water inside his mouth before spitting. “Actually, do you have a toothbrush?”

“In that cabinet, just above you.”

“Thanks.”

I waited for him to finish brushing his teeth. “You know…I’ve got something that could help.”

Arden spat into the sink. “Oh yeah?”

I brought it out from behind my back in a plastic bottle. “Yeah. It’s just a concoction of water and salt. It might even out your stomach and nausea. Can’t hurt to try, right?”

He wiped his mouth and then took the bottle from me. Before he opened and drank it, he asked, “Why are you being so nice?” He started to drink it down with eyes fixated on me.

“Arden …”

He went to sit on the edge of the sofa bed.

I sat next to him. “You’re my mate. Why wouldn’t I treat you nicely? I have no reason not to.” I placed my hand behind his head and gently rubbed his hair. He purred sweetly and swallowed the saltwater concoction.

He gave it a few minutes to kick in. “That’s much better.”

I took the bottle from him. Then we both just stared. I removed my hand from behind his hair and could see that he wanted me to place it right back. I started to, but he instead said, “Take out your pecker!”

It stimulated my wood into a hello-sailor!

“My hormones are raging, in case you couldn’t tell?”

Arden waited, body contorted as he started to play with his own as I pulled down my grey trousers. His mouth and left-hand were instantly upon my jimmy. I edged back onto the bed and his mouth and hand came with me. I made myself comfortable: spread my palms out; and closed my eyes with the sight of Arden’s head bobbling up and down.

Arden was digging. He was making his way all the way down to my balls. He used no tongue this time. Just deep-throated with my assistance as I pushed down on that head and then pulled him back up to only slurp on the tip. Now he used his tongue; spat on top of it, made my body curl when he did; that wasn’t like Arden, but his hormones even had him churning out choruses of moans.

I was nearly a goner. My body tensed immensely with all that moaning and saliva making my spinning kebab heat up. The last hurdle of deep-throating had my hands squeezing the life out of his head. And the other was yanking the duvet up as if I needed a tissue to dry my eyes.

I was coming. He was prolonging the moaning like a cow. The sea-men, I call it that, were asking to come out of the darkness. And the final note that I played for Arden to hear was, “Cummmming, shit! I’m cumming.”