novelraw Chapter 444 - The Baby Maker Inside the Factory
Chapter 444 - The Baby Maker Inside the Factory
Lifting it.
Carrying it.
Akane went still.
Her breath stopped for a full two seconds.
Because this—this exact sensation, the hands bearing the weight that her back had been carrying for months, the specific relief of having someone else hold what she’d been holding alone—’this’ undid more of her in one second than anything else could have.
Her eyes, which had been golden and sharp and composed, filled.
"Our child," Tianlong said, his palms warm against the taut skin. "Seems healthy."
Akane made a sound.
A small, wrecked sound that she would absolutely deny later. Her hands came down over his, pressing them closer against the belly, and her forehead dropped forward. Her nine tails drew inward, wrapping forward around them both like a cocoon.
"He is," she said. Barely audible. "He is healthy."
Between her legs, she felt it. His cock, not yet inside her, but ’there’—the heat of it against her entrance, the head pressing just at the seal of her lips, and her whole body responding to that proximity with a violent, desperate clench.
She felt herself flutter against his tip.
Felt the bead of pre-cum touching her.
Her hips moved ’involuntarily’ downward—a half-inch, nothing more—and the sensation of even that made her gasp.
"’Husband’—"
Both of Sylvea’s hands were still at Akane’s sides, steadying. Helvora’s hands were at Akane’s hips—guiding, supporting, practical—and Helvora was watching the angle with the expression of someone performing a medical function and choosing very deliberately not to think about the other layers.
"Lower your hips," Helvora said. "Slowly. Let him support the belly."
Akane began to lower.
The head of his cock spread her lips. They parted around him, her entrance yielding in the way it always yielded to him—reluctant for exactly one second and then ’immediately’, then ’completely’—
Then Sylvea’s foot caught the bed frame.
She stumbled.
Her hands—which had been supporting Akane’s right side—lurched forward, and that forward momentum transferred directly into Akane’s body with no warning and no time—
Akane dropped.
Full weight. No brake. Seven inches of cock ’punched’ upward into her in one unbroken motion, the head driving straight to her cervix, the shaft filling every available inch in a single impact—
PAAAH!
"’KKHNNNGAAAANNNNN~~!!!’"
The sound that came out of Akane had no precedent. It wasn’t a moan. It wasn’t a scream. It was something between both that had never needed to exist before this moment—raw and ringing, filling every corner of the grand hall, bouncing off vaulted ceilings and stone thrones.
Her belly ’shook’.
The full swell of it—all that weight and pressure—jiggling with the impact, a visible motion that ran from her hips upward in a wave, her heavy breasts swinging with it and colliding with each other, the left one releasing that gathered bead of milk in a thin spray forward.
Her eyes—
White.
Both of them. Completely.
Nine tails went ’rigid’, all of them, snapping straight out from her body in every direction at once like a sunburst of crimson, the tips crackling with raw energy that had nothing to do with intent and everything to do with the nerve system receiving a single overwhelming signal.
Helvora’s hands had caught her hips—by instinct or by reflex, genuinely impossible to say—and were holding there now, staring at what she’d just unintentionally assisted, her grey eyes wide for the first time since they’d entered this hall.
Sylvea sat on the floor where she’d stumbled, both hands over her mouth, emerald eyes enormous.
Tianlong’s hands were still on the belly.
Still holding it.
Feeling, through his palms, the pulse of something deep inside—rapid and strong and very much alive—and beneath that, the convulsion of Akane’s walls around him. Tight. ’Devastating’. Climaxing before she’d even finished landing.
"’NGHHKK—HAAANNH—’"
Her voice was coming back in broken pieces, each fragment a different octave, the aftershock of the impact still moving through her body in visible waves.
He rubbed his thumb in a slow circle against the skin of the belly.
"Easy," he said.
She couldn’t respond.
Just shook.
Around the room—
Every wife in the crescent was standing.
Not dramatically. Not on purpose. Just—no longer seated. Yuna had returned at some point, standing in the doorway, her hand still on the frame, her eyes taking in the scene with the expression of someone who’d walked in mid-sentence and understood the punctuation.
Beside her, a woman—similar features, older, the family resemblance unmistakable, clearly in the early bloom of pregnancy herself—stood with wide eyes, one hand pressed to her mouth, staring at the bed.
Mamoon—the Red Cat Commander, Yuna’s mother—looked at her daughter.
Yuna looked back.
"Don’t," Yuna said.
"I wasn’t going to say anything," Mamoon said.
"You were going to say something."
Mamoon pressed her lips together firmly and said nothing.
Behind them, Thessa—the Rabbit Commander, massive and generous and still somehow startled to be included—watched the scene with her hands clasped together, leaning slightly forward, her large ears pressed flat against her white hair.
In the center of the hall, on the altar-bed that had no business being in a throne room, with nine tails still crackling and a belly still shaking and both of Helvora’s hands still gripping her hips for reasons nobody in this room could quite articulate anymore—
Akane’s eyes came back.
Gold. Slowly focusing. Finding his face below her.
"Don’t you dare stop," she whispered.
Not a request. Not even a demand. Just the stripped-down truth of nine centuries of composure reduced to eight words by a pregnant body finally getting what it had been starved of.
Her voice cracked on the last word. Her golden eyes found his face and stayed there, wet and bright and ’present’ in a way that ancient fox spirits rarely allowed themselves to be present—no calculation, no distance, nothing between her and the fact of him buried inside her.
Tears spilled down her temples.
Not pain. The other thing.
The devastating relief of a dam breaking after months of pressure, sensation amplified by pregnancy hormones until every nerve ending was raw and oversensitive and screaming.
Her pussy—that engorged, tightened, swollen-soft grip that pregnancy had done something unfair to—clenched around his cock in slow, rhythmic pulses.
Like a heartbeat.
’His’ heartbeat, mirrored inside her body.
Her nine tails drooped, limp, crackling out their last sparks and going dark. Nine crimson lengths draped across the silk and pooled on the stone floor.
Tianlong’s hands were still on her belly.
Still holding it. He felt the child through his palms—a cultivator’s sense, reaching through taut skin and muscle, reading the small strong pulse inside. Steady. Fast. ’Healthy’.
And around that—Akane’s walls. Clenching on him, pulling, refusing to release.
His eyes moved down.
To her breasts.
Before pregnancy they’d been substantial. Now they were ’laden’—heavy with milk, sitting differently than they ever had, the skin over them taut and veined with faint blue lines visible beneath her pale complexion. The nipples had darkened, elongated, the tips thin and prominent and already leaking—slow, continuous drips gathering at the tips and falling in thin strings onto his stomach, warm and sweet-smelling, pooling in the hollow of his abs.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Like a faucet someone had forgotten to close.
He reached up.
Both hands leaving the belly—Akane made a small, bereft sound the instant the weight returned to her alone—and cupped the left breast from beneath. The whole mass settled into his palm, dense and warm, the weight of it real and heavy in a way that made the skin shift against his fingers.
His grip tightened.
’Squeezed.’