HIS BREEDING FARM

TESSA'S SEASON

by DevotedSub

Chapter 21 — Tessa's Season

Morning comes to Cedar Hollow soft and gold, light spilling through the tall windows of the main house bedroom where Damion lies with his wife tangled in his arms. Elena is already awake, her cheek against his chest, her fingers tracing the slow, heavy beat of his heart. She is thirteen weeks along, the curve of her belly just beginning to round beneath the black sheet, and he holds her like she is something holy.

"Morning, my queen," he murmurs, and his big hand spreads warm over the small swell of her. "You slept hard."

"I slept like your wife," she says, smiling into his skin, and then she laughs, low and sweet, because they both remember the night before — the hayloft, the furs, six women taken one after another under the lantern light, the whole farm singing with it. "How are you not tired?"

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I am. But a man keeps his promises tired."

Elena props herself on her elbow and looks at him. "Tessa."

"Tessa," he agrees, and his grey eyes go soft in a way she has seen only for her. "Next season starts with her. That was the promise."

She reaches up and cups his jaw. "Then let's go wake our little breeder."

· · ·

The Quarters smell like coffee and hay when they cross the yard hand in hand. The other five women are already up — Vivian moving slow and heavy at eight and a half months, her belly enormous and low, Mara rubbing the small of her own back where eleven weeks of new life is just starting to show, Roxy brazen at five and a half months with her hand always on her round belly, June soft-eyed at eight weeks and glowing with it. They all turn when Damion walks in, and the room settles the way it always settles around him — attentive, adoring, surrendered.

Tessa is at the table in one of Damion's old flannel shirts, her auburn hair loose down her back, her face lighting the moment she sees him. Twenty-four years old, the youngest of them, petite and sweet and fully his.

Damion crosses the room, and the women part for him like water. He stops in front of Tessa and tilts her chin up with two fingers.

"Today," he says, and his voice carries the quiet weight of law, "belongs to you, little one. All of it. The whole day is yours. I am going to prepare you the way you deserve to be prepared — slowly, thoroughly, with all the worship you have earned. And tonight, in the hayloft, I am going to open your season myself."

Tessa's breath leaves her in a rush. Her eyes fill instantly. "Daddy," she whispers, and it comes out broken and reverent, and Damion bends and kisses her — deep, slow, claiming — while the other women watch with their hands pressed to their hearts, loving her joy and aching a little with wanting, every one of them remembering what it felt like to be chosen for a day like this.

"On your feet, good girl," Damion says, and helps her up. He looks at Elena. "Wife. Will you help me with her?"

Elena's smile is radiant. "Always."

He looks at the others then, all five of them. "You will watch when you like. This is her day. Love her through it."

Vivian, huge and serene, is the first to answer. "She's our sister, Sir. Of course."

· · ·

The big farmhouse bathroom is the warmest room in the house, steam curling off the deep clawfoot tub Damion had installed years ago, before the farm had a name. He fills it himself, testing the water with his wrist like a man who has done this a hundred times, adding the oil Elena hands him — cedar and clove and something sweet. Tessa stands between them in nothing, her skin prickling with goosebumps in the cool air, and Damion looks at her the way he looks at everything he owns: with total, calm, deliberate possession.

"In," he says, and she steps into the water, and he helps her down, and then he rolls his sleeves to the elbow and kneels beside the tub like a man at an altar.

He washes her slowly. His big hands take the washcloth first — over her shoulders, down her arms, across the small perfect swells of her breasts, her nipples tightening under the warm cloth until she gasps. He washes her belly, her hips, her thighs, and she spreads for him without being asked, her knees falling open against the porcelain, and he washes her gently, thoroughly, the cloth moving over her sex with a reverence that makes her whole body tremble.

"Easy, little one," he murmurs. "We have all day."

Then he sets the cloth aside and washes her with his hands — oil-slick, warm, his fingers massaging her scalp first, working the soap through her auburn hair until it foams, rinsing it clean in long pours from the pitcher Elena keeps handing him, Elena perched on the tub's edge with her own small belly pressing the black sheet she wrapped around herself, her hand stroking Tessa's shoulder, her voice low and warm.

"You're so beautiful," Elena tells her. "He's going to take such good care of you today."

"That's right," Damion says, and his oiled hands are on Tessa's breasts now, kneading them slow, his thumbs circling her nipples until they stand hard and aching. "Tell me how it feels, little one."

"It — it feels so good, Daddy," Tessa whispers, her head tipped back against the tub, her throat bare. "Please —"

"Not yet." He smiles, calm as stone. "Today is about the long road. Every inch of you is going to be worshipped before I ever let you come."

He lifts her from the tub himself, water sheeting off her, and Elena is there with the big towel, wrapping her in warmth, and he carries her — actually carries her, her small body cradled against his chest — down the hall to the bedroom, and lays her on the four-poster among the black sheets like an offering.

"Rest, little one," he says, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. "Elena and I will bring you lunch. You need your strength for tonight."

She dozes, boneless and warm, while they go. When she wakes, the smell of food fills the room — Damion has brought a tray himself: thick slices of roast chicken, buttered bread still warm, berries, honey, a tall glass of cold milk. He sits on the edge of the bed and feeds her by hand, piece by piece, and Tessa eats from his fingers with her eyes half-closed, humming with pleasure, her lips closing around each bite, his thumb brushing a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

"Good girl," he murmurs. "Eat it all. Daddy wants you strong."

Elena feeds her berries dipped in honey, laughing softly when Tessa's tongue chases a drop off Elena's finger. "You're spoiled rotten today, little sister."

"I like being spoiled," Tessa whispers, and Damion's hand slides over her bare thigh beneath the sheet, warm and possessive, and she shivers.

There is a soft knock at the door, and June peeks in — June, soft and brown-skinned and glowing at eight weeks, her hands clasped at her own small belly. "Sir? We just wanted to see her. Just for a minute."

Damion nods, and the women file in — all five of them, Vivian moving slow and heavy with her enormous belly, Roxy loud and beaming, Mara serene, June tearful already. They gather around the bed, and Tessa sits up, the sheet clutched to her chest, and they fuss over her — Mara smoothing her damp auburn hair, Roxy kissing her cheek with a smack, Vivian taking her hand in both of hers.

"You look so happy, little one," Vivian says, her voice thick. "He takes such good care of us."

"He's going to get you round," Roxy declares, grinning, one hand on her own round belly. "I can feel it. This is your season, Tessa."

June is crying — happy tears, the kind she cries at everything now — and she presses her forehead to Tessa's. "You're going to be such a good mama," she whispers.

Damion watches from the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, his grey eyes warm, and he lets them have their moment — his women loving each other, devoted and sisterly — before he says, gently, "That's enough, ladies. She needs her rest. Tonight is hers."

They kiss her goodbye one by one and file out, and Tessa sinks back into the pillows, her heart so full it aches, and Damion stretches out beside her, pulling her against his chest, and Elena curls into his other side, and the three of them rest in the afternoon quiet, his big hand spread possessive over Tessa's flat belly, already claiming what will grow there.

· · ·

What follows is hours. Damion means it when he says thorough.

He starts at her feet — oiled hands working her soles, her arches, each toe, and Tessa is already melting, already whimpering, because his hands are magic and his attention is total. He works up her calves, her knees, her thighs, kneading the sweet flesh with deep deliberate strokes, his thumbs finding every knot of tension and working it loose until she is liquid beneath him. When he reaches the tops of her thighs his thumbs press into the creases where her legs meet her body, slow circles that make her hips lift involuntarily, and she cries out, and he shushes her gently.

"Good girl. Just feel."

He turns her over with easy strength, and works her back — long strokes up either side of her spine, his thumbs pressing deep into the muscles of her shoulders, her lower back — and Tessa moans into the pillow, half massage, half worship, his mouth following his hands, kissing each shoulder blade, the nape of her neck, the small of her back. He spreads her cheeks gently and kisses the base of her spine, and she gasps, and he chuckles, low and dark and fond.

"All of you, little one," he murmurs. "Every inch is mine to worship."

Elena sits beside her, holding her hand, stroking her hair, pressing kisses to her forehead. "You're doing so good, sweetheart. Just let him love you."

He worships her belly — kisses it, every inch, his mouth warm on her skin, his tongue tracing slow patterns that make her squirm. He cups her breasts in both hands and takes each nipple into his mouth in turn, sucking gently, then harder, until Tessa is arching off the bed, her free hand fisting in the black sheets.

"Daddy, please, I need —"

"Shh." His voice is silk over steel. "I know what you need, little one. Trust Daddy."

And then he begins the edging.

He starts with his mouth on her — just his mouth, no hands — his tongue finding her clit with unerring precision, licking slow deliberate circles while Elena holds her hands and whispers encouragement. Tessa climbs fast, her hips lifting, her breath coming in sobs, and just as she reaches the edge — just as her whole body tightens toward it — Damion stops. Completely. His mouth stills. He waits.

"No — no, Daddy, please, I was so close —"

"I know," he says, and kisses her inner thigh, and waits until her breathing slows, until the desperate edge dulls, and then he begins again.

The second time he uses two fingers inside her, crooking them against the sweet spot deep within while his thumb circles her clit, and she is sobbing his name within minutes, climbing higher than before, and again he stops — fingers stilling deep inside her, his voice a low croon against her thigh.

"Breathe, little one. Good girl. Hold it for me."

She holds it. Barely. Her thighs shake. Elena wipes her tears — they are happy tears, overwhelmed tears — and kisses her knuckles. "You're so strong, Tessa. He's going to breed you so deep tonight."

"That's right," Damion murmurs, and begins again.

The third time he lets her get closer than she has ever been allowed to get without release — his mouth on her clit, three fingers deep inside her, his other hand pinching her nipple — and Tessa is screaming into the pillow, her whole body one taut wire of need, and he holds her there, right on the razor's edge, for what feels like forever, his eyes locked on her face, calm and worshipful and utterly in command.

"Please, Daddy, please, please, I can't — I can't —"

"You can," he says, and finally — finally — he eases her back down, and she collapses, weeping, trembling, ruined in the sweetest way, and he gathers her into his arms, all six-foot-three of him curling around her small shaking body, and holds her while she cries.

Elena curls around them both, her hand on Tessa's belly, her lips at Tessa's ear. "Shh, sweetheart. Shh. He's saving it all for tonight. Every bit of it. It's going to be the most beautiful thing."

Tessa clings to them both, nodding, unable to speak, and Damion kisses her wet cheeks, her forehead, her mouth — soft, reverent kisses — and murmurs, "Rest now, little one. Sleep. Tonight your season begins."

She sleeps in his arms, and Elena sleeps curled against them, and the afternoon light moves slow across the black sheets.

· · ·

Dusk comes lavender and gold over Cedar Hollow. In the Quarters, the women help Tessa dress — not in clothes, but in readiness: her hair brushed until it shines, her skin still smelling of cedar and oil, a soft blanket wrapped around her shoulders for the walk to the barn. Vivian, enormous and glowing, cups Tessa's face in both hands.

"You're going to be such a beautiful mother, little sister," she says, and Tessa cries again, happy and overwhelmed, and they all hold her, all five of them, a circle of devoted women sending one of their own to be bred.

The hayloft is ready. Lanterns hang from the beams, warm light pooling over the furs and blankets. The air smells of hay and summer and the faintest trace of last night's lovemaking, and Damion stands waiting in the center of it all, shirtless, his dark hair loose, his grey eyes fixed on the stairs.

Tessa climbs them wrapped in her blanket, Elena behind her, and when she reaches the top Damion opens his arms and she goes to him, and the blanket falls away, and he looks at her — really looks at her, all of her, the body he has spent the entire day worshipping — and his voice drops to something raw.

"My beautiful little breeder."

"Daddy," she breathes.

He lays her down on the furs himself, gentle as a man handling something precious, and Elena settles beside them, propped on her elbow, her hand in Tessa's hair, her presence warm and sisterly and constant.

Damion worships her with his mouth first — her breasts, her belly, the insides of her thighs — slow reverent kisses, and then he settles between her legs, and his tongue finds her, and Tessa — sensitized beyond reason by the whole day of edging — cries out at the first touch, her back arching clean off the furs.

"Easy, little one," Damion murmurs against her. "I've got you."

He brings her to the edge with his mouth — slow, deliberate, devastating — and this time, this time he does not stop. This time he pushes her over, his tongue relentless, his fingers deep inside her, and Tessa shatters with a scream that echoes off the barn beams, her whole body convulsing, wave after wave of release tearing through her, and Elena holds her through it, whispering, "Good girl, that's it, let it all go, sweetheart."

And then Damion is above her, and she feels him — the thick heavy length of him pressing against her entrance — and she looks up into his grey eyes, and everything in the world narrows to this.

"Tessa," he says, and his voice is deep and certain and full of promise. "Your season starts now. I'm going to fill you so deep, little one. I'm going to put my seed in you and hold it there, and you're going to take every drop like the good devoted breeder you are. And we are going to do this until you're round with my child. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," she sobs, nodding, her hands clutching his shoulders. "Yes, please, yes —"

He pushes into her — slow, so slow, inch by devastating inch — and Tessa's mouth falls open in a soundless cry, because he is so deep, impossibly deep, and she can feel every ridge and vein of him, every pulse of his blood, and he fills her completely, utterly, until there is no space left in her that is not him.

"Good girl," he breathes, his forehead pressed to hers. "Take me. Take all of me."

He moves in her — long, slow, deep strokes, each one a deliberate claiming, his hips rolling with patient power — and Tessa wraps her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper, deeper, and he goes, groaning low in his throat, his hands sliding under her hips to tilt her, to open her, to find the deepest place inside her.

Elena's hand never leaves Tessa's hair. "You're so beautiful," she whispers, her own eyes wet. "Look at you. Look at our girl."

Damion's pace builds — still slow, still controlled, but deeper now, harder, each thrust pressing Tessa into the furs, each withdrawal a sweet ache, each return a homecoming. Sweat gleams on his shoulders. His grey eyes never leave her face.

"You're mine, little one," he growls, soft and fierce. "This body is mine. This womb is mine. I'm going to fill it until you're carrying my child, and you're going to bloom for me, and you're going to be the most beautiful mother this farm has ever seen."

"Yes, Daddy, yes," Tessa weeps, her nails raking his back, her whole body moving with him now, meeting every thrust, taking every inch. "I'm yours, I'm all yours, breed me, Daddy, please breed me —"

He shifts, lifting her legs over his shoulders, folding her deep, and the new angle drives him impossibly deeper — she can feel him against the very mouth of her womb, a thick sweet pressure that makes her see stars — and his rhythm turns relentless, his hips pistoning with deep deliberate force, the furs bunching beneath them, the lanterns swaying overhead.

"Come for me, little one," he commands, his voice ragged. "Come on Daddy's cock."

And she does — she shatters around him, her inner walls clenching and rippling, milking him, and he groans, deep and guttural, and drives into her one final time, burying himself to the root, and she feels it — the first hot pulse of his seed, deep, so deep, jet after jet of it filling her, flooding her, his cock throbbing against her womb with every spurt.

"Hold it, little one," he breathes, staying buried, his weight pressing her into the furs. "Hold my seed. Every drop. That's my good girl."

Tessa lies beneath him, weeping happy tears, her hands sliding down to cradle her own belly — flat now, but not for long, not if he has anything to say about it — and Damion stays inside her, stays deep, his seed held warm and safe within her, and Elena leans in and kisses Tessa's forehead, and then kisses Damion's shoulder, and the three of them breathe together in the lantern light.

After a long while, Damion eases from her — slowly, carefully — and his seed stays where he put it, held deep, and he presses his big hand over her belly, sealing the promise.

"Sleep now, little breeder," he murmurs, gathering her into his arms, and Elena curls around them both, and in ...