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Summary
"You forget there is a tradition of royal alphas keeping consorts,” Jaemin says, and Jeno stills, raising his head again. “Didn’t you?”
“To be accepted as your consort, I would have to be…”
Jeno trails off at the obvious, and Jaemin takes a hand from cupping Jeno’s face to rest flat against his stomach.
“Carrying my child,” Jaemin finishes, and doesn’t miss the way Jeno’s breath catches, cheeks flushing pink.
The scent of rich slick suddenly reaches his nose. Jeno’s heat has finally hit.
“Will you stay and be mine, Jeno?”