"We didn't... I mean, you didn't use..." I trail off, heat flooding my face.
His hand stills for a moment, then resumes. "No. I didn't."
The casual way he says it makes me push up on my elbow to look at him. "Shouldn't we have, I mean, what if I get pregnant?"
He hardens fully against my thigh as something hot and possessive flashes in his eyes. "Good."
I blink. "Good?"
"Yes." He rolls slightly so he can look at me properly, his hand coming up to cup my face. "I want you pregnant, Matilda. I want you round with my child as soon as possible. I want everyone to see you carrying my baby and know exactly who you belong to."
My mouth goes dry. "That's—that's a lot."
"I know." His thumb brushes my cheekbone. "But I don't do anything halfway. You're my wife now. That means you're going to have my children. Plural. As many as you'll give me."
"You should have asked me first," I say, but my voice wavers.
"Would you have said no?"
The question hangs between us. Would I have? I don't even know. Everything is happening so fast, my thoughts can't keep up with reality.
"I don't know," I admit.
"Then it's better I didn't ask." His voice is matter-of-fact, but not unkind. "You're mine, Matilda. That includes your body, your pleasure, and yes—your womb. I'm going to fill you with my children because that's what I want. And because deep down, I think it's what you want too."
"How do you know what I want?" The words come out sharper than intended.
"Because you're still here." His eyes search mine. "Because when I told you I was going to fill you up, you came harder than before. Even if we take the sex out of the equation, you want the stability of a family, you want to prove that good can come from something not so good. You want to show the world you can be an amazing mother despite the parents you had."
Heat floods through me because he's right. The idea of being pregnant with his child makes something warm and primal unfurl in my chest.
"What if I'm not ready?" I whisper.
"Then we'll figure it out together." His hand slides down to rest on my stomach, possessive and warm. "But I'm not going to apologize for wanting this. For wanting you carrying proof of what we are to each other."
His hand on my stomach feels like a brand, and part of me, albeit a part I don't want to examine too closely, likes it.
"You're insane," I finally say.
"Probably." He pulls me back down against his chest. "But you married me anyway."
I rest my head over his heart, listening to the steady rhythm. His hand resumes its soothing path up and down my spine, and slowly, the tension drains from my body.
"Does it hurt?" he asks quietly.
"A little. But it's not bad." I shift slightly, feeling the tenderness between my legs. "More like... awareness."
"Good. That's normal." His hand slides lower, cupping my hip. "I want you sore tomorrow. I want you to feel me every time you move and remember who you belong to."
The possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
"You're very..." I search for the word. "Territorial."
"Yes." No apology in his tone. "You're mine, Matilda. I don't share. I don't compromise. And I don't let go of what belongs to me."
"I'm not a possession," I say, but it comes out weaker than I meant it to.
"Aren't you?" His hand tightens on my hip. "You wear my ring. You took my name. You just took my cock and my cum, and if I have my way, you'll be carrying my child within the month. If that doesn't make you mine, I don't know what does."
