He freezes.
His body locks. His breath stops.
I grin. He’s caught. I won’t let him play this off. I dig my fingernails into his hip and hold him in place, teasing low, “Gustav, you’re way too big for me to sleep through that.”
He pulls out fast, guilt flooding his features. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
I act before he can make excuses again. I swing a leg over him, straddling his hips, my palms sinking into the warm hardness of his chest. His eyes widen as I lower myself and take him inside me completely.
He groans. A deep, helpless sound that vibrates through my bones.
“Peighton,” he breathes, frustrated. “I’m already close. It has been too long.”
“Good,” I murmur. “My husband waited for me for months?”
“Always.”
I blush. He’s all mine.
I ride him, slow at first.
His palms slide reflexively to my stomach, fingers splayed, reverent. The moment his hand settles there, something inside him snaps. His control fractures. His eyes darken with something raw and worshipful.
“It’s sexy,” he nearly growls, “that your body carries my child. That everyone can see what I did to you. That we are bonded this way.”
The way he says it, with a mix of reverence and awe, sends heat flooding through me. I move against him, slow and firm, showing him I’m not fragile. Showing him I’m his. He grips my hips harder, guiding me now, need overtaking caution.
When he finally loses himself, it’s violent in the best way. He breaks beneath me, gasping my name, holding my body like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality. And when the pleasure crests, it’s not just physical. It’s emotional, overwhelming, and bonding.
He stays hard like the unpredictable, powerful man he is.
We make love long into the night, tangled in sheets and whispered declarations.
Chapter 48
Peighton
Irub slow circles over my belly. I’m seven months along and feel huge. My tee-shirt stretches tight across the curve.
My phone buzzes on the little table near the window.
Unknown
Don’t block me. Endless burner phones are part of our world.
I already know it’s Rupert.
Guilt crawls up my throat. This week, he has been texting me from a new number every day. I hoped the problem could go away. It isn’t. He is patient. He is exactly the kind of man who will wait until the worst possible moment to strike.
And I haven’t told Gustav, but Rupert isn’t relenting.
I hate that part most. I always told myself I’d never become like my father. That I would not build my life on lies and half truths. Yet here I am, pregnant and hiding Rupert’s messages from the man I claim to love.
I slide the phone into my pocket, stand, and take a breath that feels too tight.
Enough. The cycle stops with me. No more secrets.
The castle is quiet as I walk toward the library, only the muffled sounds of staff moving in the distance and the low tick of the old clocks. My bare feet fall softly against the stone as I move through shafts of sunlight that fall from the high windows.
