Then, she wraps her legs around my waist and pulls me back in, deeper.
I start to move, slow, deep strokes that make the bed creak and her breath hitch. Not the frantic fucking of yesterday—something more deliberate. More intentional. Like I’m trying to brand myself onto her soul.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” I tell her, watching where we’re joined. “Taking my cock so well, getting it so wet.”
She moans, a deep and desperate sound, her inner walls fluttering around me.
I think about last night. About coming inside her and watching it leak out afterward. About pushing it back in with my fingers, unwilling to waste a single drop. I think about doing it again now. Filling her up. Marking her from the inside.
And then, I think about what it would mean if I could actually breed her.
The fantasy hits me like a punch to the gut. Mia, round with my child, her breasts swollen, her belly growing, everyone who sees her knowing exactly who put her in that condition. The ultimate claim. The ultimate mark.
I can’t give her that. My fucked-up engineered body made sure of it. Maybe that’s why I want it so bad, this primal, overwhelming need, and I find myself moving faster, thrusting deeper, chasing some phantom satisfaction.
“Nate—” She’s gasping now, her nails raking down my back. “Oh God, right there.”
I angle my hips to hit that spot she likes, the one that makes her eyes roll back, and feel her start to clench around me.
“That’s it, baby,” I grit out. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
She does—crying out, convulsing, her whole body arching off the bed. The sensation triggers my own release, and I bury myself to the hilt, spilling inside her in hot, endless pulses.
The orgasm goes on forever; wave after wave, her body milking me dry, both of us clinging to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.
When it finally subsides, I collapse on top of her, careful to keep most of my weight on my forearms. She’s trembling beneath me, little aftershocks still rippling through her.
“Christ,” I manage against her neck.
“Yeah.” She swallows hard, licking her lips. “That was…”
“Too much?”
“No.” She turns her head to kiss my temple. “I’m afraid it’s never enough. You may have made a monster out of me.”
I laugh and ease out of her slowly, hissing at the sensitivity. She’s a mess—my cum leaking out of her, her thighs slick with it—and I reach down and gather it in my fingers, pushing it up along her soft thighs, until I’m shoving it back inside her where it belongs.
She nods once with a sly smile. She remembered what I said about my kinks.
Guess she’s okay with it.
Satisfied for now, I roll onto my back and pull her against my chest.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I murmur into her hair. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”
“I really do have to go eventually.”
“I know.” I tighten my arms around her. “But that’s eventually, not yet. Give me the morning. Breakfast. Maybe a shower.” I pause. “Definitely a shower. You’re filthy.”
She laughs, swatting at my chest. “And whose fault is that?”
“Mine. But just so you know, I’m not sorry.”
We lie there for a while, tangled together, her heartbeat slowing against my ribs. I stroke her hair, her back, her hip—touching her just because I can, because she’s here and she’s letting me and I’m fucking addicted to her.
“When you came back last night,” I say eventually, “I was surprised.”
“That I came back?”
