"I know." His hand cupped my face. "That's why I kept stopping. You needed to learn that wanting can lead to having. That hope can be rewarded."
"You've been teaching me?"
"I've been waiting for you to teach yourself."
He shifted beneath me. I felt his armor plates move, felt the heat of his cock as it emerged from its sheath. Pressing against me. Ready.
"Tell me what you want," he said. "Not what you're running from. What you want."
I looked into his eyes. Amber and ancient and patient. He'd waited twenty cycles for someone like me. Would wait twenty more if that's what it took.
But I was tired of waiting. Tired of running. Tired of building walls around a heart that just wanted to be chosen.
"I want to stay," I whispered. "I want to build something with you. I want?—"
I couldn't say the rest. Not yet. But maybe I didn't have to.
He lifted me slightly. Positioned me over his cock. I felt the head press against my entrance, hot and textured and impossibly large.
"Yes?"
"Yes."
He lowered me onto him. Just the head. Just the first incredible inch.
The stretch was extraordinary. Burning and perfect, my body opening for him in ways it had never opened for anyone. I gasped, grabbed his shoulders, felt myself spreading around the thick intrusion.
"More," I breathed. "Please."
His hands on my hips held me still. Just the head. Pulsing inside me with his heartbeat. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
"More," I begged. "I told you everything. I told you I want to stay. Please give me more."
"You told me what you want. Now tell me what you're offering."
I stared at him. His cock was inside me. Finally inside me, after nine days of torture. And he was still asking for more.
"I don't understand."
"You want to stay. You want to build. But do you want to be bred?"
The word hung in the air. Bred. Not fucked. Not satisfied.
Bred.
I tried to sink lower on him. His hands held me in place, just the head of his cock stretching my entrance, just enough to drive me insane.
"Say it," he said. "Tell me what you're offering. Not just your body. Not just your presence. Tell me you want to carry my children. Tell me you want to fill that nursery."
The words stuck in my throat. Everything in me wanted to say yes, wanted to give him whatever he needed to finally, finally take me completely. But there was something holding me back. Some final wall that hadn't crumbled yet.
"I can't," I whispered. "I want to. But I can't."
He was silent for a moment. Then he lifted me off him.
The loss was devastating. I screamed, tried to push myself back down, tried to force him to finish what he'd started. He held me easily, his strength overwhelming my fevered desperation.
"Tomorrow," he said. "When you can say it."
