I swallow hard, trapped in the intensity of his gaze. "I... I overheard you. On the phone."
A flicker of something—surprise, then calculation—crosses his face. His hand doesn't leave my chin, keeping me pinned in place as he processes my admission. "What did you hear?"
"You want to get me pregnant," I whisper, the words sending another inappropriate surge of heat through me. "To keep me from leaving you."
His expression doesn't change, doesn't soften in apology or harden in anger at being caught. If anything, his eyes grow more intent, more focused on my face as if searching for clues to my reaction.
"Yes," he says simply, the admission stealing the breath from my lungs. No denial, no excuse, just that single word ofconfirmation. "I want you to carry my child. I want to make sure that no matter what happens, there will always be a connection between us that can't be broken."
"Why didn't you discuss it with me?" I ask, my voice steadier than I expected.
His thumb traces my lower lip, the gesture possessive and oddly tender. "Would you have agreed?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications. Would I? Would I willingly tie myself to him in the most permanent way possible, at seventeen, with no education, no job skills, nothing to my name but the clothes he's bought me and the body he worships nightly?
"I don't know," I answer honestly.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "That's why I didn't ask." His hand slides from my chin to my throat, resting there lightly, a reminder of his strength, his control. "You're mine, Cecily. Mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to breed."
The last word sends a visible shudder through me, and his eyes darken with understanding.
"You like that idea," he says, not a question but a statement of fact. "The thought of carrying my child excites you."
I should deny it. Should be horrified that he can read me so easily, that my body betrays me so completely. But I'm tired of fighting the inevitable, tired of pretending I don't want exactly what he wants to give me.
"Yes," I whisper, and the admission feels like surrender and victory all at once.
His smile turns predatory, triumphant. "Good girl," he praises, and warmth floods me at the simple words. "Because tonight, I'm going to fill you with my seed. And I'm not going to stop until I know it's taken root inside you."
Before I can process the crude promise, his mouth is on mine, hungry and demanding. His hands grip my hips, pullingme flush against him so I can feel the hard length of him through his trousers. I melt into him, opening to the invasion of his tongue, surrendering to the waves of desire that crash over me whenever he touches me.
He walks me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed, then pushes me down, looming over me with dark intent in his eyes. "Take off your clothes," he commands, his voice rough with need. "I want to see all of you."
My fingers tremble as I comply, peeling off the simple sundress I've been wearing around the penthouse, then my underwear, until I'm naked beneath his heated gaze.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes roaming over me with possessive appreciation. "So perfect. So made for me."
He undresses with efficient movements, revealing the powerful body I've come to know so intimately over the past weeks. When he's as naked as I am, he joins me on the bed, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his hardness hot against my thigh.
"Tell me you want this," he demands, his hand sliding between us to find me already wet for him. "Tell me you want me to fill you with my cum, to put my baby inside you."
The crude words should shock me, should repel me. Instead, they send a flood of moisture to my core, my body preparing itself eagerly for his possession.
"I want it," I gasp as his fingers circle my clit, teasing but not giving the direct pressure I crave. "I want you inside me. No barriers."
A growl of satisfaction rumbles from his chest. He positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head of him pressing against me without pushing in. "Say it," he commands, his eyes burning into mine. "Say what you want me to do."
Heat floods my cheeks, but I hold his gaze, caught in the spell of his obsession. "I want you to cum inside me," I whisper, thewords foreign on my tongue but undeniably exciting. "I want you to get me pregnant."
That's all the permission he needs. He thrusts forward, entering me in one powerful stroke that makes me cry out—not in pain, but in the overwhelming pleasure of feeling him so completely, with nothing between us for the first time.
"So tight," he groans, holding still for a moment as my body adjusts to the invasion. "So perfect around me. Like you were made to take my cock, to carry my child."
He begins to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. It's different from our previous encounters—more intense, more primal, the stakes somehow higher with the knowledge of his intentions.
"Look at you," he murmurs, one hand sliding up to cup my breast, thumb circling the sensitive nipple. "These will swell when you're carrying my baby. Your belly will round with my seed growing inside you." His thrusts grow harder, more insistent. "Everyone will know you're mine, that I've claimed you in the most basic way possible."
His dirty talk pushes me closer to the edge, the taboo nature of it only heightening my arousal. There's something darkly thrilling about being wanted this completely, this possessively. About being the object of an obsession so total it drives a man to claim me in the most permanent way possible.
