"Holy shit," I whispered.
Mikhail chuckled, low and dark. "Yeah."
I turned in his arms, needing to see his face. His eyes were black with desire, his jaw tight with control.
"Why did you stop?" I asked.
"Because you're not ready to be mine yet." He cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. "When you are… When you're healed, whole, and sure without trauma hovering over you, then I'll fuck you. I'll take you every way I've been dreaming about. I'll fill you with my come and watch my baby grow inside you. But not yet. Not while you heal."
My breath caught. "You want that? A baby?"
"With you? Yes." His voice was absolute. "I want everything with you, Shanice. But you need time. And I can wait."
"What if I don't want to wait?"
"Too bad." He kissed my forehead, then settled me back against his chest. "Go back to sleep. We've got time."
"Mikhail—"
"Sleep."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I was ready, that I wanted him now. But exhaustion was pulling at me again, and his heartbeat was a lullaby I couldn't resist. There was so much to say, but now wasn’t the time. I was feeling too much and he’d dropped yet another bomb in my lap. A baby?
I closed my heavy eyes, and within moments, I was asleep again. Safe in his arms, but knowing that we needed to talk about all this soon.
Shanice
Idreamed of white picket fences and Sunday mornings. Of a faceless child with my eyes, complexion, and Mikhail's dark hair. Of a life I wasn't sure I wanted but couldn't stop imagining.
When I woke, Mikhail was still there, his arm heavy across my waist, his breathing slow and even. I shifted, and his eyes opened immediately, alert.
"Morning," he murmured.
"I don't know if I want that," I blurted out.
He blinked. "Want what?"
"A baby. You. Any of it." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I just got back to school. I'm trying to figure out who I am after everything that happened. I need to focus on myself, not a relationship. Not children. Not any of that."
Mikhail laughed. Actually laughed at me, deep and genuine, his chest rumbling against my back.
I twisted to glare at him. "What's so funny?"
"You." He brushed hair from my face, his expression amused. "You think you can't have all of that and a relationship? You think wanting to grow and heal means you have to do it alone?"
"Yes. No. I don't know." I pushed at his chest. "Stop laughing at me."
"I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at the idea that you have to choose." He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. "Being with me doesn't mean giving up on yourself, Shanice. It means having someone in your corner while you build the life you want. Someone who supports you. Protects you. Pushes you to be better. Someone to share it all with."
"And what do you get out of it?"
His eyes darkened. "Everything. Your body. Your mind. Your heart. Every piece of you that you're willing to give. And in return, I give you the world. Myself included."
My throat went tight. "I don't want to own you."
"That's because you don't understand ownership within a relationship." He traced his finger along my jaw, slow and deliberate. "Ownership isn't about control. It's about commitment. It means I'm yours and you're mine. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to have you. And in return, I give you the same devotion. The same loyalty. The same intensity."
"That sounds possessive."
