I reach beneath her to play with her clit, wanting to feel her come around me again. "Such a good little girl," I praise, feeling her respond to the words. "Taking Daddy's cock so deep. Gonna put a baby in you tonight."
The breeding talk—what started as an instinctive expression of my most primal desires—has become our shared kink, thetaboo nature of it heightening our pleasure. The thought of her round with my child, marked as mine in the most permanent way, drives me to the edge of control.
"You want that?" I demand, pace increasing as my own release approaches. "Want Daddy to breed you? Make that belly swell?"
"Please," she begs, voice muffled by the pillow. "Please, Daddy, fill me up. Make me yours."
I grip her hair, pulling gently to arch her back further, changing the angle to hit even deeper. "Already mine," I remind her, the possessive words flowing freely now. "Been mine since the moment I saw you. Will be mine until I'm in the ground."
The combination of my words and the increased stimulation sends her over the edge again, her body clenching around me in rhythmic waves. The feel of her coming apart beneath me triggers my own release, and I bury myself to the hilt, grinding against her as I fill her with my seed.
"Mine forever," I groan, collapsing beside her, pulling her sweat-slicked body against mine. "My wife. My baby doll."
She nestles against me, fitting perfectly in the curve of my body. "Forever," she agrees drowsily.
As she drifts toward sleep in my arms, I find myself planning the ceremony in my mind. Nothing traditional—we're far from a traditional couple. Something that honors the darkness and light between us, the unlikely bond we've formed. Something witnessed by my brothers, by the family we've created here in this dangerous corner of the world.
Something real. Something permanent. Something worthy of the gift she's given me—her trust, her body, her heart.
“I’m gonna do right by you, baby doll,” I whisper against her hair, though she's already asleep. “I promise.”
It's a vow I've already made in my soul.
I drift off with my wife in my arms, her new ring catching the moonlight filtering through the blinds, a symbol of promises I intend to keep for all the days I have left.
fourteen
. . .
Wynter
Three monthsafter our second wedding—a surprisingly beautiful ceremony held at sunset on the plateau overlooking the desert, with the entire club in attendance—I barely recognize my life anymore. The small-town librarian has fully transformed into the president's wife, comfortable among leather-clad bikers and the constant rumble of motorcycles. I've made our quarters into a true home, planted a garden with Diesel's help, even started a small lending library for the club members (turns out tough guys have a soft spot for thrillers and, hilariously, romance novels). I've found my place in this strange, dangerous world—a place where I'm respected, protected, and loved more fiercely than I ever thought possible. But now, staring at the calendar on my phone, I realize everything is about to change again.
Six weeks late. My period has never been irregular—even the stress of being kidnapped (or husband-napped, as I sometimes joke) by Vance didn't throw off my cycle. But now, six weeks of nothing, and other signs I've been trying to ignore: the tenderness in my breasts, the waves of nausea in the mornings, the bone-deep fatigue that hits me by mid-afternoon.
I'm pregnant. I have to be.
The thought sends a complicated mix of emotions surging through me. Fear, yes—fear of the unknown, of bringing a child into this dangerous world. But also a wild, unexpected joy that takes my breath away. A baby. Vance's baby. The physical manifestation of the bond between us.
Vance is away for the day, handling some club business with Blade. The perfect opportunity to confirm what my body is already telling me. I drive into the nearest town, a small desert outpost thirty minutes from the compound, and buy three different pregnancy tests. The clerk's knowing smile makes me blush—clearly, women only buy multiple brands when they're hoping for a specific result.
Back in our bathroom, I follow the instructions with trembling hands, then set the tests on the counter and pace our bedroom while waiting for the results. Three minutes have never felt so long.
When the timer on my phone chimes, I force myself back into the bathroom, heart racing. All three tests display the same result: pregnant. Definitely, undeniably pregnant.
I sink down onto the edge of the bathtub, hands covering my stomach where our child is growing. Tears spring to my eyes—happy ones, though mixed with a healthy dose of terror. I'm going to be a mother. The president's wife is going to be a mother.
And Vance…how will Vance react? He's talked about breeding me constantly, his filthy whispers about putting a baby in me driving us both wild in our most intimate moments. But fantasy and reality are different things. Will he be happy? Scared? Will this change the dynamic between us?
I spend the rest of the day alternating between giddy excitement and nervous anticipation, planning and discarding different ways to tell him. By the time I hear his motorcyclerumbling up to our quarters in the early evening, I've settled on simple honesty—no elaborate reveal, just the truth of what's happening inside me.
He walks through the door looking tired but satisfied, whatever club business he handled clearly resolved to his liking. His face lights up when he sees me, as it always does—this consistent miracle that never fails to warm me from the inside out.
"Baby doll," he greets me, crossing the room in three long strides to gather me against his chest. "Miss me?"
"Always," I reply, breathing in his scent—leather and engine oil and something uniquely him. "How was your day?"
"Better now." He kisses me, then pulls back, studying my face. "Something's different. What's going on?"
