I can never hide anything from him—he reads me too well, notices the smallest shifts in my mood or expression. Now or never.
"I have something to tell you," I say, taking his massive hand and guiding it to rest on my still-flat stomach. "Something important."
His brow furrows in confusion for a moment, then his eyes widen as understanding dawns. "Wynter," he breathes, voice suddenly hoarse. "Are you...?"
I nod, tears welling up again. "I'm pregnant. We're having a baby."
For a moment, he goes completely still, his hand a warm weight against my abdomen. Then, to my shock, his eyes fill with tears—the first I've ever seen from this mountain of a man who faces violence and death without flinching.
"A baby," he whispers, dropping to his knees before me, both hands now cradling my stomach like it's made of the most precious glass. "My baby. Inside you."
The reverence in his voice, the naked vulnerability on his face—it undoes me completely. I sink my fingers into his short hair as he presses his forehead against my stomach, his shoulders shaking with emotion.
"Are you happy?" I ask softly, needing to hear it.
He looks up at me, eyes shining with tears and something fiercer, more primitive. "Happy doesn't begin to cover it," he says, voice rough with feeling. "You've given me everything, baby doll. Everything I never thought I deserved."
He rises to his feet and lifts me as if I weigh nothing, carrying me to our bed with unexpected gentleness. As he lays me down, his hands tremble slightly—this man of violence and power, undone by the news of new life.
"Need to be inside you," he murmurs, his usual demanding tone replaced by something almost reverent. "Need to feel you."
He undresses me slowly, with none of his usual urgency, treating me like something infinitely precious. Each newly revealed inch of skin gets his tender attention—kisses, caresses, worship. When I'm fully naked, he spends long moments just looking at me, his gaze lingering on my stomach where no changes are yet visible.
"Beautiful," he whispers, shedding his own clothes with less ceremony. "So fucking beautiful."
When he joins me on the bed, he's careful, positioning himself above me with his weight on his forearms, treating me like I might break. I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him closer.
"I'm not fragile," I remind him softly. "I'm still me."
"You're more," he counters, one large hand sliding between us to ensure I'm ready for him. Finding me already wet, he positions himself at my entrance. "You're everything."
He pushes inside with exquisite slowness, both of us sighing at the familiar joining that somehow feels new in the contextof our shared knowledge. He moves with careful restraint, deep and thorough but without his usual fierce intensity.
"Feel that?" he murmurs, grinding against me in a way that hits all the right spots. "Feel how perfect we are together? How right?"
I can only nod, words beyond me as pleasure builds with each measured thrust. His hand cradles my face, thumb brushing over my lower lip, eyes never leaving mine.
"My wife," he says with wonder. "Carrying my child."
The tenderness in his voice, the love in his eyes—it pushes me toward the edge faster than his usual dominant demands. When his hand slides between us to circle my clit, I come apart with a soft cry, inner walls pulsing around him.
"That's it," he praises, pace increasing slightly as his own release approaches. "So good for me. So perfect."
As his thrusts become more erratic, his control slipping, the familiar words begin to flow—but transformed now from fantasy to reality.
"My little girl," he groans, forehead pressed to mine. "Carrying Daddy's baby. So fucking perfect."
He comes with a guttural sound, emptying himself inside me where our child is already growing. Afterward, he gathers me close against his chest, one hand protectively splayed across my stomach.
"I'm going to keep you both so safe," he vows, voice thick with emotion. "Nothing will ever touch either of you."
I believe him. This man who fought his way through life, who kills without hesitation to protect what's his, will move heaven and earth to keep our child safe.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, fingers tracing patterns on my skin.
"That our baby is going to have the most terrifying, protective father on the planet," I say with a small smile. "Poor kid's future dates don't stand a chance."
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath my ear. "Damn right. Especially if it's a girl."
