“What?” she asks, catching the way I’m staring.
“Just thinking how lucky I am,” I tell her, honest. Raw. “How close I came to never finding you.”
Her expression goes soft. “Vegas was the best mistake I never meant to make.”
I cross to her, Lucy balanced on one arm, and tug Wynter against my side. My family. Right here. Worth every scar, every kill, every nightmare I still wake from sweating.
“Bath time first,” she says, reading me like always. “Then dinner. Then, if someone goes to sleep easily…” Her voice drops, teasing, promising. “…we might have some adult time.”
My cock twitches at the suggestion. Some things never change.
“She’ll sleep,” I say with absolute certainty. “I’ll read her three stories if I have to.”
Bath time ends the way it always does—me soaked, Lucy giggling, both of us conspirators in the mess. Dinner is pureed sweet potatoes on every surface. Bedtime routine is elaborate: three stories, soft singing from Wynter, my hand on Lucy’s back until her breathing evens out and she’s gone.
We slip into our room. Wynter changes into one of my t-shirts—looks better on her than it ever did on me. The second her head pops through the collar, I’m on her, pulling her against me.
“Missed you,” I murmur into her neck, hands already sliding under the shirt. “Been thinking about this all day.”
“Me too,” she breathes, arching when my thumbs brush her nipples—still sensitive, still perfect.
I guide her back to the bed, slow, deliberate. Push the shirt up. Kiss down her stomach, trace the faint stretch marks with my mouth like they’re holy. They are. Proof she carried my child.
“Still my baby doll,” I tell her, voice rough. “Still so fucking perfect.”
She threads her fingers through my hair as I settle between her thighs. The taste of her—familiar, addictive—pulls a groan out of me. I work her slow at first, then harder, tongue and fingers until she’s gasping my name, thighs trembling.
When I push inside her, it’s home. Hot. Tight. Mine. I move careful at first—savoring every inch, every small sound she makes.
“Mine,” I growl against her neck, pace picking up. “Forever mine.”
“Yours,” she whispers, nails in my shoulders. “Always yours, Daddy.”
That word snaps the leash. I grip her hips, drive deeper.
“Such a good little girl,” I praise, feeling her clench hard around me. “Still Daddy’s perfect little girl, even now.”
“Please,” she begs, voice breaking. “Please, Daddy.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she gasps. “All of you. Inside me.”
I groan, the sound tearing out of me. “Want to put another baby in you. Want to see you round with my child again.”
“Yes,” she says, fierce and sure. “Give me another baby. Breed me, Daddy.”
The words rip through me. I flip us—her on top now—hands on her hips guiding her as she rides.
“Look at me,” I demand. “Look at me while I fill you up.”
Her eyes lock on mine—love, trust, complete surrender. When she comes, it’s with my name on her lips, body pulsing around me. I follow hard, driving up deep, emptying inside her with a low roar.
After, she’s draped over my chest, soft and sated. Through the monitor, Lucy’s breathing is steady, peaceful.
“Did you mean it?” Wynter asks sleepily. “About another baby?”
“Yes.” I stroke her hair. “But only if you want it too. No pressure.”
