“Don’t move,” I murmur, finally slipping out of her with a mutual groan of loss.
I watch with satisfaction as my cum begins to leak from her pussy, thick and white against her flushed skin. Before morethan a drop can escape, I’m there, pushing it back inside with two fingers.
It’s a ritual I’ve performed countless times since we got married. A primal need to keep my seed deep within her, where it belongs. Grabbing a pillow, I lift her hips and slide it underneath, angling her pelvis upward.
“Stay like this,” I instruct, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. “Let it take.”
Alina’s smile is soft, knowing. “You really want to get me pregnant, don’t you?”
I stretch out beside her, one hand possessively cupping her pussy so I can catch any of my cum if it drips out. “I want to see you round with my child,” I admit, voice rough with emotion. “I want to watch our baby grow inside you, knowing I put it there.”
Her eyes darken with desire. “You know I want that too,” she whispers, covering my hand with hers. “So you better keep filling me up, husband.”
Something fierce and protective surges through me at her words. The thought of Alina carrying my child, of creating something born of both of us—it’s a need I never knew existed until her.
We lie in comfortable silence for several minutes, my fingers lazily circling her entrance.
“I want to go back to the bakery,” she says suddenly, her voice quiet but determined. “I’m ready.”
I study her face, searching for any sign of uncertainty, of fear. Finding none, I nod slowly. “If you’re sure, Piccola. Whenever you want.”
“Tomorrow,” she decides. “I want to see what Allie’s done with the place.”
I hide my smile against her shoulder. Alina’s been in contact with Allie for two months now, ever since I arranged the first phone call between them.
She knows exactly what’s happening at her bakery, and nothing is happening without her approval. But everything that’s happened, my wife hasn’t been ready to physically return until now.
“Tomorrow,” I agree. “As long as you’re sure.”
Her recovery has been measured in careful steps forward. Physical healing came first—her arm freed from its cast, the incision on her skull fading to a thin silver line hidden by her hair. The deeper wounds took longer and are still healing in some ways.
For the past three months, she’s split her time between our home and spending time with Raven, the twins who were born May third, and Piper.
The friendship she’s found with my cousins’ partners is fucking fantastic. The three of them are thick as thieves, covering for each other, helping each other… just being there for each other.
“I am,” she says, pulling my focus back to her. “Raven and Piper convinced me it’s time, and they’re right. I can’t keep hiding from what I want because of Mom and Sabrina.”
“You always surprise me with your strength,” I say proudly.
Clearly wanting to change the subject, she smiles mischievously. “Did Raven send you new pictures of the twins?” she asks.
“She did,” I confirm. “Matteo looks terrified every time he holds them, as if they might shatter in his hands.”
My cousin—feared enforcer, collector, and known psychopath—reduced to careful terror by two tiny humans with his eyes.
“Like you won’t when it’s our turn?” she teases, rolling to face me.
“Fine,” I admit, trailing my fingers along the curve of her waist. “I’ll always be terrified of breaking something so precious.”
Her expression softens as she reaches up to cup my face. “You won’t break us, Raffaele. You never have.” I kiss her then—slow, certain—sealing the truth of it between us.
The simple truth in her words hits me like a physical blow. After everything; the collection, the captivity, Andrea, the accident, Sabrina’s betrayal, we’re still here. Still together. Still building something neither of us expected to find.
“So tomorrow,” I say, pressing my forehead to hers. “We go see your bakery.”
She smiles, and it’s like watching the sun rise. “Our bakery,” she corrects. “Our future.”
I smirk at her. “Well, about that…” I deliberately trail off, waiting for her to…
