He kisses my temple, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth.
“You didn’t just speak tonight,” he says softly. “You claimed me. You claimed us. I’ve never heard anything more beautiful.”
I laugh—a small, shaky sound—and press my forehead to his.
“I want more,” I tell him. “Not tonight—maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after. But I want to keep saying it. I want to keepfeeling it. I want to wake up every morning knowing there’s a piece of you growing inside me.”
His arms tighten.
“Then we’ll make sure of it,” he promises. “As many times as it takes. Twins. Triplets. A whole damn clan of our own. Whatever you want, wife.”
I smile against his skin.
“Start with one,” I say. “And when he’s here, we’ll carve another cradle. And another. Until this cabin is full of them.”
He chuckles—low, warm, the sound rumbling through both of us.
“Deal.”
For a long moment neither of us speaks.
The fire pops softly. The wind sighs against the cabin walls. Rafe’s hand stays firm against my belly, mine stays over his, and I let the quiet settle—not the old hush of fear, but something new. Something chosen. Peace.
I close my eyes.
His heartbeat slows under my cheek.
His cock gives one last lazy twitch inside me.
And I think, clear as anything:
This is home.
This is mine.
This is ours.
The cabin is quiet now except for the soft crackle of the dying fire and the slow rhythm of Rafe’s breathing against my hair. He’s still inside me—half-hard, still leaking the last slow pulses of his release—and neither of us has moved to change that. His arm is heavy across my waist, hand splayed protectively over the low curve of my belly like he’s already guarding what might be growing there. I don’t mind. I like the weight. The reminder.
My thighs are sticky. My core aches in the best way—stretched, used, claimed. Every small shift sends a fresh trickle of him sliding out of me and I can’t help the tiny, satisfied hum that escapes my throat. Not a word this time. Just sound. Just feeling.
I turn my head and kiss the underside of his jaw.
“You’re leaking out of me,” I whisper.
He chuckles—low, sleepy, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine.
“Good. Means I did my job right.” His thumb strokes once, slow and deliberate, right over the spot where his cock is nestled deep. “Gonna keep you like this a while. Let it settle. Let your body know who it belongs to.”
I smile against his skin.
“It already knows.”
We stay that way—tangled, warm, quiet—for what feels like forever and no time at all. The firelight dims to embers. Outside, the wind whistles through the pines. I listen to it and realize I’m not afraid of the hush anymore. This silence isn’t empty. It’s full—of him, of us, of the life we just started making.
My fingers trace lazy patterns on his forearm.
“Do you think it took?” I ask softly.
