"Thank you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "For giving me this. For giving me everything."
"Pretty sure you had something to do with it too," I tease, relieved beyond words at his reaction. "All that talk about breeding me wasn't just talk, apparently."
A slow, wolfish grin spreads across his face. "Always meant every word," he assures me. Then, without warning, he scoops me into his arms, carrying me back toward the house. "And now I need to worship the mother of my child properly."
He carries me upstairs to our bedroom, laying me on the king-sized bed with surprising gentleness. The look in his eyes as he gazes down at me is one I've never seen before—still possessive, still intense, but with an added layer of reverence.
"My perfect little girl," he murmurs, his hands going to the hem of my sweater, pushing it up to expose my stomach. Hekneels beside the bed, pressing his lips to the soft skin there, just below my navel. "Carrying my baby. So fucking perfect."
The tenderness of the gesture brings fresh tears to my eyes. This man—this dangerous, possessive, violent man—treating my body like a temple because it houses his child. Our child.
He undresses me slowly, reverently, pressing kisses to each newly exposed inch of skin. When I'm naked beneath him, he stands to remove his own clothes, his eyes never leaving my body.
"So beautiful," he says, joining me on the bed, his large frame making the mattress dip beneath his weight. "Going to be even more beautiful as our baby grows inside you. Can't wait to see you swollen with my child."
His hands roam my body, lingering on my breasts—already slightly fuller, more sensitive than before—before traveling down to my stomach again. He lowers his head, pressing another kiss just below my navel.
"My son or daughter is in there," he says with wonder, looking up at me with an expression so vulnerable it makes my throat tight. "Part of me. Part of you. Perfect."
I reach for him, drawing him up to kiss me properly. "I love you," I whisper against his lips. "So much."
"Love you more," he responds, positioning himself between my thighs. "Going to show you just how much."
He enters me slowly, carefully, as if I've become fragile overnight. The feeling of him filling me—so familiar now, yet never routine—draws a soft moan from my lips.
"That's it," he encourages, establishing a gentle rhythm. "Take Daddy's cock, little girl. So perfect for me. So full of my baby already."
His words, the reverent tone, the careful way he moves within me—it's all so different from our usual passionatecouplings. No less intense, but infused with a tenderness that brings tears to my eyes yet again.
"So emotional," he teases gently, kissing away my tears. "My pregnant little girl. Hormones already getting to you?"
I laugh through the tears. "Must be," I agree, wrapping my legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Or maybe I'm just happy."
"You should be happy," he tells me, increasing his pace slightly, hitting that spot inside me that makes me see stars. "You're carrying the most precious thing in the world. Our baby. The beginning of our family."
The thought—our family—sends a wave of emotion through me so powerful it's almost painful. This man, who stalked me, kidnapped me, killed for me, is now the father of my child. The center of my world. My protector, my lover, my everything.
"Woodrow," I gasp, feeling my release approaching as his skilled fingers find my clit, circling it with perfect pressure. "I'm close."
"Come for me," he encourages, his thrusts deepening but remaining gentle. "Let me feel you come around my cock while you're full of my baby."
My orgasm washes over me in gentle waves, not the earth-shattering explosion I'm used to with him, but something softer, warmer, no less powerful for its gentleness. I clutch at his shoulders, my inner walls pulsing around him, drawing him deeper.
He follows me over the edge with a groan of my name, his release flooding me, adding to what's already taken root inside my womb. Even in this tender moment, something primal in him needs to mark me, claim me, fill me.
Afterward, he holds me close, one large hand splayed protectively over my stomach. "I'll take care of you both,"he promises, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Keep you safe. Provide for you. Love you both beyond reason."
I believe him. This man, who's shown the depths of his obsession, his protection, his love, will be the most devoted father imaginable. Fierce. Protective. Adoring.
"I know you will," I tell him, placing my hand over his on my stomach. "That's why I'm not afraid. Why I want this so much."
"My perfect little family," he murmurs, his voice heavy with satisfaction and something like awe. "Everything I never knew I needed. Everything I'll die protecting."
As I drift toward sleep in his arms, his hand still protectively covering our growing child, I can't help but marvel at the strange path that led me here. From lonely bookstore employee to cherished, protected, pregnant fiancée in the span of two months. From isolation to belonging. From emptiness to completion.
It's not the life I planned. Not the life I ever imagined for myself.
It's so much better.
