Page 89 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

She adjusted in my arms, my slack dick still deep inside her. Satisfied, we both let out a heavy sigh and remained in that position until we fell asleep.

Chapter 27 – Aria

Seven Months Later

The first contraction hit at three a.m.

I knew immediately what it was. There was no mistaking it—a deep, rolling pressure that began low and spread outward like a wave with nowhere to go. I lay still for a moment, breathing through it, counting the seconds until it passed.

Then I reached for Rodion.

He was already awake. I wasn’t sure he’d slept at all.

“Babe. I think it’s time,” I told him. “The baby’s coming.”

He was out of bed before I’d finished the sentence.

Within minutes, the estate transformed. Staff moved through the corridors with quiet urgency.

The medical team he’d had on standby for two weeks materialized from somewhere in the west wing, equipment already prepped, the private suite converted into something closer to a delivery room than a bedroom.

He stood by the door, barking orders while hiding his fear and anxiety. He crossed the room and took my hand, squeezing slightly against my fingers. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be fine. And I’m not going anywhere.”

I nodded rapidly as my breathing came in labored gasps. The doctors and nurses took their positions, ready to help me come down safely.

My heart was racing in my chest as I fought against the negative thoughts forming in my mind.

Labor was long. Brutal. The kind of physical experience that strips everything else away and leaves only the most essential version of you—no strategy, no anger, no inherited conflict, no unanswered questions. Just the body doing what it was built to do, and the hours stretching out around it.

The pain was like nothing I’d ever felt, and so many times, I nearly passed out due to exhaustion. I could feel my vagina stretching out, and no matter how loudly I cried, nothing could soothe the pain.

Sweat dampened my skin, and the more I groaned, the more tightly I gripped Rodion’s fingers.

Rodion didn’t leave.

Not once.

He stood beside me the entire time, hand in mine, jaw tight. He didn’t say much. He never did. But every time I looked at him, he was looking back.

That was enough.

After hours of agonizing labor, the baby arrived at 11:47 in the morning.

The cry filled the room before I’d fully processed that it was over. Small and furious and absolutely certain of herself from the very first second.

I laughed. I don’t know why. Some collision of exhaustion and relief and something I didn’t have a name for yet.

The doctor placed the infant on my chest, and the whole world went quiet.

“It’s a girl,” he said, smiling.

She was warm. Impossibly small. Her eyes were tightly shut, her face scrunched in protest at the indignity of being born. A faint dark fuzz covered her head.

I pressed my lips to her forehead and couldn’t speak.

Rodion stood at the edge of the bed, looking at her the way I’d never seen him look at anything. The control was still there—it never fully left him—but beneath it, something had cracked open. Something he wasn’t trying to hide.

He reached out slowly, one finger grazing her tiny fist.