The test sits on the marble counter. Two pink lines. Definitive. Final.
I press my palm to my lower stomach. Flat. Still. But not for long.
My body knows. My blood hums with it. My skin prickles whenever he walks into a room.
I’m pregnant.
The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. The city outside is a muffled roar, but in here, it’s just my breathing. My heartbeat. The heavy weight of what’s coming.
The door clicks open.
He fills the frame. Black suit. No tie. Hair still damp from the shower. Silas. Older. Harder. The kind of man who doesn’t ask permission. He takes. He claims. He owns.
His dark eyes drop to my stomach. Then up to my face.
“You look pale,” he says. Voice like crushed velvet and smoke.
“I did the test,” I whisper.
He crosses the room in three strides. Hands my waist. Pulls me flush against him. I gasp. The hard length of him presses through his slacks. Instant ache. Instant surrender.
“Jessa,” he breathes. My name on his tongue like a prayer. Like a command.
“I’m carrying your child,” I tell him.
His jaw tightens. His fingers dig into my hips. Not painful. Grounding. He bends his head. Presses his forehead to mine. Eyes closed. Breathing ragged.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Fuck, Jessa.”
He pulls back. Looks at me. Really looks. The hunger in his gaze softens. Turns fierce. Tender. Possessive.
“You’re keeping it,” he states.
“I want to keep it.”
He curses again. Low. Rough. Then he’s kissing me. Hard. Deep. Tongue and teeth. I melt. Hands fly to his chest. Feel his heartbeat. Fast. Wild. Matching mine.
He breaks the kiss. Breathes my name. “My girl. My wife.”
“I said yes,” I whisper.
“Good.” He strokes my cheek. Thumb over my bottom lip. “Then I’m done. Tonight’s the last show. I’m retiring. For you. For us.”
My throat tightens. “Silas—”
“No arguments.” He grips my chin. Forces me to look at him. “I found something better than fame. I found her. And I’m not letting her go.”
I lean into his touch. Eyes stinging. “I love you.”
He stills. Just for a second. Then he’s pulling me up. Carrying me to the bedroom. Not metaphorically. Over the threshold. I laugh. Breathless. He sets me on the mattress. Follows. Covers me with his body.
“Prove it,” he orders.
I don’t hesitate. I unbutton his shirt. Push the fabric off his shoulders. Hands slide over his chest. Scarred. Muscled. Real. He groans. Eyes dark. Pupils blown.
“Strip,” he commands.
I sit up. Unzip my dress. Let it fall. Silk pools at my feet. I’m bare. He stares. Swallows hard.
“God,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
He drops to his knees. Hands on my thighs. Pushes them apart. I spread for him. Easy. Natural. My pussy glistens. Wet. Aching. Ready.
He looks up. Eyes hungry. Reverent.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So fucking ready for your Daddy.”
I shiver. “Yes.”
He dives in. Tongue flat. Hot. Sliding through my folds. I gasp. Back arches. Fingers tangle in his hair. He groans. Vibrates against me. Sucks. Hard.
“Fuck,” I cry. “Silas.”
“Say it,” he growls against my clit. “Say who owns you.”
“You do,” I beg. “Only you. Daddy.”
He hums. The sound travels straight to my core. Two fingers slide inside. Stretching. Filling. He curls them. Hits that spot. I whimper. Eyes flutter shut.
“Open your eyes,” he orders.
I do. He’s watching me. Dark. Intense. Unbroken.
“Cum for me,” he commands. “Let go. Give me everything.”
I do. Waves crash. Pussy clenching. Squeezing his fingers. He doesn’t stop. Just sucks harder. Deeper. Licking up my release. Swallowing every drop.
I collapse back. Chest heaving. Thighs trembling. He stands. Wipes his mouth. Smiles. Smug. Satisfied. Mine.
“Undress me,” he says.
I do. Buttons. Zipper. Fabric falls. His cock springs free. Thick. Veined. Throbbing. The head glistens. Heavy. Promising.
I wrap my fingers around him. Stroke. He hisses. Eyes close. Head falls back.
“Fuck, Jessa. You’re killing me.”
“Good,” I whisper. “Let me.”
I lean down. Take him in one hand. Press my lips to the tip. Taste him. Salt. Musk. Him. I open my mouth. Take him deep. Gagging slightly. He grabs my hair. Not painful. Controlling. Guiding.
“Suck it,” he orders. “Take it all. Swallow every drop.”
I do. Slow. Deep. Throat relaxing. I take him to the hilt. Balls slapping against my chin. I hum. The vibration makes him shudder. Fingers tighten in my hair.
“Cum for me,” I whisper.
He curses. Grinds his hips. I pull back. Lips swollen. Tongue tasting him. He steps back. Unzips his jeans fully. Pulls them down. Kicks them away.
“Bed,” he commands.
I climb on. Legs spread. He lines up. Pushes in. Slow. Stretching. Filling. I gasp. Back arches. He bottoms out. Groans.
“Fuck, Jessa. You’re so tight. So fucking perfect.”
I wrap my legs around his waist. Pull him deeper. “Take me. Breeding me. Now.”
He grips my hips. Starts to move. Slow at first. Then harder. Deeper. The mattress creaks. My nails dig into his shoulders. He grunts. Thrusts. Cock slapping against my pussy. Wet. Loud. Raw.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I do. His eyes are black. Filled with something ancient. Something mine.
“I’m breeding you,” he growls. “Again. And again. Until you’re swollen with my heir.”
“Yes,” I beg. “Please.”
He drives into me. Hard. Each thrust a claim. A promise. A tattoo on my soul. I clench around him. He curses. Speeds up. Fingers in my hair. Pulling. Arching.
“Cum for me,” he orders. “Let go.”
I do. Waves crash. Pussy squeezing. He follows. Groans my name. Buries deep. Holds it. Pulses. Hot cum flooding my womb. I feel it. Every drop. Claiming. Filling.
He stays inside. Chest heaving. Kisses my forehead. My nose. My lips.
“Mine,” he breathes.
“Yours,” I whisper back.
He rolls to his side. Pulls me against his chest. One hand on my stomach. The other on my back.
“Backstage,” I murmur. “The show.”
He kisses my hair. “We’ll go together.”
The arena is a sea of faces. Screaming. Chanting. Silas. Silas. Silas.
He steps to the mic. Black suit now. Shirt unbuttoned at the top. Hair messy. The crown prince of rock. Or so they think.
“Three years,” he says. Voice echoing through the speakers. “Three years of sold-out tours. Stadiums. Crowds.”
The crowd roars.
“I’ve been living a lie,” he continues. The music cuts. Silence falls. “I told myself I wanted the fame. The money. The endless nights.”
He looks out. Past the lights. Past the cameras. Straight at me. I stand by the stage edge. Heart hammering.
“I was wrong.”
He steps closer to the mic. “I found something better than fame.”
The crowd is dead silent. Confused. Expectant.
“I found her.”
My breath catches. He nods at me. I walk forward. The security guards don’t stop me. They know. Everyone knows. I step onto the stage. He takes my hand. Squeezes it.
“This is my last show,” he says. The crowd gasps. Screams erupt. “I’m done. Retired. Because she’s pregnant. And I’m raising my child. With her. In our home. Away from this circus.”
Madness. Cheers. Tears. Cameras flashing. I press a hand to my stomach. He does the same. His thumb strokes my hip.
“I love her,” he says. Simple. Final.
The crowd loses it. I lean into him. He wraps an arm around me. The music starts. Not a rock anthem. A slow song. Just him. His voice. Raw. Real.
I close my eyes. Listen. Feel his heartbeat against my chest. Feel the life growing inside me. This is it. The finale.
The back door slams. Keys hit the table. He carries me over the threshold. Not metaphorically. Over the actual threshold. My dress is a mess. His is better.
“Silas,” I breathe.
“Shh,” he murmurs. Sets me on the bed. Follows. Covers me with his body. Heavy. Warm. Solid.
“I’m keeping my promise,” he says. Voice low. Possessive.
“I know.”
He kisses me. Deep. Slow. Then his hands go to my clothes. Buttons. Zipper. Fabric falls. I’m bare. He’s bare. The room smells like sex and sweat and him.
“Show me,” he orders.
I spread my legs. He looks. Eyes dark. Hunger.
“You’re so tight,” he says. “So fucking perfect.”
He lines up. Pushes in. Slow. Stretching. Filling. I gasp. Back arches. He bottoms out. Groans.
“Fuck, Jessa. You’re taking it. Like you were made for me.”
“I was,” I whisper.
He starts to move. Slow at first. Then harder. Deeper. The bed creaks. My nails dig into his shoulders. He grunts. Thrusts. Cock slapping against my pussy. Wet. Loud. Raw.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I do. His eyes are black. Filled with something ancient. Something mine.
“I’m breeding you,” he growls. “Again. And again. Until you’re swollen with my heir.”
“Yes,” I beg. “Please.”
He drives into me. Hard. Each thrust a claim. A promise. A tattoo on my soul. I clench around him. He curses. Speeds up. Fingers in my hair. Pulling. Arching.
“Cum for me,” he orders. “Let go.”
I do. Waves crash. Pussy squeezing. He follows. Groans my name. Buries deep. Holds it. Pulses. Hot cum flooding my womb. I feel it. Every drop. Claiming. Filling.
He stays inside. Chest heaving. Kisses my forehead. My nose. My lips.
“Mine,” he breathes.
“Yours,” I whisper back.
He rolls to his side. Pulls me against his chest. One hand on my stomach. The other on my back.
“We’re going home,” he says.
“No more tours?”
“No more anything but you.” He kisses my hair. “Our kid. Our bed. Our life.”
I smile. Press a hand to his heart. It beats steady. Strong. For me. For us.
The world outside is loud. But in here? It’s quiet. Safe. Ours.
I close my eyes. Feel his arms around me. Feel the life growing. Feel the future settling in like it was always meant to be.
He’s not leaving. He never will.
Daddy is home.