The deadbolt clicks.
I turn the handle.
His hand covers mine.
Warm. Heavy. Unyielding.
I don’t flinch. I should. I’m supposed to rip my apartment door off its hinges and run. Instead, I stare at his knuckles. At the gold band on his thumb. At the man who’s been haunting my dreams since the auction.
“You’re not going anywhere, baby.”
His voice is low. Rough. Final.
I tug my hand back. It doesn’t work.
“Daddy, I have to pack.”
“Already done.”
He steps inside. Closes the door. The latch snaps.
I’m trapped.
He doesn’t push me. He just stands there. Broad shoulders blocking the hallway light. Eyes dark with something I can’t name yet. Something that feels like hunger and reverence tangled together.
“I called the landlord this morning.”
He slides a manila envelope across the coffee table.
“The lease is bought out. Triple the penalty. Paid in full. Your name’s off it. My name’s on the deed now.”
I stare at the paper.
“You can’t just—”
“I just did.”
He steps closer. My back hits the door. Cold wood. Hot skin.
“I called your office before you were even awake.”
He pulls a second sheet from his jacket.
“Resignation accepted. Severance processed. They know you’re done.”
My breath hitches.
“You quit my job?”
“I freed you.”
His thumb traces my lower lip.
“I don’t need your paycheck. I need your body. Your time. Your womb.”
I should be furious.
I’m supposed to scream. Throw things. Demand an explanation.
Instead, my thighs press together.
A hot slickness pools between my legs. Drips down my inner thighs. Soaks my cotton panties.
God. I’m dripping.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I whisper.
“Like what?”
“Like you already won.”
“You did.”
He leans in. Nose brushing my jaw. Inhaling my skin.
“I’ve been winning since you walked out of that ballroom in red.”
His hand slides down. Over my ribs. My waist. Stops at my hip.
I shiver.
“Let me carry my boxes to the car, Julian.”
His name tastes foreign on my tongue.
He pulls back. Eyes lock on mine.
“Call me Daddy. Or I won’t let you walk out that door.”
My chest tightens. Instalove hits me like a physical blow. Sharp. Sudden. Terrifying.
I don’t hate it.
I hate that I don’t.
The movers arrive at nine.
I stand in the hallway. Arms crossed. Trying to look stern.
They don’t look stern. They look wet.
Daddy watches me from the bedroom doorway. Shirt off. Abs sharp. Cock hard in his sweatpants.
“Everything goes to the penthouse,” he says.
No questions. No negotiation.
They lift the sofa. The coffee table. The cheap rug I’ve slept on for two years. All of it disappears into the elevator.
I should fight.
My body betrays me.
Every time he looks at me, my nipples harden. My core throbs. My clit swells.
I’m a fucking sponge.
He catches me staring. Smirks.
“Missed me already?”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
He crosses the room in three steps. Pins me against the wall. One hand in my hair. The other between my legs.
I gasp.
He finds my clit. Rubs slow circles.
I’m soaked. He knows it. I feel it.
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs. “Even when you’re mad. Even when you’re trying to leave.”
His fingers slide inside. Two. Three. Stretching me.
I bite my lip. Bite it hard.
“Say it,” he commands.
“I hate you.”
He groans. Thrusts deeper.
“Liar. You love me. You’ve loved me since I bought you that drink. Since I told you I’d keep you safe.”
I’m close. Fast. Too fast.
“Cum for me, baby.”
I break.
Shudders rack my spine. My back arches. I cry out into his mouth. He kisses me. Deep. Claiming. Swallowing my sounds.
His cock twitches in his pants. He hasn’t even unbuttoned.
But I’m ruined for anyone else.
The elevator dings.
Luxury. Black marble. Floor-to-ceiling glass. A city sprawled below us like a toy set.
The penthouse.
I step inside. Bare feet on cold stone.
It’s perfect. And terrifying.
His space. His scent. Leather. Cedar. Sex.
Boxes line the hallway. My life packed in labeled plastic. His presence already swallowing it.
He walks up behind me. Wraps his arms around my waist. Chin on my shoulder.
“This is yours now,” he murmurs. “Every inch. Every room. Every bed.”
I lean back against him.
The lie tastes sweet.
It’s not mine. It’s ours. And he’s already decided how it’s going to be.
The master bedroom is all cream and gold. King bed. Silk drapes. A fireplace that looks cold but feels like a promise.
He turns me around.
Hands on my hips. Eyes dark.
“You’re not sleeping in a separate room.”
“I didn’t ask for one.”
“You will. Because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
He pulls my shirt over my head.
I let him.
His palms flatten against my stomach. Rub slow. Reverent.
“You’re carrying already,” he whispers.
I don’t laugh.
I’m too busy staring at his cock. Hard. Veined. Perfect.
He pushes his pants down. Steps out of them.
I drop to my knees without thinking.
His hand crashes into my hair. Not rough. Firm. Guiding.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
His eyes are storm-gray. Devouring.
“Open your mouth, baby.”
I do.
He groans. I take him deep. Throat opening. Saliva slick. He’s perfect. Heavy. Pulsing.
I suck slow. Worship the length. The head. The taste of him.
His fingers thread through my hair. Grip tight.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “So fucking good for me.”
I hum around him. Feel him twitch.
He pulls out with a wet pop.
I look up. Whine.
He lifts me. Sets me on the bed. Follows me down.
Kisses me. Tastes like salt and sin.
His cock slides against my slit. I’m dripping. Soaking his thigh.
He doesn’t use lube.
He pushes in.
I gasp. Stretch. Fill.
He’s huge. Fills me to the brim. Hides me.
He stills. Forehead on mine. Breathing hard.
“Gonna breed you,” he murmurs. “Gonna plant a life in that tight little womb.”
I clamp down on him.
He groans. Hips snap forward.
I cry out.
He’s already moving. Hard. Fast. Deep.
Every thrust hits my cervix. Every pull drags my clit. Every grind sends lightning through my nerves.
“Say it,” he pants.
“I’m yours.”
“I’m gonna put a baby in you.”
I nod. Frantic. Needing.
“Again.”
“I’m yours!”
“I’m breeding you. Making you carry my heir. My baby. My future.”
He slams into me. Again. Again.
I shatter.
Orgasm rips through me. Violent. Drowning. I scream into his shoulder. My walls clamp around him. Milk him.
He follows.
Drives deep. Holds still. Groans my name like a prayer.
Heat floods my core.
We collapse.
Sweat-slick. Breathless. Tangled.
He doesn’t pull out.
Keeps me filled. Keeps me claimed.
His hand slides down. Rests on my stomach.
“It’s happening,” he whispers. “Already happening.”
I’m not pregnant.
But I believe him.
I believe I will be.
He rolls to his side. Pulls me against his chest. Arm heavy over my waist. Leg tangled with mine.
I should be mad.
I’m asleep before my heart finishes racing.
Morning comes in gold light.
I wake to his mouth on my neck.
His cock is hard again. Pressed against my ass.
I arch into him.
He groans. Grabs my hip. Drags me back.
“Up all night thinking about filling you,” he murmurs.
I turn. Face his chest.
“Do it then.”
He flips me. Pins me.
No talking this time.
Just hips. Skin. Friction.
He fucks me like he’s trying to fuse our bones.
Deep. Relentless. Devastating.
I beg. He doesn’t care.
He’s already decided.
I’m carrying.
I’m his.
I’m home.
When he comes, he buries himself to the hilt. Holds me tight. Whispers against my skin.
“Mine. All mine. Baby coming. Soon.”
I nod.
I’m already dripping again.
He laughs. Low. Rich. Possessive.
“Can’t keep your legs closed for me, baby?”
“I don’t want to.”
He kisses me. Slow. Sweet. Real.
Instalove wasn’t a mistake.
It was a collision.
And I’m still falling.
He rises. Pours water. Hands it to me.
Then he sits on the edge of the bed. Looks at me.
Really looks.
“I don’t want to own you,” he says. “I want to protect you. Provide for you. Breed you. Love you until you forget your name is anything but mine.”
I drop the glass. Grab his hand. Press it to my stomach.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
He does.
Over and over.
Until I believe it.
Until I ache for it.
Until I’m already wet.
Already his.
Already carrying the weight of a future he promised me in a ballroom.
He pulls me up. Kisses me.
“Daddy’s gonna fill you up,” he murmurs. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Every night until you’re swollen with my child.”
I don’t fight it.
I never will.
I lean in. Bite his lip. Taste salt.
“Then do it,” I whisper. “Put a baby in me.”
He groans. Picks me up.
Carries me to the bed.
Lays me down.
Strips.
Kneels between my thighs.
Looks at my face.
Looks at my belly.
Smiles like a man who finally came home.
“Open up, baby,” he says. “Daddy’s coming in.”
I spread my legs.
Drip onto the silk.
Ready.
Waiting.
His.
Forever.