The shed smells like damp earth and old gasoline. I’m on my knees, digging through a cardboard box labeled “Grill Supplies” in my dad’s sloppy scrawl. My fingers brush cold charcoal briquettes. I need more. The grill’s dying. The music from the backyard feels miles away.
I shouldn’t be back here. Everyone’s out front. Laughing. Drinking. Pretending they don’t notice the way Marcus hasn’t blinked in six hours.
The door handle turns.
I freeze.
The lock clicks. Then the door kicks shut with a heavy thud.
My breath hitches. I turn slowly.
He’s there. All six-four of him. Shirt clinging to his chest. Sweat tracing the hard line of his jaw. Those dark eyes locked on mine like I’m prey.
“I’ve been watching you all day, little girl,” he rumbles, voice low and rough as gravel. “You know what I want.”
My pulse hammers against my ribs. I know. I’ve known since I was sixteen. I’ve known since he pulled me out of that crying mess at the county fair and handed me a root beer. I’ve known since he looked at me across this very yard and made my skin burn.
I nod. Once.
He crosses the space in two strides. His hand closes around my wrist. Not hard. Just firm. Possessive. He pulls me back against a metal shelving unit. Tools and paint cans rattle. The smell of him hits me—cedar, sweat, and something darker. Masculine. Inescapable.
“Say it,” he commands, caging me in with his arms. His thigh slips between mine. Heat radiates through my sundress.
“I want you,” I whisper. The words fall out before I can stop them. Raw. True.
His jaw tightens. “Good girl.”
His mouth crashes onto mine. No hesitation. No slow burn. Just need. Desperate. Hungry. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming every inch. I melt into him. My fingers tangle in his hair. I’ve dreamed of this. I’ve fantasized about it. But nothing prepares me for the reality. The sheer weight of him. The way he fits against me like he was carved for my body.
He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips. He lifts me onto the workbench. Wood creaks. Charcoal dust coats my thighs.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I do. His eyes are black with want. With promise.
“I’m going to fill you up,” he says, voice dropping an octave. “I’m going to make you carry my baby. You feel that? That’s not just cock, sweetheart. That’s destiny.”
My stomach flips. The breeding kink has always been a quiet fantasy of mine. Never imagined it would be Marcus. Never imagined he’d say it so plainly. So owned.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Please. Daddy.”
The word slips out. Soft. Shy. But it hits him like a switch.
His control snaps.
His hands go to my dress. Fingers hook under the hem. He hikes it up in one swift motion. Cool air hits my skin, then his calloused palms trace up my thighs. I’m already wet. Soaked. He feels it instantly.
“Fuck,” he curses, voice ragged. “You’re dripping for me.”
He pushes my underwear down. Kicks them off. The bench is hard against my back, but I don’t care. I only care about the way he looks at me. Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. Like he’s already planning my nursery.
He drops to his knees.
I gasp as his mouth finds me. Hot. Wet. Devouring. My head falls back. My fingers grip the edge of the workbench. He tastes me like he’s starving. Like he’s been waiting years to do this. His tongue works me in slow, deliberate circles, then faster. Deeper. I’m trembling.
“Marcus,” I whimper. “Please.”
He looks up. Eyes dark. Lips glistening. “Say my name. Say Daddy.”
“Daddy,” I beg. “Fuck, Daddy. I need it. I need you.”
He rises. Shoves his jeans down. His cock springs free. Thick. Heavy. Veined. Already leaking. I stare at it, mesmerized. It’s perfect. Mine.
He lines me up. Presses the head against my entrance. I’m so wet he slides in without resistance. But he doesn’t thrust. Not yet. He just holds there, breathing ragged.
“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, forehead pressing to mine. “No looking back. You take every inch. You carry my legacy. You’re mine.”
“Yes,” I sob. “I’m yours.”
He thrusts.
Deep. Hard. Unforgiving.
My back arches. A sharp cry tears from my throat. He fills me completely. Stretches me to the limit. I can feel him hitting that sweet spot. The one that makes my toes curl. The one that makes my womb clench.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits out. “Take it. Take all of it.”
He sets a brutal pace. Hips snapping forward. Each thrust bottoms out inside me. I’m pinned against the wood, wrapped in his arms, surrounded by the sound of our skin slapping together. My nails dig into his shoulders. He leaves marks. He wants them.
“Gonna breed you,” he growls, voice rough with pleasure. “Gonna pump you full. Gonna make you walk with my child growing in your belly.”
The words ignite something primal in me. I wrap my legs around his waist. Pull him deeper. “Yes. Fill me. Please. Give me your baby.”
He groans. A raw, animal sound. His thrusts grow erratic. Desperate. He’s close. So close.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I do. His eyes are blown wide. Pure need. Pure ownership.
“I’m cumming,” he warns. “I’m filling you up. You’re gonna feel every drop.”
He drives in one last time. Buries himself to the hilt. And then he’s coming. Hard. Relentless. Hot jets of cum flooding my depths. I feel him pulse inside me. Each spasm makes me shudder. I cry out, climaxing with him. Waves of pleasure crash through me. My pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him dry.
He holds me there. Shaking. Breathing like he’s been drowning. I feel him twitching inside me. Still buried deep. Still leaking. Claiming me.
He doesn’t pull out. Not yet. He keeps me pinned. Keeps his weight on me. Like he’s making sure I don’t escape. Like he’s planting a seed and refusing to let it go.
“You took it so well,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my neck. His teeth graze my skin. “So fucking perfect.”
I’m trembling. Covered in sweat. My dress is bunched around my waist. My thighs ache. But I’ve never felt more alive. More whole.
He finally shifts. Gently pulls out. The loss of him makes me whimper. He doesn’t let me fall. Catches me in his arms. Holds me against his chest.
“We’re not done,” he says, voice low. Certain. “This is just the beginning. You’re carrying my heir. And I’m going to take care of you. Every step.”
I look up at him. His thumb strokes my cheek. His eyes are soft now. But the possessiveness hasn’t left. It’s deeper. Fiercer.
“Say it again,” I whisper. “That I’m yours.”
He cups my face. Forces me to meet his gaze. “You’re mine. Completely. My little girl. My mate. My future.”
He kisses me. Slow this time. Sweet. But it tastes like promise. Like destiny. Like a baby growing in my womb.
I lean into him. Already dreaming of it. Of his hands on my belly. Of his voice cooing to our child. Of him claiming me in every room. In every bed. In every life.
The backyard music fades into the background. None of it matters. Only him. Only us. Only what’s growing between us.
He lifts me off the bench. Carries me toward the door. I wrap my arms around his neck. Press my face to his shoulder.
“Ready to go home, sweetheart?” he asks.
I nod against his skin. “Yes, Daddy.”
He smiles. Dark. Proud. Possessive.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not ever again.”
The door opens. Sunlight floods in. But I don’t need it. I’m already glowing. From the inside. From the cum soaking my pussy. From the promise of a life growing in my belly.
He’s mine too. Finally.
And we’re going to be a family.