Dawn bleeds through the blackout curtains. My neck aches. My thighs tremble. I slide off the silk sheets before the city fully wakes. My bare feet hit cold marble. I don’t look back. I grab my jeans. My boots. My phone. I’m out the door in ten minutes.
My hand hits the brass knob.
It doesn’t turn.
I twist harder. Locked.
The deadbolt clicks from the inside. A heavy thud against the wood. He’s back.
“We’re not done, little girl.”
His voice is low. Rough. Possessive. It wraps around my ribs like a steel chain.
I spin around. He’s leaning against the bed frame. Shirtless. Abs carved like stone. Dark hair still damp from the shower. Eyes black with hunger.
He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t need to.
“You don’t leave,” he says. Simple. Final.
“I’m going to work,” I say. Voice shaking.
“Not anymore.”
He walks over. Doesn’t rush. Takes his time. Fingers brush my jaw. I should pull away. I don’t.
“You’re mine now,” he murmurs. “Every inch.”
He kisses me. Hard. Claims my mouth like it’s oxygen. My knees buckle. He catches me. Wraps me against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat. Fast. Matching mine.
Instalove doesn’t knock. It kicks the door down.
He carries me back to the bed. Throws me down like he owns the mattress. Like he owns me.
My clothes come off in rough tugs. Buttons pop. Fabric tears. He doesn’t care. He wants skin. All of it.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I do. Blue eyes. Dark. Devouring.
He slides inside without warning. No tease. No mercy. Just deep. Hot. Stretching.
I gasp. Arch. Clutch the sheets.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“Breathe,” he commands. “Take it. All of it.”
He moves. Slow at first. Then harder. Deeper. Each thrust bottoms out. Grinds against my cervix. I feel it. Right there. That thick promise.
He’s breeding me. I know it. He knows it.
His hand finds my stomach. Presses down. Fingers spread.
“Gonna fill you,” he rasps. “Gonna mark you from the inside.”
I whimper. Nod. I don’t want him to stop. I want him to stay. I want it all.
He hits that spot. Again. Again. My vision whites out. My back bows. He catches me. Holds me through the climax. Groans my name like a prayer.
Then he spills. Deep. Hot. Claiming.
I shake. Cry. He licks the tears away. Kisses my forehead. Pulls me against his chest.
“Sleep,” he whispers. “You’re safe now.”
I don’t fight him after that.
He orders room service. Trays of food. Eggs. Fruit. Water. Protein. He feeds me like I’m something precious. Something to keep.
“Eat,” he says. Spoon at my lips. “You need it.”
I open my mouth. Take it. Watch his eyes track every swallow.
He learns me. Slow. Methodical. Runs his hands over my hips. My thighs. My breasts. Notes where I shiver. Where I gasp. Where I melt.
“Here,” he murmurs one night. Fingers circling my hipbone. “You like this.”
I do. I always have. Since he touched me. Since he looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.
He takes me to the shower. Steam fills the room. Soaps my back. Massages my shoulders. Pulls me against his chest. Washes me. Cleans me. Claims me.
He fucks me on the rug. On the desk. Against the window. Once I catch my reflection. His arms wrapped around me. His face buried in my neck. My hands gripping his shoulders. We look like a tangled mess. Like we were made for this.
He never stops touching me. Even when he’s not inside me. His hand on my stomach. His lips on my collarbone. His voice in my ear.
“Mine.”
Always mine.
Day two blurs into a haze of silk sheets and sweat. He feeds me again. Grinds avocado on toast. Pours coffee. Hands it to me. Watches me drink. His gaze never leaves my mouth.
He pulls me back to the bed. Strips me slow this time. Appreciative. Reverent. Like I’m his religion.
“Spread,” he says. Voice rough.
I do.
He doesn’t use lube. Doesn’t need to. I’m already soaked. Already dripping for him. He lines up. Pushes in. Deep. Straight to the core.
I cry out. Back arches. Fingers dig into his arms.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “Let Daddy take care of you.”
The word hits me like lightning. Good. Proper. Right.
He sets a rhythm. Relentless. Deep. Each thrust drags against my walls. Strokes my cervix. Fills me. Breeds me.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I do.
He’s sweating. Jaw tight. Eyes dark with worship and want. He’s losing control. But he’s not stopping. Not for a second.
“Gonna plant it,” he growls. “Right where it belongs.”
I nod. Can’t speak. Can only take him. Love him. Need him.
He flips me. Pushes from behind. Hands on my hips. Fingers digging into soft flesh. I feel every inch. Every drag. Every claim.
“Squeeze it,” he orders.
I do. My walls clamp down. He groans. Hips stutter. Spills me again. Deep. Thick. Hot.
He collapses on top of me. Chest heaving. Breath hot against my neck.
“Good girl,” he whispers. “So fucking good.”
I turn in his arms. Kiss him. Slow. Sweet. He tastes like salt and forever.
He doesn’t let me out. Doesn’t need to. The outside world fades. There’s only him. The suite. The bed. The skin. The constant, rolling heat between us.
On the third day, he pins me to the pillows. Bites my shoulder. Hard. Not enough to break skin. Enough to mark.
“Say it,” he demands.
“Say what?”
“That you’re mine. That you’re staying. That you want this. Want me. Want the baby.”
I look up at him. Really look. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Jaw tight. Hands that know every curve. Mouth that tastes like whiskey and promise.
“I’m yours,” I whisper. Voice steady now. “Always have been. I’m not leaving. I’m staying. I want it. I want us.”
He groans. Drops his forehead to mine. Kisses me. Slow. Deep. Sweeping.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against my lips. “My good girl.”
He flips me. Pushes inside. No rush. No mercy. Just steady. Deep. Claiming.
I wrap my legs around him. Pull him deeper. He bottoms out. Groans. Eyes shut.
“I’ve got you,” he says. Voice breaking. “I’ve always got you.”
I do. I do.
He comes inside me. Again. Again. Like he’s sealing a vow. Like he’s stitching my name to his.
I come with him. Shaking. Screaming. Clinging. My nails dig into his back. He holds me through it. Through everything.
After, he pulls out. Cleans me. Wraps me in his arms. Lays me back against the pillows.
“We’re going home,” he says. Not a question. A promise.
I nod. Rest my head on his chest. Listen to his heart. Feel the baby. Feel him.
“Daddy,” I whisper.
He stills. Looks down. Eyes dark. Soft.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m here. Always.”
I close my eyes. Smile.
We’re not done. We’re just beginning.
And I’m never leaving.