The memo hits my inbox at nine.
Personal assistant to the CEO.
Direct line.
Unrestricted access.
My name sits right under Julian Blackwood’s signature.
I shouldn’t feel sick.
I should be thrilled.
Instead, my stomach flips because I know exactly what they’re saying behind closed doors.
Nepotism.
Sleeping my way up the ladder.
Trading favors for a corner office.
I walk past the glass-walled conference rooms and hear the whispers.
“Three days. She’s been here three days.”
“Probably let him put his hands up her skirt during the budget review.”
“Typical. Thinks beauty opens doors.”
I keep my chin up.
I don’t care.
He’s mine.
And I’m his.
The door to his office clicks shut behind me.
The lock engages.
That’s all it takes.
He’s out of his suit jacket in one motion.
“Come here,” he growls.
I don’t walk.
I rush.
He catches me by the waist, spins me, and pins me against the mahogany desk.
His mouth crashes into mine.
No gentleness.
Just hunger.
“Let them talk,” he murmurs against my lips. “Let them stare. You think they know what they’re looking at? They see a secretary. I see my wife.”
My breath hitches.
“Julian—”
“Daddy,” he corrects.
Voice drops an octave.
“You know what you are.”
My panties are already soaked.
He doesn’t bother undressing me.
He just hikes my skirt up.
Pushes my knees apart.
Buried his cock inside me in one brutal thrust.
I cry out.
He clamps a hand over my mouth.
“Shh,” he whispers. “Let them hear. Let them know who fills you.”
His hips snap forward.
Deep.
So fucking deep.
I arch into him.
He knows exactly how to hit that spot.
Every thrust is a claim.
Every gasp is a vow.
“You’re carrying my mark,” he growls, biting my shoulder. “Every day, I’m putting it in you. Making sure your body knows whose it is.”
I whimper against his palm.
He pulls my hand away.
I moan his name.
“Cum for me,” he orders. “Let it pool in your pussy. Let it sink deep.”
I shatter.
He follows seconds later.
Groaning.
Burying himself to the hilt.
Pumping hot cum straight into my womb.
He doesn’t pull out.
He stays plugged inside me.
Breathing ragged.
Forehead pressed to mine.
“Mine,” he whispers. “Always.”
Week two.
The elevator.
I’m running late.
He’s waiting.
The doors slide shut.
We’re alone.
He backs me against the mirrored wall.
One hand on my throat.
Not tight.
Just present.
Possessive.
“You missed your stand-up,” he says.
“You made me late.”
He smiles.
Dark.
Amused.
He lifts me onto the ledge.
My legs wrap around his waist.
He doesn’t tease.
He just pushes in.
The metal vibrates as he moves.
I bite my lip to stay quiet.
Fails.
He grips my hips.
Nails digging in.
“Take it,” he commands. “Take every inch. I’m breeding you. You know it. You feel it.”
I do.
I feel it in my core.
In my womb.
In the heavy, wet drag of his cock.
He sets a ruthless pace.
Up.
Down.
Hard.
I’m dripping over his belt.
“Look at me,” he snaps.
I do.
His eyes are black with lust.
“You’re going to be a mother,” he says. Voice raw. “I’m going to fill you until you’re swollen with it. Until you walk around knowing you carry my heir.”
I nod.
I can’t speak.
He thrusts harder.
I climax.
He follows.
Groaning.
Spilling deep inside me.
He holds me there.
Letting it soak in.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “My good girl.”
Week three.
The parking garage.
Rain slicks the concrete.
He parks the black sedan.
Kills the engine.
The heat inside is instant.
He unbuckles me.
Pulls me across the console.
My blouse is untucked.
My skirt is bunched.
He doesn’t care.
He’s already hard.
He pushes my thighs back.
Angles himself.
Slides in.
I gasp.
He groans.
“So tight,” he mutters. “So fucking wet for me.”
He grips my hip.
Drives up.
The seat creaks.
I wrap my arms around his neck.
“Again,” I beg.
He obeys.
Rough.
Relentless.
“I’m going to marry you,” he says between thrusts. “You heard me. Next week. The courthouse. I don’t need a big ceremony. I need you on my arm. In my bed. In my bed every night until you’re heavy with it.”
I cry out.
Not from pain.
From overwhelming love.
From the truth of it.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”
He groans.
I feel it.
He’s close.
I clench around him.
He snaps.
Buries himself to the root.
Cum floods my pussy.
Hot.
Thick.
He holds me down.
“Take it,” he growls. “All of it. I’m breeding you. I’m claiming you. You’re carrying my child.”
I sob.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
His thumb wipes my tears.
“No more doubt,” he says. “You’re mine. In every way that matters.”
Morning.
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed.
Waiting.
The door opens.
He walks in.
Still in yesterday’s suit.
He sees me.
Sees the test on the nightstand.
Two lines.
His jaw locks.
He crosses the room in three strides.
Drops to his knees.
Presses his ear to my stomach.
I’m trembling.
He looks up.
Eyes wet.
“He’s here,” he whispers.
I nod.
“Our son,” I say.
He stands.
Pulls me into his chest.
“Ours,” he corrects. “Always ours.”
He kisses me.
Slow.
Devastating.
“I told you I’d marry you,” he murmurs against my lips. “I’ll do it tonight. I’ll buy you a ring. I’ll put it on your finger. You’ll be Mrs. Blackwood. My wife. My queen. The mother of my heir.”
I smile.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He growls.
Grabs me.
Lifts me.
Carries me to the bed.
But this time, it’s different.
Slower.
Reverent.
He undresses me like I’m made of glass.
I reach for him.
Pull him down.
He enters me.
Deep.
Throbbing.
“So warm,” he breathes. “So full of me.”
He moves.
Not rough.
Just sure.
Claiming.
Worshiping.
“I’m going to keep filling you,” he says. “Every night. Until you’re round. Until you glow. Until you can’t hide what you carry.”
I arch.
“I don’t want to hide,” I whisper.
He kisses my collarbone.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “My perfect girl.”
He bottoms out.
Holds still.
Letting me feel every inch.
“Cum for me,” he whispers. “Let my seed settle. Let it take root.”
I do.
He follows.
Groaning my name.
Pouring inside.
I wrap my legs around him.
Keep him deep.
He rests his forehead against mine.
“I love you,” he says.
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Not because I’m surprised.
Because I’ve known.
Since the champagne spilled.
Since the office door locked.
“I love you too,” I whisper. “My husband.”
He smiles.
Real.
Unfiltered.
“Soon,” he says. “Tonight.”
He shifts.
Rolls me onto my side.
Pulls me back against his chest.
One hand rests on my stomach.
The other threads through my hair.
“Sleep,” he commands.
I do.
Safe.
Claimed.
Full of him.
Full of our future.
And when I wake, he’s still there.
Still touching me.
Still whispering promises.
“My wife,” he says.
“My breeding,” he adds, voice rough with love.
I smile against his shoulder.
“Your forever,” I reply.
He kisses my neck.
“Good girl.”
The day will bring meetings.
Gossip.
Boardrooms.
None of it matters.
I’m wearing his ring.
I’m carrying his child.
I’m his.
And he’s mine.
Forever.