The test sits on the marble counter. Two pink lines. Sharp. Final. Unarguable.
I stare at it until my vision blurs. My stomach drops. My pulse hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I’m pregnant.
My hand flies to my abdomen. Even flat. Even early. I feel it. A spark. A shift. A life taking root in my flesh.
The bathroom door swings open. He fills the frame. Broad shoulders. Dark eyes. A predator who just found his territory.
“Jessa.”
His voice is gravel. Low. Controlled. But I hear the tremor underneath.
I hold up the stick. My thumb traces the plastic. My breath hitches.
He crosses the room in three strides. His hand cups my jaw. His thumb presses over my pulse. He feels it racing.
“Tell me,” he orders.
“I’m pregnant, Daddy.”
The word hangs in the air. Heavy. Sacred. Ours.
His grip tightens. Just for a second. Then he pulls me flush against him. His chest rises. His heart hammers against mine.
“Mine,” he growls. “All mine.”
He doesn’t ask if it’s his. He knows. He knows because he never let me out of his sight. Because he filled me deep. Because he claimed me where it counts.
His hands slide down my spine. Over my hips. Down to my stomach. He presses his palm flat against my belly.
“You’re carrying my son,” he murmurs. “My heir.”
My knees weaken. I lean into him. Into his heat. Into the sheer weight of him.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yours.”
He groans. A raw, animal sound. He bends his head. His mouth crashes into mine. Tongue. Teeth. Hunger.
I melt. I always melt for him.
He lifts me. Easy. Like I weigh nothing. He carries me to the bedroom. Throws me down.
“Take it off,” he commands.
I fumble with the buttons. My hands shake. My skin burns.
He strips off his shirt. Muscles tense. Veins pop. His cock is already hard. Thick. Heavy. Already leaking.
“I told you,” he says, backing me down into the mattress. “I told you I’d knock you up. I told you I’d fill you until you couldn’t walk straight.”
“You did,” I gasp. “Daddy…”
“Good,” he snarls. “You’re supposed to carry my child. You’re supposed to need me. You’re supposed to never leave.”
He strips off my jeans. My panties. Kicks them away.
His fingers slide inside me. Two. Three. Stretching. Claiming.
I arch. I cry out. He’s always been too much. Always been perfect.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I do. His eyes are black. Possessive. Devouring.
“You’re breeding for me,” he says. “Every day. Every night. Until this baby comes. Until you’re whole again. Until you give me another.”
“Yes,” I sob. “Please, Daddy.”
He pulls his hand out. Slaps my ass. Hard.
I jump. Gasps tear from my throat.
He lines up. Heads inside.
“Fuck,” he curses. “You’re so tight. So warm. So ready.”
He thrusts. Deep. Relentless. Hitting the sweet spot. Hitting the womb.
I scream. My nails dig into his shoulders. My hips buck. I take every inch.
“Mine,” he grunts. “Every drop. Every breath. Every heartbeat.”
He fucks me like the world is ending. Like he’s trying to plant a forest in my cunt.
I climax hard. My walls clamp down. My back bows. I sob through it.
He groans. His pace hitches. “I’m cumming. Jessa. I’m cumming inside you.”
He bottoms out. Holds me down. Hips locked.
Hot thick cum pumps into me. Floods my pussy. Fills me. Marks me.
He stays buried. Chest heaving. Eyes closed.
“I’ve got you,” he breathes. “I’ve got us.”
I wrap my legs around him. Pull him deeper. “Keep me here. Keep me pregnant. Keep me yours.”
He kisses my forehead. My lips. My stomach.
“Always,” he vows.
*
Three days later, we’re at the stadium.
He bought the whole damn thing. Private access. Empty stands. The smell of cut grass and fresh paint.
I wear a simple dress. Black. Fitted. Hides the flat belly. Hides nothing.
He walks ahead. Suit jacket off. Tie loose. Roll of the years etched into his jaw. Into his shoulders.
I follow. My stomach flutters. Not from nerves. From him. From us.
He stops at midfield. The 50-yard line.
The white stripe cuts through the green. Sharp. Centered. Ours.
He turns. Faces me.
His hands go into his pockets. His stance is relaxed. But his eyes are fire.
“Walk with me,” he says.
We step onto the grass. My heels click. His boots thud.
“I’ve been coming here since I was nineteen,” he says. “Backs. Playoffs. Championships. The roar of the crowd. The weight of the game.”
He stops. Turns to face me.
“I scored a lot of touchdowns here,” he says. His voice drops. Rough. Intimate. “None mattered as much as the one that got you pregnant.”
My breath catches. Tears prick my eyes.
He drops to one knee.
The world shrinks. Just us. Just this line. Just this moment.
He opens a velvet box. A diamond. Heavy. Round. Flawless.
“Jessa Kane,” he says. “You walked into my life. You took my breath. You’re carrying my child. You are mine. By law. By blood. By God.”
His hand shakes. Just once.
“Marry me. Let me claim you forever. Let me give you everything. Let me be the father your baby deserves. Let me be the man you deserve.”
I nod. Fast. Frantic.
“Yes,” I choke out. “Yes, Daddy. Yes.”
He slides the ring on. It fits. Perfect. Heavy. Final.
He stands. Pulls me into his arms. Crashes his mouth to mine.
I kiss him back. Desperate. Devoted.
He lifts me. Spins me. The stadium swallows the sound.
“I’m yours,” he growls against my lips. “Forever.”
*
He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t hesitate.
He carries me to the equipment tunnel. Shadows. Concrete. Cold air.
He lays me against the wall. Rough. Fast.
“We’re celebrating,” he says. “Properly.”
He shoves my dress up. Rips my panties aside.
His hand is on my stomach. Pressing. Claiming.
“Our son,” he murmurs. “Our heir. Growing inside you.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yours.”
He pushes inside. No warning. No mercy.
I cry out. The ring presses into the concrete. My head falls back.
He grips my hips. Anchors me.
“Take it,” he orders. “Take your husband’s cock. Take your baby’s father. Take all of me.”
I do. I take every thrust. Every pound. Every drop.
He fucks me like a man possessed. Like a man claiming his throne.
My pussy clenches. Swallows him. Greets him.
“Cum for me,” he demands. “Let me feel you. Let me know you’re mine.”
I shatter. My back bows. My nails scrape his chest. My walls milk him.
He groans. “Fuck. Jessa. I’m coming. Inside you. Marking you.”
He bottoms out. Holds me tight. Pumping hot cum deep. Filling me. Breeding me.
He stays buried. Chest against mine. Heart against heart.
“Happy?” he murmurs.
I nod. Too breathless to speak.
He kisses my neck. My shoulder. The ring on my finger.
“You’re pregnant,” he says. “You’re married. You’re mine.”
“Forever,” I promise.
He lifts me. Carries me to the bench. Sits. Pulls me into his lap.
My head rests over his heart. My hand covers his. The ring catches the light.
Outside, the city hums. The stadium sleeps.
Inside, we’re complete.
“I’ll take care of you,” he vows. “Every day. Every night. Until you give me our son. Until you give me our daughter. Until you’re too tired to walk.”
I smile. Lean in. Press a kiss to his jaw.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper. “Don’t ever stop.”
He chuckles. Low. Dark. Proud.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “I’ve got a wife to breed. A baby to raise. A kingdom to build.”
I close my eyes. Listen to his heartbeat. Feel his hands on my stomach. Feel the ring on my finger.
This is it. This is home.
I’m pregnant. I’m married. I’m his.
And I’ll never let him go.