Forbidden Love: The Complete Georgia Hart Collection

Chapter 4: The Belonging of "Daddy's Little Tease"

Tagline:** I teased him. He showed me what that means.

Suffix:** Tease

I’m on my knees on the cold marble of the bathroom floor, the plastic stick resting beside my knee like a verdict I’ve been running from for months. Two lines. Bold. Unmistakable. I don’t gasp. I don’t cry. I just breathe, slow and deep, until the air in my lungs feels heavy. Until it feels like mine. Until it feels like ours. I press my palm flat against my stomach. Even now, it’s flat. Smooth. Unbroken. But I feel it. I feel the shift. The gravity. The quiet, undeniable truth settling into my bones. I’m carrying his. I’m carrying our future. And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to run. I want to sink. I want to belong.

I tease him. I’ve always teased him. It’s the game we’ve played since the moment he walked into my life with that heavy, sure stride and those dark, unyielding eyes that see right through me. I’d bite my lip when he looked at me. I’d wear things that cling just a little too tightly. I’d let my voice drop to a whisper when I asked for water. I’d let my fingers brush his when I passed him the remote. I’d push, just to watch him tighten his jaw, just to feel the air crackle when he finally snapped. But this? This isn’t a game anymore. This is a claim. This is a fact. This is a life. And I’m done playing at being anything other than his.

The doorbell rings.

I don’t move. I know who it is. I know the way he’ll step through the door like he owns the space, like he owns the air I’m breathing. The lock clicks. He’s in. Boots on hardwood. Heavy. Deliberate. He doesn’t knock. He never does. He never has to.

“Little one.” His voice rolls through the hallway, low and rough, vibrating straight through my ribs. I stand, wipe my hands on my thighs, and step out.

He’s already there. Filling the doorway. Older. Imposing. The kind of man who doesn’t ask for permission—he takes it, then gives it back sweeter. His gaze drops to my stomach. Doesn’t take long to figure it out. He always knows. He always reads me better than I read myself.

“Well?” he asks, stepping closer. “Tell me what you found.”

I hand him the stick. He doesn’t look at it. He just catches my face in his hand, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and waits. His skin is warm. Calloused. Grounding.

“I’m yours,” I whisper. “Completely. Heavily. Forever.”

His breath hitches. Just once. Then he’s lifting me like I weigh nothing, carrying me down the hall, down the stairs, to the master bedroom. The door shuts behind us. The world disappears.

He lays me on the bed. The sheets are cool. His hands are not. They’re everywhere. Mapping me. Claiming me. Tracing the line of my jaw, the dip of my collarbone, the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips. He doesn’t rush. He never rushes when it matters. He savorss. Every gasp. Every shiver. Every time I bite my lip trying not to cry out. He’s memorizing me. And when he’s bare, when I’m bare, when the space between us is just heat and need and history—he enters me.

Not gentle. Not rough. Right. Perfect.

I gasp. He groans. My name leaves my lips like a prayer. His hand finds my stomach. Presses. Claims.

“You’re carrying my son,” he says, voice cracking. “My heir. My future. My girl.”

I nod, tears spilling. “I’m yours.”

He drives into me. Hard. Deep. Each thrust is a promise. Each thrust is a brand. I wrap my legs around him, lock my ankles, and take him. I take all of him. I’ve always been teasing him, but now I’m giving him everything. The way he used to want it. The way he’s always deserved it. He pins my wrists. Leans down. Bites my shoulder.

“You don’t tease me anymore,” he growls against my skin. “You take what’s yours. You take me. You take this. You take the life growing inside you. And you never let go.”

I sob. He smiles. Then he’s moving again. Faster. Deeper. The bed groans. My nails dig into his back. He’s so big. So heavy. So perfect. I’m stretching. I’m filling. I’m his. Always. He grips my hips. Drives. I’m close. I’m so close.

“Come for me,” he orders. “Let me feel you. Let me feel you take my name.”

I shatter. Waves crash through me. He follows. Groaning. Thrusting. Emptying himself deep inside me. I feel it. Every drop. Every claim. Every promise. He collapses on top of me. Heavy. Warm. Perfect. His chest rises and falls against mine. His cock stays buried. I’m still slick. Still his. Still full.

“I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs into my hair. “Not ever. You’re mine. She’s ours. And I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

I turn my head. Kiss his jaw. His mouth. His chest. “Good. I’m yours. Forever.”

He doesn’t pull out. He stays. Letting me feel him. Letting me feel us. The baby stirs. I feel it. He feels it.

“He moved,” I gasp.

Daddy stills. Then a hand slides down. Palms my stomach. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I felt it.”

He looks at me. Eyes dark. Full. “You’re going to be an incredible mother.”

I smile. “I’m just going to be your girl.”

He chuckles. Low. Rough. Satisfying. “Exactly.”

He shifts. Rolls us. Now I’m on top. He’s hard again. Already. “Let me return the favor,” I say.

He raises a brow. “Oh?”

“You’ve been taking for me. Now I take for you.”

He laughs. Real. Bright. “Fuck yes.”

I lower myself. Take him in. Slow. Deep. I ride him. Each roll of my hips a declaration. Each gasp a surrender. He grips my thighs. Watches me. Eyes wide. Reverent.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “Perfect. Mine.”

I lean down. Bite his collarbone. Lick the mark. “Yours.”

I pick up the pace. He’s hard. Hot. Heavy. I feel him stretch me. Fill me. Claim me. Again. I’m close. He’s close. “Come,” he says. “Let me feel you. Let me hear you.”

I do. Screaming his name. Shaking. Falling. He follows. Groaning. Thrusting up. Emptying me. Again. I collapse on his chest. Breathing. Heart racing. He wraps around me. Holds me.

“No more teasing,” he says.

“No more games,” I agree.

“I’m done,” I whisper. “I’m home.”

He kisses me. Deep. Slow. Tasting like salt and sin and forever. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go. Not ever. You’re carrying my blood. You’re wearing my ring. You’re staying in this bed. In my arms. In my life. Forever.”

I nod. Press my palm to my stomach. Feel the life inside. Feel him beside me. Feel the weight of him. The promise of him. The truth of him. “I’m yours,” I say. “Completely. Heavily. Forever.”

He smiles. Then he’s kissing me again. And again. And again. Until the sun goes down. Until the moon rises. Until the world outside ceases to exist. Because there’s only us. Only this. Only the truth I finally accepted. I’m Daddy’s girl. I’m carrying his heir. I’m staying. And I’ve never been more alive.

Morning comes soft and golden. I wake first. The space beside me is empty but warm. I stretch. My body aches in the best way. My skin remembers him. My bones remember him. My stomach remembers him. I sit up. The sheets pool around my waist. I don’t cover myself. I don’t need to. I’m not hiding anymore. I’m not playing coy. I’m not pretending I don’t know exactly where I belong.

The door opens.

He steps in. Bare chested. Dressed in dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. A coffee in one hand. A silk robe in the other. He’s older. Refined. The kind of man who commands a room just by entering it. His eyes drop to my stomach. Then to my face. He sets the coffee down. Crosses the room in three strides. Drops to his knees between my thighs.

He doesn’t ask. He never does with me. He just presses his ear to my belly. Listens. His breath stills. Then he looks up. Eyes shining. “I felt him kick again,” he says. “Yesterday. When you were washing up. I was in the hall. I heard you. I knew.”

I smile. “You always know.”

“I always know you,” he corrects. He reaches out. Traces the line of my hip. The dip of my waist. The swell of my belly. “My girl. My wife. My mother.” He says the last word like it’s a prayer. Like it’s a crown. “You’re carrying our future. And I’m going to spend every day making sure you never doubt who you belong to.”

I tilt my head. “I never doubted it. Not really. I was just… teasing.”

He chuckles. Low. Rough. “You were testing me. Pushing me. Seeing if I’d break. If I’d let you walk away.” He shakes his head. “I’d never let you walk away. Even when you were pushing. Even when you were playing. I saw you. I claimed you. I just waited for you to catch up.”

I lean forward. Press my forehead to his. “I’m caught. I’m yours. I’m staying. No more games. No more tests. Just… me. You. Him.” I tap my stomach. “Forever.”

He closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Then he’s pulling me down. Not roughly. Not gently. Right. Perfect. His mouth meets mine. Deep. Slow. Tasting like coffee and truth and forever. His hands roam. Mapping me. Claiming me. Settling on my stomach. Pressing. Possessive. Reverent.

“I’m going to give you everything,” he murmurs against my lips. “I’m going to build you a life. A home. A legacy. You’ll wear my ring. Sleep in my bed. Carry my name. And when our child is born, you’ll know without a single doubt that you are cherished. Protected. Claimed. Forever.”

I nod. Tears spill. “Good. Because I’m not leaving. I’m not running. I’m not teasing anymore. I’m staying. I’m carrying your heir. I’m yours. Completely. Heavily. Forever.”

He groans. Pulls me closer. Buries his face in my neck. “Mine,” he repeats. “Always mine.”

The day unfolds slow. Sweet. Certain. He makes breakfast. I sit at the counter. Watch him move. Watch him work. Watch him be the man I’ve been waiting for without even knowing it. He plates food. Brings it to me. Sits across from me. His knee brushes mine under the table. He doesn’t pull away. I don’t either. We eat. We talk. We laugh. We exist. In the quiet. In the certainty. In the truth.

Later, he walks me to the window. Pulls me against his chest. Wraps his arms around my middle. His hands rest on my stomach. One above. One below. Possessive. Protective. Present.

“He’ll have your eyes,” he says quietly. “Or mine. Doesn’t matter. He’ll have your heart. My discipline. Our blood. Our name.”

I lean back. Look up. “I love you,” I whisper.

He stills. Then he turns me. Faces me. Cups my face. Thumbs my cheeks. “I know,” he says. “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it. Every day. Every breath. Every drop. Every claim. I’m yours. You’re mine. And he’s ours. Forever.”

I kiss him. Deep. Slow. Tasting like promise. Like truth. Like home. “Good,” I whisper against his mouth. “Because I’m never letting you go either.”

He smiles. Then he’s lifting me. Carrying me to the bed. Laying me down. Kissing me. Claiming me. Again. Not because he has to. Because he wants to. Because we both do. Because it’s right. Because it’s us. Because it’s forever.

I wrap my legs around him. Lock my ankles. Take him. Deep. Slow. Perfect. He groans. Buries his face in my neck. His hands roam. Mapping. Claiming. Settling on my stomach. Pressing. Possessive. Reverent.

“You’re carrying my son,” he murmurs. “My heir. My future. My girl.”

I nod. Tears spill. “I’m yours.”

He drives into me. Hard. Deep. Each thrust is a promise. Each thrust is a brand. I gasp. He groans. My name leaves my lips like a prayer. He pins my wrists. Leans down. Bites my shoulder.

“You don’t tease me anymore,” he growls. “You take what’s yours. You take me. You take this. You take the life growing inside you. And you never let go.”