Page 150 of The King of Hearts

Jesus, this woman is going to be the death of me. And the fucking kicker is, I’ll die with a goddamn smile on my face. She’s right, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her or give her. She’s more than my life. She’s my death as well.

“Fine,” I mutter, giving in only because she adamantly decrees it and I’m a sucker for my wife. “I’ll kill him later for touching and looking at your pussy.”

The bastard doctor clears his throat because he’s fucking eavesdropping on our conversation, but he doesn’t look adequately scared. He should be, since I’m not entirely joking. It’s unreasonable, sure, but I’m deadly serious when it comes to another man touching my Vicious. No one gets to and continues to breathe.

Savina lets out a strangled laugh, and her fingers twitch in mine. “You are such a walking red flag, you know that, right?”

“What in the fuck is that?”

“It’s from my books. It means you’re possessive, unreasonable, and a seriously dangerous alpha male. All things a woman should avoid in a relationship, but can’t help but drool over.”

I grunt. Iamall of those things, and I damn sure won’t apologize for it. Savina accepted who I am, and she’ll continue to accept it because she’s got no choice.

“Now behave. As my doctor, looking at my goods comes with the job description. He has to look and touch me down there to deliver our child. Stop being impossible.”

I lean over the bed railing and kiss her pretty lips. It’s a soft kiss to show comfort and love.

“It’s entirely your fault that I’m this way,” I say against her lips. “You make me do impossible things.”

“And I wouldn’t have you any other way. Just stop talking about murdering the doctor, okay?”

The words have barely left her lips when another contraction hits. Her face scrunches in pain, and her body stiffens. I can tell by her expression that she’s trying to stay brave and not show how much it hurts and it pisses me off. The anger isn’t directed at her, but toward myself.

I cup her sweaty cheek and whisper, “The doctor is safe from my wrath, baby. Now stop holding it in. I know it hurts. Scream if you need to. Break my fingers if that’s what it takes.”

A whimper leaves her lips, and it grows in volume the longer the contraction lasts. The doctor may be safe from any physical harm, but I’ll kill him a thousand ways to Sunday in my head.

“All right, Savina. I see the head. During the next contraction, I want you to push,” Dr. Bale says from the end of the bed.

The current contraction has barely faded when the next one hits.

“Push, Savina!” he orders.

My wife’s face goes beet red, and her fingers crush mine. I help her when she lifts her torso slightly off the bed. A grunt leaves her lips, but other than that, she makes no noise. She’s not even breathing as she pushes with all of her strength.

I’m surprised at how fast it goes from there. One minute she’s pushing like the doctor ordered, and there’s a flurry of activity where he sits, and the next there’s a loud screeching sound filling the room.

Dr. Bale stands, holding a tiny, squirming body covered in blood and goo.

He smiles as he announces, “Congratulations, Mom and Dad. You have a baby boy.”

Savina wanted to be surprised with the sex of the child. I didn’t really understand why, but I went along with her choice.

Dr. Bale passes the baby to a nurse, who’s holding a blue piece of cloth. After wrapping my son, she brings him to Savina. Tears freely slide down her cheeks as she holds out her arms, and the nurse gently settles him on her chest. I watch my wife and our son with an ache in my chest. I never wanted children, and I didn’t think that desire would change until the idea came to mind to force a pregnancy on her to ensure she would be mine. Our son has been here only minutes, and I already can’t imagine life without him. I’ll burn the world down, kill any motherfucker in it, take out anything and everything that gets in my way of protecting my wife and my son.

“He’s absolutely beautiful,” Savina says with awe, her expression filled with the instant love she holds for our child.

I slide my finger along the edge of the blanket, tucking it back so I can see my son’s face better. “He’s perfect.”

She tips her head back, her tearful, smiling eyes meeting mine. “Thick, black hair, just like his daddy.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead. When I lift my head, I look down at our son. His eyes are open, and he’s staring at his mother.

“Oh, my,” Savina whispers. “Gray eyes.”

“They say their eyes can change color over time,” I remark.

She shakes her head. “His won’t. They look just like yours.”

---