Page 55 of Breeding Her: The Red Flag Edition
All I could do was prove myself. As a partner. As a potential daddy.
Her birthday present was mounted on my bedroom wall. My daily reminder of what was at stake.
It didn’t matter when my shift ended or whose place we slept at—I needed to be beside her. Inside her. Every single night.
We waited until she was eight weeks pregnant before I drove her to the next town for her appointment.
I was dying to see a little bump, but seeing the dark void of her womb with our child resting inside was… exhilarating.
“Oh, that’s it,” she whispered. “It’s real.”
The technician was taking measurements, her back to us.
“Of course it’s real. Don’t you remember how deep I came inside you?” I whispered back.
She was not amused.
“I want to try for twins next. Maybe triplets.”
She gasped and shoved me.
I didn’t budge.
She needed to know she was stuck with me for life.
Not just because I’d knocked her up.
Not just because my come practically had its own lease inside her.
There wasn’t a version of the future that didn’t have her in it.
No reality where I’d let her go.
Because what we had wasn’t a fling. It was fate, dressed in handcuffs and laced in filth.
And when you find a woman like that?
You don’t just hold on.
You never let go.
I smiled sweetly and kissed her cheek, slipping my fingers between hers to clasp her hand. When her grip tightened around mine, I knew. It might take her a little longer to come to the same conclusion—but eventually, she’d realise:
I am inevitable.
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Her door opened just as I reached the last step. I paused, taking her in.
She wore a dark brown pencil skirt with a cream blouse. The thick belt drew my eyes to her belly. No cardigan—so I could see the lace of her bra.
Her feet were bare, pink-polished toenails on display.
“Where’s your cardigan?” I asked, wondering how many men had seen her breasts.
If I couldn’t take my eyes off them, how could anyone else?
What if the kids had a trip to the fire station?
