10. Dane
DANE
Moving Stephie into my house is easier than I anticipated. With only a minimum of arguing, she fetches a bag and accepts the room next to mine. We have dinner together, and it’s almost like it was before.
I wake in the middle of the night, as I often do. I’m a light sleeper, and in fact, the only time I’ve slept really deeply was—ironically enough—with Stephie, on a stone floor, when I was drugged. That was a great dream.
But the slightest noise usually wakes me, and I breathe slowly and softly to listen for what woke me up.
And I hear it. Soft footsteps. Unfamiliar in this house that I’ve hardly seen for four months and lived alone in before that.
Stephie.
I throw back the covers and consider for a second whether I should put some clothes on. No.
She’s in my house. I’m in boxers, and although they’re snug, they technically leave things to the imagination. Except the size, and maybe I don’t mind her knowing what I’m packing. In particular, she can compare what I have to offer to whichever bastard got her pregnant.
I pad into the corridor and pause. She has her own ensuite bathroom, so if this was just the baby pressing on her bladder, I don’t think I’d have woken. I listen, and yep, there’s movement downstairs.
I find Stephie in the kitchen, head in the fridge. She’s in pyjamas, tartan in red and white, and a white T-shirt that is stretched a little tighter over her bump, and I can’t help but smile.
“What are you looking for, princess?”
She yelps and jumps back guiltily. “Sorry!”
Then her eyes widen as she takes me in, her gaze sweeping over my body.
The tattoos. The scars. All the things that I dreamed her touch on that night in the cabin.
My cock engorges as she looks. But although the idea of putting her onto the kitchen counter and eating her until she screams is mouth-watering, I’m going to restrain myself.
I need to be a gentleman while she’s in this vulnerable state. Pregnant, with the father absent.
Thinking of the other man who had her before me is effective in keeping my arousal at manageable levels.
“It’s your house, now.” I saunter over and go to put the kettle on. “Why are you awake?”
She sighs. “My joints ache and I’m struggling to sleep. Apparently, it’s a normal part of pregnancy, but I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, and convinced myself I needed…” She shrugs helplessly.
Orgasms.
I don’t say that.
“Maybe a bite to eat? Or a hot drink. Or something else? Warm milk? Hot chocolate? Tea? I can get a delivery of anything you want. A cheese and carbs-based snack perhaps? Or are we talking fully loaded nachos, Indian curry, or Thai?”
She giggles and shakes her head. “I don’t need anything so fancy.”
“Just pizza?”
She closes the fridge, white carton in hand. “I think probably warm milk would be perfect.”
“I’ll sort it. Sit.” I take the container from her.
“Oh!” She can’t seem to understand my need to care for her. I suppose that’s understandable. I’ve hidden it for all the years we’ve worked together.
After I’ve put a mug of milk on to heat, I lean against the counter and regard my pretty, pregnant girl.
“We need to go to buy some new nightwear for you.” I let my gaze linger where her belly is pushing on the white cotton.
“Oh.” She cups her stomach protectively. “I’m alright.”
“You’re bursting out.”
“Ahh.” She laughs, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“There’s no need to be sorry. But you should be comfortable. You’ll get bigger in the next few months.” I can’t help but smile at that thought.
“I was going to go to one of those second-hand places at the weekend,” she says earnestly. “Since I’ll only be wearing pregnancy clothes for a short time.”
We’ll see about that. If I have my way, she’ll have need of them again.
“It seems wasteful to buy new.”
“Somebody has to. Why not me, for you?” I say casually.
Her brow creases in confusion. “What?”
“Really, you should be more considerate of people less fortunate than yourself. If you buy all the good second-hand stuff, what will women who don’t have billionaire partners wear?” I drawl.
The microwave pings, and I test the temperature of the milk with my finger. Stephie watches my mouth as I suck it off, pupils dilating. I pass it over, and her voice is faint as she thanks me.
She sips her hot milk and seems to think, brow creased. “You’d buy me clothing?” She says it like it’s an alien concept.
“I’d be delighted to give you anything you wanted.” Including myself, orgasms, more babies, and anything that can be bought with a billion or extorted with power. “Tomorrow?”
“I have a pregnancy scan I need to go to,” she admits. “There are tests and things. And I should work too, obviously.”
“Your boss will give you the day off.” We share a wry smile. “And besides, we’ll go to the scan together.”
“But—” she begins to protest.
“I want to be there,” I emphasise. “As the father.”
The scan is magical. A picture of our baby, in blurry black and white that makes my heart squeeze with emotion I didn’t expect.
Apparently, our baby isn’t in the right position to see a hint of the gender, but she offers that as an extra test we can do with a blood sample, and I overrule Stephie when she says she’ll wait.
I want all the tests. Including some extras that my princess doesn’t need to know about.
The technician is helpful in this regard, quietly nodding when I offer to fund new, upgraded equipment for the hospital we’re in, and not asking questions when I request a paternity test while Stephie is distracted.
I have to know who the father is.
The technician helpfully informs us that sex at this stage of pregnancy is absolutely fine, and Stephie blushes the colour of a tomato, which I find adorable.
Although, it does remind me uncomfortably of the night at the cabin.
The moment in the morning when she said nothing happened, but was so obviously embarrassed that I knew I’d been inappropriate.
But that’s forgotten when the technician hands us both photographs from the scan, and Stephie is clearly so pleased with it.
Me? I’d rather look at her, and her bump.
“Now, about those pyjamas.” I straighten my suit as we leave the clinic and try to disguise that I’m stunned by the tiny life in black and white that will be my responsibility.
“Pyjamas?” Stephie shakes her head, surprised.
I raise my eyebrows. “Have you forgotten what happened last night?”
She flushes bright red again, and I’m not sure why, but perhaps seeing me half naked was more impactful than I realised at the time.
“No. I just didn’t think you meant it.”
“I mean what I say, Stephie.” I raise one eyebrow.
She squirms.
“Besides, don’t we need baby clothes?”
“Not for another five months,” she scoffs.
“Better start now, then.” Because silly as it is, I’m excited. I can’t wait to meet this baby, and I want to spoil Stephie as she deserves. I shrug. “I like to be prepared.”