Chapter 16
sixteen
. . .
Jerald
The small velvet box burns a hole in my pocket as I wait for closing time.
Three weeks since that storm locked us in together, and I already know she's the only woman I'll ever want.
The only one I'll ever need. Some might say it's too soon—that we barely know each other—but they don't understand what we found that night.
What we've built since then. She's mine in every way but the most official, most permanent one.
Time to fix that. I've chosen the exact spot for this—the quiet corner of the Ancient Egypt wing where she first showed me her favorite ushabti figure, where she opened up about her passion for the overlooked artifacts that others ignore.
Where she first let me see the real Tatianna beneath the shy exterior.
She thinks we're just staying late to catalog a new acquisition.
She has no idea I'm about to claim her permanently, irreversibly. Legally. Mine.
The last straggling visitor finally leaves, the doors lock, and it's just us and the night cleaning crew.
Tatianna sits at her desk, glasses perched on her nose as she updates the database with information about a collection of Roman coins.
She's so fucking beautiful when she concentrates—brow slightly furrowed, teeth catching her lower lip, completely absorbed in her work.
The same focus she gives me when I'm buried inside her, when I'm telling her exactly how I want to breed her, fill her, own her completely.
"Almost done?" I ask, approaching her desk with deliberate casualness.
She looks up, her face immediately softening with that smile she reserves only for me. "Just finishing up. Did you want to head out soon?"
"Thought we could check on that new Egyptian piece first," I suggest, the lie coming easily. "Make sure the climate controls are working properly in that display case."
She nods, saving her work and removing her glasses. "Good idea. The humidity levels were fluctuating yesterday."
My heart pounds harder with each step we take toward the Egyptian wing.
The weight of the ring in my pocket seems to grow heavier, more significant.
I've never been nervous about anything in my life—not in combat, not in the face of death—but the thought of this moment, of making her irrevocably mine, has my palms sweating like a teenager's.
The Egyptian gallery is empty, the artifacts bathed in soft lighting designed to protect them while still highlighting their features. I guide her with a hand at the small of her back, steering her toward the corner display where her favorite piece resides.
"I don't see any new acquisitions," she says, confusion evident in her voice as she looks around.
"That's because there aren't any," I admit, turning her to face me. "I wanted to bring you here for something else."
Her brow furrows slightly, those big innocent eyes looking up at me with curiosity. "What is it?"
This isn't how I planned to start—wanted to say something poetic, meaningful, worthy of her—but standing here, looking down at her perfect face, I can only speak the truth that pounds through my veins with every heartbeat.
"I need you to be mine," I say simply, taking her small hands in my much larger ones. "Not just now. Not just when it's convenient. Forever."
Her lips part in surprise as understanding begins to dawn. "Jerald..."
"When that storm hit, when we got locked in together, I'd already been watching you for eight months," I continue, the words pouring out now.
"Eight months of wanting you, needing you, planning how I'd approach you.
Then fate stepped in and gave me what I'd been waiting for—the chance to make you mine. "
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, her fingers tightening around mine.
"These past weeks have only confirmed what I already knew that first night—you're perfect for me. The way you respond to my touch, to my voice, to my claim. The way you call me 'Daddy' like you were born to say that word. The way you surrender everything to me and trust me to keep you safe."
I release one of her hands to reach into my pocket, pulling out the small velvet box. Her eyes widen as I drop to one knee before her, looking up at the woman who's become my entire world in such a short time.
"I need you to be my wife," I tell her, opening the box to reveal the ring inside—a simple solitaire diamond set in platinum, elegant and timeless like her.
"Need to know you're mine in every way possible.
Need to put my name on you, my ring on your finger, my baby in your belly.
Need everyone who looks at you to know you belong to me. "
Tears spill down her cheeks now, but her smile is radiant, blinding in its joy. "Yes," she whispers, then louder: "Yes, Daddy. Yes."
The primitive satisfaction that roars through me at her acceptance is unlike anything I've ever felt. I slip the ring onto her finger—a perfect fit, just like everything between us—before rising to my feet and claiming her mouth in a kiss that's equal parts tenderness and possession.
"Mine," I growl against her lips, my hands already working at the buttons of her blouse. "Fucking mine forever now."
"Yours," she agrees breathlessly, her small fingers working just as urgently at my uniform shirt. "Always yours."
We don't make it out of the Egyptian wing.
Don't even try. The need to claim her, to mark this moment with the most primal connection possible, overwhelms any concern about security cameras or cleaning staff.
I back her against the wall beside her favorite display, lifting her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I free myself from my pants.
"Going to make you my wife," I promise as I push her skirt up, finding her already wet and ready for me. "Going to breed you full of my babies. Going to keep you forever."
"Please," she begs, her new ring glinting in the soft museum lighting as she clings to my shoulders. "Please, Daddy."
I thrust into her with one powerful stroke, burying myself to the hilt inside her perfect heat. The ancient artifacts watch impassively as I claim my future wife against the wall, as I mark this commitment in the most primitive way possible.
"Our little one's gonna know exactly how badly Daddy wanted you, little girl," I growl, setting a punishing pace that makes her cry out with each thrust. “How I claimed you in every corner of this museum. How perfect their mother was taking Daddy's cock."
She moans at the filthy words, her inner walls clenching around me in that way that tells me she's close already. The ring on her finger catches the light with each movement, sending flashes of brilliance across the dimly lit gallery.
"Mine," I chant with each thrust, the word becoming a prayer, a promise, a vow more binding than any we'll exchange in front of witnesses. "Mine. Mine. Mine."
"Yours," she gasps, her head falling back against the wall, exposing the slender column of her throat where faded marks from previous claims are still visible. "All yours, Daddy."
The artifacts around us have witnessed thousands of years of human history—births, deaths, wars, peace.
Now they witness this: my claiming of the woman who will bear my name, my children, my legacy.
My teeth find her neck again, refreshing the mark there, making sure everyone who sees her tomorrow will know exactly who she belongs to.
"Going to marry you as soon as possible," I promise against her skin. "No long engagement. Want you as my wife now."
"Yes," she agrees instantly, her body tightening around me as her climax approaches. "Soon. Please, Daddy."
Her compliance, her willingness to be mine completely, pushes me closer to the edge. I drive into her harder, deeper, my need to fill her, to breed her, almost painful in its intensity.
"When you walk down that aisle," I growl, nipping at her earlobe, "you're going to be carrying my baby already. Everyone will know what I've done to you, how thoroughly I've claimed you."
The imagery—Tatianna in white, belly already rounding with my seed—sends me hurtling toward release. I can tell from her desperate whimpers, from the way her inner walls flutter around me, that she's just as close.
"Come for me," I command, reaching between us to circle her sensitive bundle of nerves with my thumb. "Come on Daddy's cock while I fill you up."
She shatters instantly, her body convulsing around mine, her cry echoing off the ancient displays. Her climax triggers my own, and I bury myself as deep as physically possible before letting go, pumping stream after stream of hot seed into her womb.
She clings to me through her aftershocks, her legs locked around my waist, keeping me buried inside her as if reluctant to lose a single drop of my release. The sight of my ring on her finger as she grips my shoulders sends another possessive thrill through me.
When our breathing finally slows, when I can trust my legs to support us both, I carefully lower her to her feet, keeping her steady as she finds her balance. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses, her hair a tangled mess from my hands. She's never looked more beautiful.
"My wife," I say, testing the word on my tongue, finding it fits perfectly. "My Tatianna."
She smiles up at me, that sweet, innocent smile that's so at odds with the filthy things she lets me do to her body. Her finger traces the line of my jaw with reverent tenderness.
"My husband," she replies, her voice soft with wonder. "My Jerald."
I help her straighten her clothing, unable to stop touching her even for these practical matters. When we're both presentable again—or as presentable as possible given what we've just done—I take her left hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss the ring that now marks her as mine.
"I know it's fast," I acknowledge, the closest I'll come to apologizing for the speed of this commitment. "But when you know, you know."
"It's perfect," she assures me, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Everything about us is perfect."
And as we walk hand in hand through the silent museum, past the artifacts and exhibits that witnessed our beginning, I'm filled with savage satisfaction. She's mine now—wearing my ring, carrying my name soon, perhaps already growing my child inside her.
Mine forever.