Chapter 29 #2
"Because you're mine." He positions himself between my legs, the head of his cock pressing against me. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Adrian. Always."
He pushes inside in one hard thrust, and I cry out at the fullness. At thirty-three weeks pregnant, everything feels more intense. More sensitive. More overwhelming.
"Fuck," he groans. "You feel incredible."
He moves slowly at first, careful of my belly, but his control is fraying. I can feel it in the tension of his muscles. The way his breathing gets ragged.
"Harder," I tell him. "I won't break."
"The baby—"
"Is fine. The doctor said so." I push him away from me, groaning as he slips out of my body.
"What?"
I get on my knees, turning around so I'm on all fours. But because I know my husband likes to watch, I move so that I'm facing the end of the bed where our mirror is.
"Sera..." His large hand caresses my ass, and I shiver remembering how his cock felt inside my ass.
"I need you, Adrian. Please." I feel my wetness slipping down my thighs.
He groans, grabbing a pillow and placing it under my stomach. The care he takes with me makes me clench in need.
"What a dirty girl you are, my pretty little wife." He swats at my ass, and I yelp slightly in surprise. "Presenting your ass to me." He slaps me again, and I groan. "Like a bitch in heat."
He presses a finger into my ass, and I cry out.
"Do you want me to fuck your ass?"
He's barely touching me, but I'm so ready I can't answer.
He doesn't care. His hand comes down on me again, and I gasp. "Adrian," I cry. "Please."
"Answer me, my sweet little wife. Do you want me to fuck your ass?"
I shake my head.
He stops, pulling his finger out of my ass quickly.
I gasp. "No, no," I beg, turning around. "I just need you inside my pussy. Please." I'm practically crying, I need him so badly. "I need you to come inside me, to feel it, to remember who owns me."
That's all he needs. He shifts my hips, angles deeper, and thrusts inside me so hard I scream. He fucks me with the intensity I crave. It's not gentle. It's not tender. It's raw and desperate and exactly what we both need.
He's going so hard that my face is pressed into the pillow, biting the lush fabric to keep myself from screaming.
"Mine," he pants, snapping his hips harder. "My wife. My son. My family."
"Yes," I sob. "Yours. All yours."
His hand slides between us, finding my clit, and I'm already so close. So wound up. It only takes a few strokes before I'm shattering around him.
He follows immediately, groaning my name as he comes, filling me.
We collapse together, both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, his hand protective on my belly.
"I love you," he says roughly. "In case that wasn't clear."
I smile. "It was pretty clear."
"Good." He kisses me again, softer this time. "Because I'm not saying it again today. Used up my quota."
I laugh. "Noted."
The bath is my idea.
We're both sticky, and I'm sore, and the thought of warm water sounds perfect.
Adrian fills the massive tub while I sit on the edge, watching. It's big enough for two, deep enough to submerge completely. He adds some of the bath oil I like, lavender and something else I can't identify, and the room fills with steam.
He checks the water, making sure it's not too hot for the baby. I appreciate how much he cares for our son, even though he's not yet here.
It softens any piece of hardness I still carry for him.
"In," he orders, helping me step over the edge.
The water is perfect, and I sink down with a groan of relief, feeling my muscles relax.
Adrian slides in behind me, pulling me back against his chest. His legs bracket mine, and his arms wrap around me protectively.
"This is nice," I murmur.
"Mm." His lips press to my temple. "We should do this more often."
"You're never home long enough."
"I will be. After the baby comes, I'll be home more." His hand finds my belly again. Always touching. Always checking. "I'm not missing this. Not missing him growing up."
"You say that now—"
"I mean it, Seraphina. I'll be here. I'll be present. I'll be a father." His voice is fierce.
"Bianca—"
"Bianca can go fuck herself."
I believe him. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I'm being naive. But I believe him.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while. Then Adrian reaches for the shampoo.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Taking care of you." He starts working the shampoo through my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp. "Relax."
I do. Because this—Adrian washing my hair, taking care of me without it being about sex or control—is new. Intimate in a different way.
"I'm scared," I admit quietly.
"Of what?"
"Everything. Labor. Being a mother. Keeping him safe." I close my eyes. "What if I'm not enough? What if I can't protect him from this world?"
His hands are gentle, thorough. "I'll protect him. Both of you. That's my job."
"But what if—"
"No what ifs." He tips my head back, rinsing the shampoo.
"You make it sound simple."
"It's not. But we'll manage." He starts on the conditioner.
I turn slightly to look at him. "When did you get so optimistic?"
"I'm not optimistic. I'm determined." His eyes meet mine. "I refuse to lose you. Either of you. So we'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. To raise him right. To give him a better childhood than I had."
"That's a low bar."
"Then we'll exceed it." He kisses my shoulder. "Trust me."
"I do." And I mean it. Against all logic, against everything that should tell me not to, I trust him. "I want to see the nursery."
He pauses. "Now?"
"After the bath. I want to see what you've been planning."
Something shifts in his expression. "Okay."
After we're both clean and dried off, Adrian leads me down the hall to a room I've passed a dozen times but never entered.
"I've been waiting," he says, hand on the doorknob. "For you to be ready. For us to be ready."
I feel nervous, so I just nod.
He opens the door.
It's a nursery. It's filled with all the furniture we picked out, but in the corner, I see something different.
A beautiful, intricately carved crib.
"My great-great-great-grandfather hand-carved that crib. He brought it to New York when he came."
I run my hands over the wood, loving the intricate detail. I smile slightly at the sight of teeth marks and wonder which Nero baby left those.
On a chair nearby is a baby blanket. Hand-knitted, soft blue, slightly faded with age.
And on the windowsill is a book. Small, leather-bound, well-worn.
"My Nona made the blanket," Adrian says quietly. "For me. When I was born. I kept it."
I move to the chair, pick up the blanket. It's soft. Loved. "It's beautiful."
"I know we picked out a crib, but I thought you might like something from my family, though I know that might bother you. The Nero... well... we are complex, but it's tradition to pass things down, especially from son to son."
"It doesn't bother me." I run my hand over the polished wood. "Your son deserves his legacy. The good parts of it."
"And the book." He picks it up, shows me. "Nursery rhymes. My Nona used to read them to me."
I take the book, flip through pages filled with Italian verses and faded illustrations. "These are perfect."
"I should have said something when we'd been shopping, but I wanted to have the crib inspected..."
My heart swells. "You've been thinking about this a lot."
"Of course I have. He's my son."
I look around, imagining. "I want the nursery to be soft and warm. Homey."
"What colors?"
"I used to think neutral. Silver maybe. Gray." I smile. "But if he has your eyes, we'll lose him in a silver room."
Adrian laughs. Actually laughs. "Fair point."
"Maybe blue. Soft blue. With white furniture. Nothing too babyish. Just... clean. Simple." I touch the walls reverently. "When he's older, he can decide what he wants to decorate it with."
"We can do that." He pulls me against him, hands on my belly. "We'll paint it next weekend. Together."
"You're going to help me paint?" I smirk. "Have you ever even painted?"
"I'm going to do whatever you need me to do." His lips find my neck. "How hard can it be?"
I close my eyes, letting myself feel this moment. This peace. This hope.
We're going to be okay. All three of us.
We're going to figure this out.
Together.
"What about names?" I ask. "We never settled on one."
"We have time."
"Not much."
"Enough." He turns me to face him. "What matters is that he's ours. That we protect him. That we give him everything we didn't have."
"Love," I say softly.
"Yes. Love." He kisses me. "And I do love you, Seraphina. In case I haven't made that clear."
"You've made it clear." I press my hand over his heart. "And I love you too."
He kisses me. Deep and claiming and full of everything we can't say with words.
And for the first time since this all began, I feel it.
Hope.
Not just survival. Not just acceptance.
Actual hope for our future.
It won't be easy. This life never is.
But we'll face it together.
As partners. As husband and wife. As parents.
Bianca told me I was the power behind Adrian, his eyes, his neck. In reality, we power one another. She couldn't see that because she valued power more than family.
I'm the opposite.
Family will always come first.