Chapter 10
ten
. . .
I wander through the penthouse in bare feet, trailing my fingers along the cool marble countertops in the kitchen.
Three weeks have passed since Sutton brought me here, since he claimed me in every way a man can claim a woman.
Three weeks of passion and protection, of being cherished and controlled in equal measure.
I should feel trapped in this gilded cage, but instead, I feel free—free from fear, free from uncertainty, free from the crushing weight of my former life.
The irony isn't lost on me. I've traded one form of possession for another, but this one feels like salvation rather than imprisonment.
Sutton is in his office, door closed but not locked, the low murmur of his voice carrying faintly through the wood.
Another business call, I assume. He's been busier than usual lately, something about a merger or acquisition that requires his constant attention.
I've learned not to ask too many questions about his work—not because he refuses to answer, but because the complexities of his business empire are beyond my limited understanding.
I'm about to turn away, head back to the living room and the book I abandoned on the couch, when I hear my name.
The sound of it in his mouth, even muffled by the door, sends a familiar shiver down my spine.
I freeze, guilt warring with curiosity as I find myself pressing closer to the door, straining to hear.
"...need to ensure she never leaves," Sutton is saying, his voice harder than I'm used to hearing it when he speaks about me. "The legal options are too tenuous. She's of age, but barely. Any claim I make could be challenged."
A pause as whoever's on the other end responds.
"No, that's not soon enough. I want it done within the year." Another pause. "A baby changes everything. It creates a permanent bond that can't be severed, no matter what happens between us."
My breath catches in my throat, heart pounding so loudly I'm certain he must hear it through the door. A baby? Sutton wants to get me pregnant?
"The prenup is being drafted, but it's the pregnancy I want to focus on. She's young, fertile. It shouldn't take long once I stop using protection."
I back away from the door, my legs unsteady beneath me.
He's been planning this—planning to get me pregnant without discussing it with me, planning to create a "permanent bond" to ensure I never leave him.
The calculation in his voice, the cold strategy of it, should terrify me.
Should make me run as far and as fast as I can.
Instead, a confusing heat pools low in my belly at the thought of Sutton inside me with nothing between us, his seed filling me, taking root in my womb. The idea of carrying his child—tangible proof of his possession—sends a flush of warmth through my entire body.
What's wrong with me? This is manipulation, control at its most primal level. I should be outraged. I should confront him.
But I'm not, and I won't. Because beneath the shock, beneath the indignation at not being consulted, there's a dark thrill at being wanted this completely, this consumingly. At being the focus of an obsession so powerful it drives a man like Sutton to such extremes.
I retreat to the bedroom, mind racing as I try to process what I've just learned. By the time I hear his office door open an hour later, I've worked myself into a state of conflicted arousal that has me pacing the room like a caged animal.
"Cecily?" His voice precedes him, and then he's there, filling the doorway with his powerful presence. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in my flushed cheeks, my agitated movements. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I lie, unable to meet his gaze directly. "Just restless."
He crosses the room in three long strides, his hand catching my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Don't lie to me," he says, his voice soft but with that undercurrent of steel that makes my knees weak. "Something's bothering you. Tell me."
I swallow hard, trapped in the intensity of his gaze. "I... I overheard you. On the phone."
A flicker of something—surprise, then calculation—crosses his face. His hand doesn't leave my chin, keeping me pinned in place as he processes my admission. "What did you hear?"
"You want to get me pregnant," I whisper, the words sending another inappropriate surge of heat through me. "To keep me from leaving you."
His expression doesn't change, doesn't soften in apology or harden in anger at being caught. If anything, his eyes grow more intent, more focused on my face as if searching for clues to my reaction.
"Yes," he says simply, the admission stealing the breath from my lungs. No denial, no excuse, just that single word of confirmation. "I want you to carry my child. I want to make sure that no matter what happens, there will always be a connection between us that can't be broken."
"Why didn't you discuss it with me?" I ask, my voice steadier than I expected.
His thumb traces my lower lip, the gesture possessive and oddly tender. "Would you have agreed?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications. Would I? Would I willingly tie myself to him in the most permanent way possible, at seventeen, with no education, no job skills, nothing to my name but the clothes he's bought me and the body he worships nightly?
"I don't know," I answer honestly.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "That's why I didn't ask." His hand slides from my chin to my throat, resting there lightly, a reminder of his strength, his control. "You're mine, Cecily. Mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to breed."
The last word sends a visible shudder through me, and his eyes darken with understanding.
"You like that idea," he says, not a question but a statement of fact. "The thought of carrying my child excites you."
I should deny it. Should be horrified that he can read me so easily, that my body betrays me so completely. But I'm tired of fighting the inevitable, tired of pretending I don't want exactly what he wants to give me.
"Yes," I whisper, and the admission feels like surrender and victory all at once.
His smile turns predatory, triumphant. "Good girl," he praises, and warmth floods me at the simple words. "Because tonight, I'm going to fill you with my seed. And I'm not going to stop until I know it's taken root inside you."
Before I can process the crude promise, his mouth is on mine, hungry and demanding.
His hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him so I can feel the hard length of him through his trousers.
I melt into him, opening to the invasion of his tongue, surrendering to the waves of desire that crash over me whenever he touches me.
He walks me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed, then pushes me down, looming over me with dark intent in his eyes. "Take off your clothes," he commands, his voice rough with need. "I want to see all of you."
My fingers tremble as I comply, peeling off the simple sundress I've been wearing around the penthouse, then my underwear, until I'm naked beneath his heated gaze.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes roaming over me with possessive appreciation. "So perfect. So made for me."
He undresses with efficient movements, revealing the powerful body I've come to know so intimately over the past weeks. When he's as naked as I am, he joins me on the bed, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his hardness hot against my thigh.
"Tell me you want this," he demands, his hand sliding between us to find me already wet for him. "Tell me you want me to fill you with my cum, to put my baby inside you."
The crude words should shock me, should repel me. Instead, they send a flood of moisture to my core, my body preparing itself eagerly for his possession.
"I want it," I gasp as his fingers circle my clit, teasing but not giving the direct pressure I crave. "I want you inside me. No barriers."
A growl of satisfaction rumbles from his chest. He positions himself at my entrance, the blunt head of him pressing against me without pushing in. "Say it," he commands, his eyes burning into mine. "Say what you want me to do."
Heat floods my cheeks, but I hold his gaze, caught in the spell of his obsession. "I want you to cum inside me," I whisper, the words foreign on my tongue but undeniably exciting. "I want you to get me pregnant."
That's all the permission he needs. He thrusts forward, entering me in one powerful stroke that makes me cry out—not in pain, but in the overwhelming pleasure of feeling him so completely, with nothing between us for the first time.
"So tight," he groans, holding still for a moment as my body adjusts to the invasion. "So perfect around me. Like you were made to take my cock, to carry my child."
He begins to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. It's different from our previous encounters—more intense, more primal, the stakes somehow higher with the knowledge of his intentions.
"Look at you," he murmurs, one hand sliding up to cup my breast, thumb circling the sensitive nipple.
"These will swell when you're carrying my baby.
Your belly will round with my seed growing inside you.
" His thrusts grow harder, more insistent.
"Everyone will know you're mine, that I've claimed you in the most basic way possible. "
His dirty talk pushes me closer to the edge, the taboo nature of it only heightening my arousal. There's something darkly thrilling about being wanted this completely, this possessively. About being the object of an obsession so total it drives a man to claim me in the most permanent way possible.
"You like that idea, don't you?" he presses, his hand leaving my breast to slide between us, finding that bundle of nerves that makes me see stars. "The thought of being bred by me. Marked as mine forever."
"Yes," I gasp, my hips rising to meet his thrusts, chasing the pleasure his words and body promise. "Yes, Sutton, please."
His control begins to slip, his rhythm growing erratic as his own release approaches. In our previous encounters, this is when he would withdraw, spilling himself on my stomach or thighs. But tonight, his hands grip my hips harder, holding me in place for his deepest penetration.
"Tell me again," he demands, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you to cum inside me," I breathe, beyond shame, beyond anything but the desperate need for completion. "I want to feel it. I want... I want your baby."
The last admission tears a guttural sound from his throat. His thrusts become almost punishing in their intensity, his fingers working my clit with merciless precision until I'm teetering on the edge of release.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice rough with strain. "Come around my cock while I fill you with my seed."
My orgasm crashes over me with his words, my body clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever. He follows a moment later, his release hot and pulsing deep inside me as my name tears from his throat in a hoarse cry.
He collapses on top of me, his weight a welcome pressure, his breath hot against my neck. His hand slides down to rest possessively on my lower abdomen, as if he can already feel the life he hopes to create taking root.
"Mine," he murmurs against my skin, the word both a claim and a prayer. "Forever mine."
And as I lie there, filled with him in the most intimate way possible, I can't bring myself to regret what we've just done.
Can't bring myself to fear the potential consequences.
Because for all his manipulation, all his calculated planning, Sutton has given me something I never thought I'd have—a sense of belonging, of being valued, of being essential to someone's existence.
Maybe it's not the healthiest foundation for bringing a new life into the world. But it's more than I ever had before him. And for now, that's enough.