Dominic #3
My cock lies hard between us. She settles over it, wet heat dragging along the length of me, and I have to grip the sheets to keep from taking over.
“Touch me,” she says.
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
She takes my hands and puts one on her breast and the other low on her stomach. The choice is deliberate. So is the trust behind it.
I brush my thumb over her nipple. Her breath catches, and her hips roll against me.
“Too much?”
“No.” She presses into my palm. “Do it like that.”
I repeat the motion while she sets the pace, slow enough to make every pass of her slick pussy over my cock feel like a threat.
“Tell me why you brought me in here,” I say.
“Because I love you. Because I want you.”
“All of me?”
“Yes. Your child, your reliability, the orgasms, and the whole man attached to them.”
A laugh breaks from me.
“I’m serious,” she says. “I spent months pretending the things I wanted from you were practical benefits. I want the life that comes with you, Dominic.”
My hand tightens against her hip. She spent months making me feel useful. Now she’s telling me I’m necessary.
“I need you,” she says, her eyes holding mine. “And I’m done acting like that makes me weak.”
I start to pull her closer, but Elena braces a palm against my chest and keeps me where she wants me.
“I’m still in charge,” she says.
“I noticed.”
Her mouth curves. “Are you complaining?”
“I’m trying not to come before you let me inside you.”
Her smile fades. She looks down at my cock, then wraps her hand around it.
“I want you inside me.”
“Then take me.”
She rises onto her knees and guides me to her entrance. I hold her hips, but I don’t pull. This is hers—the pace, the angle, the moment she decides she’s ready.
Elena lowers herself over me one careful inch at a time. Her body takes me, hot and tight, until she’s seated fully in my lap.
For a second, neither of us moves.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Better than okay.” She takes my hand from her hip and places it over her stomach again. “You can be happy and scared.”
“I’m both.”
“Me too.” Her fingers lace through mine. “Now distract me.”
She lifts and sinks onto me again.
A curse tears out of me. Elena does it a second time, watching my face while she learns exactly how much control she has.
All of it.
“No agreement,” I say, my voice already rough. “No schedule. No ovulation window. You’re riding my cock because you chose me.”
“Yes.”
She rolls her hips, taking me deeper, and my head hits the headboard.
“Fuck, Elena.” I drag my hands up her sides, stopping where she placed them. “You came back, climbed on top of me, and told me you want my whole life. You have no idea what that does to me.”
“I think I’m figuring it out.”
Her rhythm builds. My hips lift once on instinct, and I force them back to the mattress. The muscles in my thighs shake with the effort to let her keep every inch of control.
Elena takes my right hand and slides it between us.
“Here,” she says.
I press my thumb to her clit. She covers my hand with hers, showing me the pressure she wants while she keeps moving over my cock.
“Like that?”
“Exactly like that.”
Her movements turn faster, less controlled. I circle her clit beneath her hand and feel every tremor she tries to hide.
“Dominic.”
My name leaves her without an order from me, and it lands harder because she gives it freely.
“I love you,” she says.
The words go straight through me. I grip her hip with my free hand, holding myself still while she takes what she wants from my body.
Her thighs tighten around mine. She leans down until her forehead rests against mine, her breath breaking across my mouth.
“I choose you.”
She comes with my name caught between us, her body clenching around my cock as she keeps moving through it. I hold on long enough to feel her pleasure take her, then the last of my control gives way.
I come inside her with her hand still over mine and her eyes locked on me. She chose me. The thought is simple enough to fit on one line, and solid enough that I don’t need it in writing.
When our breathing begins to slow, she lifts off me and settles beside me. I turn toward her immediately.
I pull the blanket over us and rest my palm on her stomach.
“Was that careful enough?” I ask.
“You were one question away from making me complete a satisfaction survey.”
“Actionable feedback is always appreciated.”
She laughs into my chest. “It was perfect.”
I hold her until the frantic pace of our breathing slows into a shared rhythm. When I close my eyes, I know she’ll still be here when I open them.
An hour later, Elena sits at the kitchen table wearing my shirt while I place a glass of water in front of her.
She looks at it, then at me. “Are you monitoring my hydration?”
“Yes.”
“You found out I’m pregnant less than two hours ago.”
“And you’ve had half a mug of coffee since I arrived.”
“I drank water today.”
“How much?”
She narrows her eyes.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I’m going to regret telling you.”
“No, you’re going to remain properly hydrated.”
A small smile pulls at her mouth as she takes a drink.
Her smile unties a final knot of tension in my chest. We don’t need the old rules. We need new ones. Our ones. I find a pen beside her laptop and pull a sheet from the cabin’s notepad.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Replacing the contract.”
Her smile disappears. “Dominic.”
“You’ll like this one.”
“I hated the last one.”
“You wrote most of it.”
“That was a product of emotional duress.”
“You revised it with independent counsel.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours.”
The answer quiets her.
I number the page.
“What are the terms?” she asks.
“I will show up.”
She watches as I write it down.
“I will bring notebooks to every appointment, even when you mock me for it.”
“That needs to be limited to one notebook per appointment.”
“Rejected.”
“You can’t just reject it. That’s not how negotiating works.”
“I just did.”
I add the next line.
“I will get the water.”
“That isn’t a relationship term.”
“It’s essential.”
“It’s overreach.”
“It’s a glass of water, Elena.”
“It starts with water. Next you’ll be monitoring caffeine and trying to buy a fetal heart monitor.”
I look at her.
“Oh my God. You already thought about buying one.”
“I’m evaluating available information.”
“You’ve known for two hours.”
“I work quickly.”
She taps the pen against the table once, as if marking a clause. “No unsupervised medical purchases.”
“We can discuss that with your doctor.”
“Our doctor.”
My hand freezes over the paper. I. One word, and she’s rewritten everything. It’s not her plan and my participation. It’s ours.
Elena’s cheeks turn pink, but her gaze is steady. She doesn’t take it back.
I continue writing.
“I will tell you what I know, what I want, and what scares me.”
Her attention returns to the page.
“I will listen when you ask me not to solve something. I will choose you when the choice is difficult. We will talk before silence becomes a way out.”
I pause, the pen hovering over the bottom of the page. The old agreement contained clauses for termination, for separation. Protections against the worst possible outcome. This one needs the opposite.
I write the final, most important term.
I love you. This isn’t an emotional entanglement to eliminate. This is the point. No exit clauses.
I turn the page toward her.
Elena reads it slowly.
Her eyes fill by the time she reaches the last line. She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes for a moment, then looks back at the page.
“I need you to stop making me cry.”
“I can add that as an objective. I won’t guarantee performance.”
She laughs softly and reads the page again.
“What happens if one of us breaches the terms?”
“We say it out loud. We apologize. We repair what we can.”
“No termination clause?”
“No.”
“No expiration after conception?”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
She plucks the pen from my fingers.
“You don’t need to sign it,” I say.
“I know.”
Elena bends over the paper and writes one word beneath the final line.
Accepted.
She makes two precise folds in the page before pressing it to her chest.
“I’m keeping this.”
“It’s yours.”
She stands and comes around the table. She takes my hand, places it flat against her stomach, then covers it with her own.
“Ours,” she corrects, her voice soft but firm.
It’s not just my child or her body. It’s ours. The single word is a promise, more binding than any contract we ever signed, and it’s the only one we’ll ever need.
I slide my other arm around her and kiss her slowly.
Tomorrow, we’ll book a flight home. Call a doctor. Tell the people who need to know. Begin the work of combining two lives neither of us knows how to share yet.
Tonight, she leads me back toward the bedroom.
This time, I stay.