Chapter twenty-nine
The Level, Canary Wharf
Violet
Samantha and I arrive back at The Level with armfuls of baby gear.
We have shopped ‘til we literally dropped and ate two helpings of cake at different coffee shops.
The guards followed us around but kept their distance.
It was nice to be able to do something somewhat normal.
As we walk into the foyer, she asks, “What apartment are we taking the baby things to?”
“Um…” I stammer. “I don’t know. Harry will probably want to see them. He did pay for it all.”
“I can’t believe he handed you a bloody limitless credit card and told you to enjoy yourself.” She rolls her eyes. “I need one of them. Deep pockets, high patience threshold, and preferably a big dick that has stamina.”
“You best keep looking then,” I tell her. She gives me a curious look as if about to say something else but doesn’t. I know she’s been talking to my brother, Connor, but neither of them has mentioned anything.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” she says with a shrug. “Preferably before I’m too old to enjoy him.”
“Good evening, Miss Violet, Miss Samantha,” Matthew says as we enter.
He is a constant in this building. Always on the door, ensuring the people who live here can go about their business safely and with no challenges.
“Let me take those for you.” He plucks the bags both of us are carrying from our grasp.
“Do you not have someone to help you?” As he glances up, our two security staff walk in, also laden with bags.
He chuckles. “Ah I see, preparing for the new arrival. Where would you like to go?”
“Mr. Waite’s apartment please,” I say, and he nods. “Is he in?”
“I believe so, ma’am. Arrived back an hour ago, I think. Maybe around six.”
“Perfect. Thank you, Matthew.” We all follow him to the elevator and once piled inside—Samantha, me, our guards, and the bags—he sends us upward, into the clouds. I turn my back on the view outside and close my eyes. The tactic seems to be working to calm my fears as we rise.
Samantha prances in front of me toward Harry’s apartment when we arrive.
She is so comfortable now in these surroundings.
Recently, she was able to give up her job at both the clothes shop and Guilty Pleasures.
She told me she’d come into an inheritance.
It was enough to live on for a year while she returned to her studies and figured out her next steps.
She still lives in the same apartment we shared, but life is looking so much brighter.
Her nursing degree course starts in January.
She is incredibly excited to be moving forward in life.
Harry is waiting at the front door when we turn the corner. He walks out into the hallway and takes me in his arms, kissing me ferociously. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers. Samantha groans loudly.
“Pass the sick bucket,” she says. We ignore her. I don’t bloody care. This is what life is about, having someone who wants you.
“Did you get everything you wanted?” he asks, then looks up and sees his men starting to carry the vast number of bags around the corner and toward his apartment.
“I see you made a good start anyway.” Harrison nods to his head bodyguard, who was assigned to me today.
“Put them in the living room,” he instructs then looks at me. “I want to see everything you bought.”
“That’ll take a while,” I tell him.
“I’d be disappointed if it didn’t.”
After two hours of combing through bags and coming across things I forgot we bought, Samantha stands to leave.
She kisses my cheek and hugs me tight. “I’ll see you after Christmas,” she says.
“Have the most amazing day together.” She looks from Harry to me then back to him.
“I hope you’ve bought her something special.”
“It’s all in hand,” he replies with a wink. They give each other a knowing look.
“Have you both been conspiring?”
“It’s all for your benefit,” Samantha says, hugging me once more before leaving.
Harry and I watch her leave, then he takes my hand and leads me to the sofa. We sit down as we do every night, him in the corner with his arm around me as I lean back against him. It’s become our thing, our position. When we do it, I know I’m home.
“Mrs. D. is going to spend Christmas with her family,” he tells me. My eyes flick to him, hesitating on his expectant eyes. “I was thinking it might be quite a good time for you to move in full-time.”
“Really?”
“Only if you want to,” he adds quickly. “No pressure.”
“I’d love to.” Nothing else needs to be said. He knows how I feel about him. I settle back against his chest, and we sit and watch a drama TV show neither of us is really concentrating on. Every so often he strokes my arm or squeezes me a bit tighter.
“Are you ready for bed?” he asks as the closing credits play.
I mumble in assent, tiredness overwhelming me.
We both sit up, then he stands and pulls me to my feet.
His firm hand on my back guides me to his bedroom, which is now our bedroom.
As we step through the door, the familiar smell of the vanilla candle hits my nostrils.
Every night I stay, he lights it a few hours before we retire to prepare our space.
“You’re not going to sleep yet, Violet,” he says darkly. We’re standing in the middle of the room, and I glance at him. “I have a five-star rating to achieve first.”
He walks over to the tall windows that look out onto the city below, turning and holding out his hand.
I follow him, and he pulls me in front of him, wrapping his arms around my swollen stomach, then resting his chin on my shoulder.
“Out there,” he whispers softly. “The outside world. It’s something we need to endure. For years, doing that has been tough. But now, Violet, having you here with me will make it so much easier. My home has always been my sanctuary, but with you in it, it's my heaven.”
Warm lips touch my neck, starting below my earlobe and working downward.
As they reach my collarbone, he pauses—the air passing his lips flutters across my skin.
With each breath, my arousal heightens, his fingers drumming against my body.
“You are so fucking sexy,” he whispers, and flexes his hardened cock against my ass.
“I’m like a beached whale,” I argue.
“Yeah, but you’re my beached whale, and carrying our baby. That makes you completely irresistible.”
The following morning, I wake up to him wrapped around me, his hand splayed across my seven month’s pregnant stomach.
He’s snoring softly at my shoulder. When I look at the clock on the bedside table, it reads eight-thirty in the morning.
My eyes pop open as Harry’s phone starts to vibrate frantically somewhere in the room.
“Harry,” I hiss, “you’ve slept in. What time were you meant to be at work?”
“Who cares?” He mumbles. “Let’s stay in bed. It’s almost Christmas. Maybe I’ll call in sick.” I chuckle, my whole body pulsating softly.
“When was the last time you called in sick?”
“I’ve never had to do it before,” he says, “but I think today it’s required.”
“But you’re not sick.”
“I am. I have obsessive-compulsive Violet disorder, and I need to stay here with you.” He wriggles his arms from around me, kisses my shoulder, then gets out of bed.
“Where are you going?” I ask him, turning onto my other side.
“I’ll only be a minute.” He’s standing by the bed naked, scrolling through his phone.
“Now, that’s a sight I could get used to in the morning,” I say.
He smirks then returns to reading whatever he was a moment ago.
I shimmy over to him so I’m lying on his side of the bed, gazing up at him.
With one hand, I reach out and cup his balls, and his cock hardens.
He looks down at me, and I bite my lip. “That’s an even better view now.”
“Do you want something?” He raises an eyebrow. “Was last night still a four-star performance, or did I attain the magic five?"
“You attained and surpassed it,” I tell him, my free hand moving between my legs, touching myself where I’m now tender from his fingers and mouth.
“If you’re going to call off work, will we have a rerun now? Practice makes perfect.”
I wrap my fingers around his length, and he growls, a primal sound from deep within him.
It’s something I’ve come to expect, and it speaks directly to my libido.
He lowers himself down to sit beside me, his cock standing tall against his stomach. With one hand, he traces my collarbone then runs it down over my breasts, twisting each nipple as he goes. I gasp at the delicious mixture of pleasure and pain.
“How is down here feeling today?” he asks, touching my pussy.
“Tender? She had a lot of attention last night to obtain that magic star.”
I laugh, and unexpectedly he slides a finger inside me.
“Wet already for me,” he whispers. “Have you been a horny little vixen all night? Fucking me while you sleep?”
Our eyes meet, and his burn. “I’m going to make you come again, Violet, then you’re going to take my dick in your mouth, and I’ll feed you.”
***
On Christmas morning, we sit at the breakfast bar and dig into a plate of bacon and eggs.
Communication seems to have quietened this week—it’s as if everyone has taken a step back and is allowing us time together.
Today, all we have planned is a food frenzy and time lounging around in our Christmas onesies.
With no Mrs. D. at home, we were forced to purchase mountains of ready-to-cook fast food.
Even though the calories to be consumed are ridiculous, I will savor every last greasy bite.
“Can I give you your presents now?” he says. I woke up ravenous and insisted we eat first. He mumbled something in challenge but gave in within moments.
“Okay, but you better not have spoiled me. I only got you a little something this year.” He shrugs then jumps off his stool and wanders away along the corridor toward the bedrooms. He appears back holding a huge box wrapped in bright-red paper. “Harry, what have you bought? It's too much."
“Shut up, Violet,” he says, taking me by surprise. “Just come here and open the fucking gift. You could have bought me a packet of condoms and it would be enough. Having you here is the greatest Christmas gift I could wish for.” He places the box on the coffee table.
I walk over and start to strip away the paper. Underneath is a simple brown cardboard box. When I open it, it is filled with boxes of my perfume. I laugh out loud.
“Is one hundred bottles enough to keep you smelling like the place I want to bury myself night after night?” he says and grins. “You said you didn’t know what it was. I found it. This isn’t really a gift for you. It’s for me.”
“Greedy bastard,” I tease.
“Your gift is down here.” He takes my hand and leads me down the corridor toward our bedroom, but he keeps going.
The room beside ours has the door lying open.
When we step in, it’s empty of everything except a single white crib in the center.
“This will be our baby’s room,” he says, and my heart swells.
I love how he uses the word “our” when describing the bundle in my belly.
“Thank you,” I whisper, overcome with emotion. A sob of happiness catches in my throat.
“In the new year, I’ve arranged for a designer to meet with you and plan options for decoration. I assumed the little one would need to be in our room to begin with.”
He looks to me for reassurance, and I nod.
“So that gives you plenty of time to design the exact nursery you want depending on the sex.”
“You are fucking perfect,” I say, turning to him and wrapping my arms around his neck. “What the hell did I do to deserve you?” We kiss, gently at first then with more intensity. He is showing me I’m his, and I’m submitting to his domination.
“The real question is, what did a boy like me do to land you in his bed? Don’t sell yourself short. You, my darling, are the most amazing catch, and I still can’t believe you’re mine.”
Our kisses become more urgent, and I’m about to suggest moving to our bedroom when the buzzer sounds on the intercom system.
“Who the fuck could that be?” Harry mutters, annoyed.
“Ignore it,” I tell him. “Let’s get back to where we were.” The buzzer sounds again. He lets me go and strides out into the hallway. I follow behind him, pissed at being interrupted by a bell.
“What is it?” Harry snaps down the receiver.
“A present for Violet?” he repeats back to the caller, clearly confused.
“From whom?” His brows draw together. “And it’s safe? You’ve scanned it.”
Another pause. “Okay, bring it up.” He replaces the handset on the wall.
“There is a present from your mother at reception. It’s been through security and is marked as safe.”
“My mother? How would she be able to get something to me without my father knowing?”
He shrugs. “Your mother is a much more capable woman than you think.”
There is a knock at the door. Harry walks across, opens it, and takes the small blue box from the security guard.
“Thank you,” he says, passing him a note of some denomination I can’t see.
“Merry Christmas.” He brings the parcel to the kitchen counter, setting it down on the cool marble.
I wander over and run my hand over the paper, then pluck the gift card from the box, turning it over.
My eyes pop from my head as my stomach falls.
“That’s not my mother’s writing,” I stammer. “That’s Aiden’s.”
“Asshole,” Harry mutters, furious. He takes the tag from my fingers and turns it over to read the message.
Merry Christmas, Princess
Harry pulls the paper from the box. Inside is a mug with the image of our 4D scan printed on the side. But it’s the words that make me run to the toilet to wretch up my breakfast.
Daddy can’t wait to meet you, Baby Marley.