Zarah
I thought he'd be different with me now.
I don't know why.
Maybe it was the way he touched my stomach before I fell asleep, his palm wide and steady, like he already felt the future in me.
Or the way his eyes softened when I whispered "I'm yours" for the hundredth time, and he didn't correct me.
Just kissed my forehead and tucked the blanket higher around my chest.
But this morning?
This morning, I found a note at the foot of the bed.
In his sharp, slanted handwriting.
In the garden. Bring nothing. Wear nothing. You'll still kneel.
I read it twice.
My cheeks flushed before I even moved.
Because I already knew what it meant.
He wasn't going to treat me like glass.
Not even now.
The path to the garden was cool beneath my bare feet.
The air smelled like lemon leaves and sea salt and soil warmed by sun.
And there—at the center of the stone patio, beside a low marble bench—
He waited.
Dominic Ward.
Shirtless.
Barefoot.
Tattoos exposed in the light.
A man carved of stone and obsession—
And every inch of him was looking at me like he wanted to ruin and protect me at the same time.
"You came," he said, voice low.
"You asked."
"I told you. Just because you're carrying our child doesn't mean the rules change."
I nodded once.
"I don't want them to."
He stepped toward me.
Slid a hand around the back of my neck.
Tilted my chin up.
"Say it."
"Say what, sir?"
"That you still kneel for me."
My breath trembled.
But not from fear.
From need.
"I kneel for you," I whispered.
"Even pregnant?"
"Especially pregnant."
"Why?"
"Because now every part of me belongs to you twice."
His thumb dragged across my lower lip.
Slow.
Dangerous.
"Good girl."
I dropped to my knees.
Right there.
On the stone.
Cool against my skin, rough against the curve of my thighs.
I didn't flinch.
I sank.
He stood over me like a king watching his most devoted subject bare her soul.
Then he lowered himself slowly.
Kneeled in front of me.
Took my face in his hands and pressed our foreheads together.
"You're carrying my name," he said.
"My blood. My legacy."
"Yes."
"So I'm going to worship you now."
His mouth was on mine before I could answer.
Then on my throat.
Then lower.
His hands never stopped moving.
Not rough.
Not punishing.
Just claiming.
Possessive.
Holy.
And when he finally pushed me back onto the grass—
When he kissed down my belly like he already loved what was inside—
I cried.
Softly.
With my legs open.
With his name on my lips.
Because I didn't just kneel for him anymore.
He knelt for me too.
Dominic
She doesn't even snore.
That's what gets me.
All this power.
All this fire.
All this mouth.
And when she sleeps?
She's fucking silent.
Her hair's spread across the pillow like ink.
One thigh half-covered by the sheet, the other bent just enough to expose the curve of her ass—
And I know she's sore.
I know I made her ache.
But she didn't cry this time.
Not from pain.
Only from the weight of it all.
The knowing.
The love.
My hand rests on her stomach.
Not moving.
Just there.
Because there's something inside her that wasn't there before—
And it's mine.
I never wanted this.
Never imagined it.
A legacy? Sure.
A bloodline? Fine.
But not like this.
Not in a woman who softens me with a single glance.
Who disarms every violent part of me just by saying "yes, sir" like it means "I trust you to hold my heart in your fist and not crush it."
I don't speak the words.
But they echo anyway.
"Don't break her."
That's what I tell myself.
Over and over.
Every night.
Every time I look at her.
"Don't break her."
"Don't ruin her."
"Don't let your demons infect this thing you've built with your bare fucking hands."
Because this is the first time I've built something that isn't made of concrete and fear.
It's soft.
It's breakable.
It has her smile and her hips and her voice when she says "more."
I lean in.
Kiss her bare shoulder.
Then her temple.
She stirs.
But doesn't wake.
"I won't let the world near you," I whisper.
"I'll put your name on every wall."
"I'll fight anyone who questions how much I love you."
My voice shakes.
So I stop talking.
And I just watch her sleep.
Hand on her stomach.
Where the next piece of us waits.
Safe.
Whole.
Untouched by the violence that made me who I was—
Because now?
I'm something else entirely.
Because she made me human.
And now I'm hers.
