Page 209 of His Pretty Little Duet

Baby.

He is on his knees in front of me now. Warm hands pull mine from smothering my face. “Do not cover your face for any man. Do not cover your face foranyone.You are my queen. Chin high, sweet girl.” Holding my trembling hands in his, he stares at me. Inches from me. On the floor of this toilet. His eyes are shiny, intense, reaching inside my gaze to find my soul and hold it with authority and care. “Thank you for giving me this gift, sweet girl,” he says in a meaningful, deep timbre that is raw with severity. “I am going to devote my life to the children you make for me.”

I slowly shake my head, staring at my small hands protected in his large ones. Blinking at them, the tears rolling out with each bat of my lashes, I remember the first time I saw his hands. Remember how I considered all the men he had probably killed with them… Now, today, I visualise the way they will look so big, gently cradling a little baby.

“What if they ruin your life, Sir?” I peer up from his hands and meet the most striking clear-blue eyes. “What if you hate being a dad?”

“Impossible.” He lifts my chin. “You are my air, little deer. So any part of you is the reason I breathe.”

And I have my second good thing.

Clay Butcher: number one.

His heir: Number two

Clay

There have beenmany memorable moments in my life, events that changed the very fibres of me. That constructed Clay Butcher. The reasons I act. Behave. Work. My first kill and my mother’s reaction to it… changed me—hardened me.

And now this…

My little heirs.

This will forever mould me. Soften me. I can already feel it. I won’t be the man I was yesterday, as now I have more to lose, more to die for, more to smile for.

I stare at stunned, emotion-ridden, dual-coloured eyes as beads of tears blink through blonde lashes. She is my everything. Love happened quietly for me, and like most emotions, it brewed against my will. There is—was—no place for sentiment in my life… but I feel it anyway. A building upsurge, then just like a wave, it crashes. Now, I’m below the emotion of it all, surrounded by it as its current controls my every muscle, my every thought and motivation.

It is all her.

I didn’t look at the positive test until after I saw her eyes gloss over, until she had experienced the moment herself. This time, her pregnancy will behersfirst.

I slide the test into my pocket and say, “Stand, sweet girl.” She wobbles to her feet, and I slide her underwear and tight denim up her thighs, buttoning the jeans at her navel. I lean in and rub my nose along the little slit between her shirt and jeans, breathing her in. She’ll be full and round here. My cock twitches, thinking about her swelling, her smooth flesh stretching, making me an heir. I’ll keep her pregnant if I can. It’s a state I want her in. “You smell like you need my mouth on you, sweet girl. Let me take you home and spoil your pussy.”

She touches my jaw, and I straighten to my full height in front of her. “No,” she says. “I want you to make up with Max. Please. I want?—”

“As you wish,” I say, opening the door for her, then watching her precede me from the bathroom and down the corridor. She is a few metres away from me, but today, the distance grates like razor blades under my skin.

It’s too much.

I can’t touch her.

Her arse fills out her jeans. I watch the denim stretch around each perfect globe, imagining her belly round, stretching the fabric of her shirts as a feral kind of possessiveness cloaks me, consuming me.

My heart suddenly thrashes in my chest. My fingers dig into my palms, wanting to grip her arse. Feel the weight. Wanting to sink my cock between each cheek, work myself inside her puckering rim.

The need to fuck her, knowing she’s pregnant, spurs violent desire through my muscles, a course of adrenaline in my veins. To know I’m inside her in every way.

Walking behind her, I palm my cock and breathe hard, fighting with that need.

It wins.

Reaching forward, I slide my hand around her throat. A gasp rattles in my palm as I pull her backwards. Her lower back connects with my erection, and I grind against her. I growl by her ear, wildly territorial. Over her. The baby. The scent. She’s mine forever, and I don’t want to share her with them right now. I cup her pussy with my other hand and lessen some of my ache by dry fucking her lower back. “I need you to calm me down, sweet girl. Can’t think straight.”

Her throat rolls against my palm, and she tries to turn, but I don’t let her. I reach for the spare room door and guide her through it. I lock it.

Little feet rise to tippytoes to shuffle in front of me, trying to mind my gait, until we are at the side of the bed.

I bend her over it.

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