Page 108 of Sexting the Billionaire

Whitaker studies me for a moment, then nods. "Take care, Roman. Both professionally and personally."

I return to my office, sending Zara home early and clearing my schedule for the evening. For once, business can wait. Tonight belongs to Cassie, to us, to the new life we've created.

When Cassie arrivesat my penthouse that evening, she looks simultaneously exhausted and radiant. She's carrying takeout bags from our favorite Italian place and a small envelope I immediately recognize as containing sonogram images.

"How did it go with the board?" she asks after I take the food from her hands and kiss her properly.

"About as expected. They're concerned but manageable. We'll implement some governance changes, make an official statement." I guide her to the couch. "But enough about that. Show me."

Her smile is luminous as she hands me the envelope. "It doesn't look like much yet. Just a blob, really. But there's a heartbeat."

I open the envelope with careful fingers, pulling out the grainy black and white image. She's right—it's small, indistinct, nothing like the clear baby shapes you see in movies. And yet, knowing what it is, what it represents, makes it the most remarkable thing I've ever seen.

"That's our baby," I say, my voice thick with emotion I don't try to disguise.

"That's our baby," she confirms, leaning against me as we both stare at the image. "The doctor says everything looks good, though she wants to monitor my blood pressure. Apparently, it's running a bit low."

"Is that dangerous?" I ask, immediately concerned.

"Not usually. Just something to watch." She takes the sonogram back, tracing the tiny shape with her fingertip. "I made another appointment for two weeks from now. You'll come to that one?"

"Try keeping me away," I say, pulling her closer.

We eat dinner on the couch, talking about her appointment, about names, about everything except the board meeting and Grant's press release. It's a deliberate bubble of normalcy in what will likely become an increasingly complicated situation.

After dinner, as we're clearing the containers, Cassie looks up at me with an expression I can't quite read.

"You didn't tell the board about the baby, did you?" she asks.

"No," I say immediately. "That's our news to share when we're ready."

Relief softens her features. "Good. I'm not ashamed of it, but I'm not ready for the whole world to know yet. I want to get past the first trimester, at least."

"Whatever you want," I assure her, pulling her into my arms. "This is your body, your experience. I'm just along for the ride."

She laughs against my chest. "That's not how I remember it happening."

"Fair point," I concede, pressing a kiss to her hair. "But you're the one doing the hard part now."

She tilts her face up to mine, her expression turning serious. "We're both doing hard parts, Roman. You faced the board today. You're managing a potential PR crisis. You're figuring out how to be a father without any good examples. None of that is easy."

The simple acknowledgment of my struggles, so freely given, hits me with unexpected force. I've spent so long projecting invulnerability that having someone see through it—and accept it without judgment—still catches me off guard.

I lower my mouth to hers, pouring everything I can't articulate into the kiss. She responds immediately, arms winding around my neck as she rises on tiptoes to meet me. What begins as tenderness quickly transforms into hunger, my hands sliding beneath her shirt to find warm skin.

"Bedroom," she murmurs against my mouth. "Now."

I'm happy to comply, lifting her easily and carrying her through the penthouse. Her legs wrap around my waist, her mouth never leaving mine as I navigate the familiar path.

In the bedroom, I lay her gently on the bed, my hands suddenly uncertain. "Is this okay? With the baby, I mean?"

She smiles, pulling me down to her. "More than okay. The doctor specifically said normal activities are fine." She presses a kiss to my jaw. "And this is very normal for us."

Permission granted, I lose myself in her—in the silk of her skin, the sounds she makes when I touch her just right, the way her body responds to mine as if we were made for each other. There's a new tenderness mixed with the desire now, a reverence that wasn't there before. Each touch feels like worship, each kiss a prayer of gratitude.

When I finally enter her, moving with careful restraint, her hands frame my face, forcing me to meet her gaze.

"I'm not breakable," she whispers. "Love me like you mean it."

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