Page 27 of His Perfect Little Heirs

“I’ll be okay.” I blink a few tears through my lashes. “It’s less painful than last time. It’s safer for him andme.Trust the doctors, Menace.”

“I don’t trust anyone with you.”

“I know.”

I hold Max’s attention in a way that blocks out the world. Whereas he’s on the edge of murder, he’s still my Max, and he keeps me anchored to him while the doctors sit me up, insert the needle into my spine, and lay me down again.

And they cut me.

I’m not sure where I am while they do it, lost somewhere safe in Max’s grey-blue gaze. Nothing can hurt me when he’s close. And although he doesn’t break eye contact with me, I know he’s paying attention to everything the doctor does. His predator-like watch playing out in the violent pulsing of his jaw muscles.

Tugging at my pelvis starts.

“Promise me you’ll grab our baby straight away, Max.” My shaky voice draws him closer to me. He presses his forehead to mine, our eyes inches apart. “Promise me because I won’t be able to move until they finish stitching me up.”

He nods stiffly against my brow.

The jerking at my hips is all I feel. Max’s eyes are all I can see, up close and wild. The tiny grey freckles and big black pupils would terrify anyone who knew what they had planned should anything go wrong— Suddenly, those two senses dissolve with the sound of a husky cry.

A cry that gets louder.

That’s our baby.

Tears stream down my cheeks to my temples. “Get our baby, Max,” I whisper quietly, and Max’s head snaps to the side, chasing the sound instantly.

I thought he’d freeze up, thought he’d be wary, unsure, but he strides to the doctor and takes his baby into his hands, possessive and confident. I can almost see the words “mine” rippling through his muscles as he holds the tiny person in his hands, the floppy head in his palm, the wriggling back and bum in his other. Our baby fits entirely in Daddy’s big hands.

This is the moment.

My heart pirouettes.

Weakly, I flop my head to the side as the doctor stitches me up. Seeing my Max roll his gaze over his baby for the first time, I cry happy tears and thank the world for every moment that ensured I had this one.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announces to me, guiding a very guarded Max over to the table. To this day, he trusts no one with me, Kel, and now, with this little man. I used to think he’d lock me away in a tower if he could.

A boy.

A little Max Butcher.

I watch from the bed as the doctor clamps the umbilical cord and checks his mouth and chest. The lovely sight blurs behind rapid, happy tears. It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. It’s the vision of my dreams.

It’s what I wanted. Nothing like the last time when I was alone and in pain, pushing and pushing, screaming for Max to make me feel safe. I was still so young.

Fawn’s age.

Max keeps a firm hold on his whimpering son. It’s what he promised that day when he spoke to my stomach—that he would show our child how he feels about him the minute he was born.

I soak in the sight of Max Butcher as he approaches, bunched muscles that stretch the fabric around his biceps, a face full of awe as he stares at our son.

“He’s incredible, little one,” Max states, deep and possessive, lowering our baby boy so I can reach up and stroke his cheek. Our son pouts at the air, and I know I need to get him on me soon.

The rest of the room melts away again while I am stitched and checked, my eyes glued to Max, his flooded in wonder at our son.

A weak smile slides to my lips; fatigue and happiness play with my mood.

My hospital bed is wheeled to another room, and we are given some privacy, so Max lays our son on my chest. We lift the mattress until I am sitting, supported.

I play with his lips and try to get him to latch onto my nipple. It’s familiar. Last time, I had a lactation nurse here, but it seems unnecessary for a second child unless they refuse to latch. I know what to do this time.

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