5. The Question

His arms hadn’t left you all day.

Even now, hours after the garage, after the way he’d made you cry his name into the cold metal of that workbench, Cole still held you like he thought you might slip through his fingers.

You were wrapped in his sheets, skin warm, muscles limp, hair damp with sweat and his scent. His fingers traced lazy lines up and down your spine, the kind that made your toes curl despite how thoroughly he’d ruined you earlier.

You were floating.

Safe.

Owned.

But your mind wouldn’t stop.

Because his words… they echoed. Still. Over and over.

“No one’s coming. Just me.”

And the way he filled you — every single time — without pulling out, without protection, without even asking…

You hadn’t questioned it at first. Everything with him was heat and instinct. Like your bodies had skipped all the awkward conversation and gone straight to devotion.

But now — in the quiet, in the dark — the thought curled in your chest.

Heavy.

Sweet.

Dangerous.

Your cheek rested against his chest. You felt his heartbeat, steady and slow. Comforting. Like everything in the world made sense inside those arms.

And then, without thinking — barely breathing — you asked it.

“What if I get pregnant?”

The words weren’t loud.

They didn’t have to be.

His body tensed, just slightly. His fingers stilled on your back.

You held your breath.

A long moment passed.

Then he shifted beneath you — slow and deliberate — until he was on his side, one hand cradling your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

He looked at you. Really looked.

Eyes dark. Steady.

And then — his voice, low and rough:

“Then you’re mine forever.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours. His next words were softer — but they sank deeper.

“Would you run from me, baby?”

“If you were carrying my child?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“No.”

His entire body exhaled like you’d just unwrapped a tension he didn’t even realize he was holding. His jaw slackened. Something behind his eyes shifted — something deeper than lust. Need. Ownership.

He nodded once, firm. Like a vow.

Then his mouth found yours — not rough like earlier. This kiss was slow. Full. Devastating in its intimacy.

“Good,” he whispered against your lips. “Because I wouldn’t let you.”

You whimpered.

His hand slid from your face to your belly — palm wide and warm, resting just below your navel like he was already claiming what might be growing inside.

“You don’t even know what that thought does to me,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

“What thought?” you asked, barely able to speak.

He leaned closer, voice barely a breath now.

“You. Pregnant with my baby. Full of me. Your tits heavy, belly round. Walking around this town while everyone knows what I did to you.”

Your thighs squeezed together under the sheets.

“Cole—”

“I’d take care of you,” he growled softly. “Hand on your stomach every second. Telling every man who so much as looks at you to back the fuck off.”

You whimpered again — but he didn’t stop.

“You’d hate the attention. But I wouldn’t let you hide. I’d make you wear those little sundresses. The ones that cling. Show off what’s mine.”

His fingers moved down. Lower. You didn’t stop him.

“And when you start showing,” he whispered, “I’d keep fucking you anyway.”

You gasped.

“I wouldn’t stop. Not even when you beg. I’d make you feel good with my baby inside you. Every. Damn. Night.”

His hand was between your thighs now, sliding through the mess he’d made earlier. Still wet. Still sore. Still needing.

“You think that’s hot?” he asked. “Me knocking you up? Filling you over and over until your body can’t help it?”

“Yes—God, yes—”

He slid two fingers inside you, slow and thick.

“Maybe I already did,” he said darkly.

Your body clenched around him.

“Cole—”

He kissed your neck, thrusting his fingers deeper.

“Maybe you’re already mine like that. And you don’t even know it.”

Your back arched.

He moved over you now, body pinning yours, hard cock pressing against your thigh.

“You want to be?” he asked.

“What?”

“Want to actually try for it?” he growled. “No pulling out. No guessing. Just you, underneath me, taking every drop like you want to get pregnant.”

Your mouth dropped open.

He thrust his hips against you once, teasing.

“Tell me yes.”

You choked on a gasp. “Yes—fuck—yes—”

His lips crashed into yours again, and this time when he slid inside you — bare, deep, all of him — there was no hurry.

Only intent.

Only purpose.

Because now?

Now it wasn’t just heat.

It was possession.

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