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“But Draco—”

“End of discussion, really,” I shrug. “I will be in the delivery room. I’ll be the first one to hold them, and my name will be on the birth certificate. Simple as that. I won’t have any complaints, and any push back will simply be ignored. It’s my baby.”

Why did I say that?

I didn’t mean to say that.

I could have given it all away.

She sets her jaw and turns away, looking towards the door at the opposite end of the room that leads to the laundry room.

I step behind her, closing the door with a solid thud that makes her jump. Before she can turn around, my hands settle on her shoulders, fingers pressing into flesh through the thin fabric of her dress. The tie I had been wearing dangles from between my fingers, draped over her shoulder like a line of blood.

“Welcome home,” I whisper. “I hope you’re ready to scream.”

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I lift her easily and step across the room with her, towards the island that lays in the middle of the room, the grey and black granite counter top gleaming in a way that’s inviting, begging for sacrifice.

I spin her around and place her down on it.

Perfect.

Waist height, just like I like her.

“It’s beautiful,” Mercy whispers, her voice small.

She looks around the room, and I can see the tears glittering in her eyes.

I can see the happiness.

I need more.

I need her to feel something deeper.

“Yes,” I agree, though I’m looking at her, not the kitchen. “Beautiful and useful.”

When she realizes that I’m watching her, she catches my eyes and quickly looks away, her cheeks staining red with blood.

“A beautiful castle, fit for a princess,” I say, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on her lips. She pushes in to me, hard, and I can feel the heat behind her lips, behind her desperation.

Is it because she’s happy or because she’s horny?

Maybe something else.

“Now,” I say, and a hand finds her shoulder, firmly pushing her back until she lays across the counter. “Panties off.”

She looks shocked, staring up at me with wide-open eyes, but she doesn’t wince or deny me. Instead, she spreads her perfect legs and reaches down, pulling up the silk and hooking her thumbs around the red lace beneath.

I barely see a moment of hesitation in her.

She’s desperate for me.

“Look at that,” I chuckle. “What a good girl.”

“Draco,” she says, her voice a husky rasp and her breath growing deeper, faster. “What are we—”

I silence her with a look, drinking in the way she immediately falls quiet, trained perfectly, just like I’d planned it.

She knows what I’m going to do, and she still doesn’t pull away. She does exactly what I ask her, but does she do it because she’s an eager little dog, or because she’ll do anything for me?