Page 29 of Filthy Business (Obsessive Age Gap #1)

Two Months Later

I glared at Daddy when I kissed my mum’s cheek. That roadside detour? Absolutely unnecessary. Now I had the lingering taste of him while greeting my mother. Gross. And entirely his fault.

His amusement at my predicament was irritating—but so very him.

“Oh, my first grandchild.

You’re looking beautiful, ,”

my mum said, tearing up.

It took some persuading to get my mum on board with my engagement to Daddy, but when I visited her, I told her everything.

Well—everything except the filthy business of non-stop sex and the kidnapped sex holiday.

She came around enough to meet him, and with Daddy on his best behaviour, she eventually agreed to come to our wedding.

They stayed in our apartment while we were on our honeymoon.

I knew my mum missed London, and Daddy offered to let her live rent-free in one of his many properties, but she declined.

We left the men in the living room, and I followed my mum into the kitchen.

As soon as the door shut, she turned to me with that look only mothers have.

“Are you sure everything’s alright? After everything that happened?”

I nodded, even though my throat tightened a little.

“Luke ended up in Spain, but he got arrested trying to smuggle drugs. And the last we heard of the Whorehound… she was advertising herself on some high-end escort site.”

Mum’s mouth dropped open. I almost reached to gently shut it, but she blinked and found her composure. Her eyes, though, were tinged with that familiar grief.

She was thinking about Dad.

“It’s over, Mum,”

I said, softer this time.

“They can’t ever hurt us again.”

Daddy never found Josie. I have no idea what happened to her. But it looked like karma was taking care of both mother and son.

I stepped in for a hug. My belly got in the way like it always did these days, but she didn’t seem to mind. We held onto each other, and a quiet peace settled over me. It felt like my dad was watching over us.

***

Nick had the car ready. My bags were already packed in the boot. Daddy was on the couch, flicking through channels.

“What do you fancy watching, sweetheart?”

he asked, taking off his glasses and eyeing me suspiciously.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to stay calm.”

“I’m always calm, sweetheart. Hit me,”

he said, patting the seat beside him.

“My water broke,”

I said, counting to three.

Nothing happened.

He just stared at me like I was speaking Klingon.

His brow furrowed like I’d told him we were out of milk. Then his eyes dropped to the carpet. Back to me. Carpet. Me again.

“Here?”

he asked, voice a full octave higher.

“Yes, here,”

I said flatly.

He blinked.

“Right. Okay. No problem. Just… minor uterine rupture, standard stuff.”

He stood up, then sat back down. Then stood again.

“Where’s the bag?”

“In the boot with Nick.”

“Boot. Yes. Car. Keys. Wife. Baby.”

He rattled off the words like he was assembling IKEA instructions.

I grabbed his glasses, shoved them into his shirt pocket, and took his hand.

“Let’s go before you pass out, Daddy.”

“Don’t call me that right now, sweetheart,”

he muttered, staggering toward the door.

“My blood pressure can’t take it.”

***

Daddy barrelled through the hospital doors like he was storming a battlefield.

“The water has broken!”

he bellowed, waving his arms like a deranged fire marshal.

“The baby is coming! My wife is leaking!”

Two nurses looked up from the desk. One dropped her pen. The other calmly slid her coffee away from the edge.

“Sir, if you could just—”

“I cannot sit. We need your best delivery team. She is crowning. Possibly. I don’t know. But she said something about pressure and then growled at me.”

I leaned against the wall, half amused, half contracting.

“She’s not crowning,”

I called.

“I still have my pants on.”

Magnus spun.

“That means nothing in your world.”

“Sir,”

the younger nurse said gently, “please bring her over here so we can assess her.”

“She can’t walk, she’s in labour! I carried her across a beach once—I’ll do it again!”

“Magnus, if you pick me up, I swear to God I’ll go back to the car and give birth in the footwell.”

That slowed him down.

He looked back at the nurse.

“Do you have a wheelchair with… shock absorption?”

“Just sit her down, sir.”

He turned, eyeing the bench like it might bite me.

“, breathe deeply. Let’s visualise something. A calm lake. A gentle breeze. Your cervix opening like—”

“Do not say ‘lotus flower.’”

He paled.

“I was going to say ‘garage door.’”

I snorted mid-contraction. The nurse came at me with a clipboard. Daddy took it like it was a bomb.

“My birthing plan is in my bag,”

I said sweetly.

“Name?”

the nurse asked.

“Magnus Trentham,”

he said.

“Age: ageless. Occupation: full-time father in training. Emergency contact: Warren, my lawyer.”

“Your wife’s name, sir?”

“Oh. Right. She’s Dalton-Trentham. She’s having my child and I am being incredibly brave about it.”

The nurse gave him a smile that said we’ve got a whole wing for men like you.

***

I could laugh about it now, but at the time, Daddy completely lost the plot.

At one point, he swore—loudly, and in front of two midwives—that he was only having anal sex from now on.

Then he launched into a full-blown rant about the underrated joys of ass sex.

“No babies, less mess, tighter squeeze, everyone wins!”

he shouted while white-knuckling the bed rail like he was in labour.

I’d never seen him so panicked.

So completely, comically unhinged.

The man who negotiated multimillion-pound mergers with a straight face was now arguing with a nurse over the existence of mucus plugs.

It wasn’t until he held our son for the first time—silent, awestruck, trembling—that he finally looked at me and said the words he’d been choking on the whole time.

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

And just like that, all the madness made sense.

I couldn’t help it. He was so serious, pacing the corner of the hospital room like he was preparing to give birth himself.

“You know,”

I murmured, shifting carefully with the baby nestled against my chest, “you caused more drama than I did.”

Daddy paused mid-stride, eyes narrowed.

“I did not.”

“You swore off vaginal sex in front of a midwife named Julie. Then tried to sell me on the benefits of anal during contractions.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“You screamed at me that you wanted to be a dolphin and swim away from the pain.”

“Fair. That was the drugs. But I didn’t try to schedule a vasectomy in the middle of the pushing phase.”

He grunted.

“It was a dark time.”

“Daddy, you threw paper cups at a doctor and demanded to see his qualifications.”

“He looked twelve.”

I snorted, biting my lip to keep from laughing too hard.

“I’m just saying… you owe me one. Maybe two.”

He finally came back to the bed, brushing his knuckles along the baby’s soft cheek.

“You want anything, it’s yours.”

“Hmm.”

I smirked.

“I’ll think about it. But I am adding ‘anal-only vow’ to the baby book.”

Daddy groaned.

“You are the most evil, beautiful creature I’ve ever met.”

“Damn right I am. And you’re stuck with me,”

I said before, pausing.

“Isn't he precious?”

“Evan Dalton Trentham,”

he whispered, kissing our dark-haired boy.

Evan Dalton. My father’s name.

I held onto our little burrito bundle, not even trying to hide my tears.

Daddy kissed my forehead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,”

he murmured.

I sniffed and nodded.

“Anything but give up your cunt,”

he added under his breath.

“Because that was madness talking in the delivery room earlier.”

I shook my head at him. He wouldn't even let me cry in peace. I focused on Evan. The name felt right.

Our little angel was fast asleep.

So beautiful. So innocent.

Magnus adjusted the blanket around Evan, then dropped onto the hospital chair beside my bed like he’d run a marathon. His hand found mine without looking.

“You sleep,”

he said gruffly.

“I’ll keep watch.”

I smiled.

“You said something like that when we first met. Right before you tried to fuck the attitude out of me.”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Still works.”

I turned toward our son. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the tiny twitch of his fist as he dreamed.

“I love him so much it hurts.”

“You love me too,”

Magnus said, just a little too quickly.

I smirked.

“Not when you said you’d only have anal from now on.”

He scowled at the memory.

“I was traumatised. Blood. Screaming. Fluids. You have no idea what that did to my psyche.”

I laughed softly, then winced at the soreness.

He was immediately up and adjusting my pillows.

“Don’t move. Ever again.”

“I had a baby, not a hip replacement.”

“Same thing,”

he muttered, kissing the back of my hand.

“You’ve done enough for a lifetime.”

We sat like that in silence for a while. Daddy, for once, not plotting, commanding, or scheming. Just… still. Watching Evan with the kind of reverence that only made me fall harder.

“I’ll take care of him,”

he said suddenly.

“You don’t need to worry about anything, . You gave me everything.”

I blinked back tears. Hormones. Definitely hormones.

“You gave me everything too,”

I whispered.

He reached over and brushed my hair from my face.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

And he was. Watching over both of us like the possessive bastard I’d married.

Magnus

slept while I held Evan. He’d woken up hungry, and I’d somehow managed to get him latched onto her for his first feed. She didn’t even wake—just cradled him in that dreamy way only she could.

I knew in my gut our son would grow up to be a good, kind-hearted human—with a mother like , how could he not?

This wasn’t an unexpected teen pregnancy. This was a calculated breeding.

I almost snorted thinking about the bullshit I spouted during labour—swearing I’d stick to anal sex only from now on. No chance. Not when her body was made for me.

“You be good to your mama,”

I whispered to my son, kissing his plump cheek.

We’d need a daughter to balance out the house. I had two months to plan that.

Benedict and her parents would be arriving in the next few days.

I just wanted to take my family home.

***

Evan always slept with his hands beside his shoulders. He was such a peaceful baby, but he was only two weeks old and had no teeth. I was sure he recognised our voices. He sure as hell sniffed his mother’s milky breasts out.

was in her element. She had a scheduled routine for him, and I made sure to help her any way I could. The routine would keep adapting as he grew. I hadn’t realised how crazy she was with her colour-coded spreadsheets.

But I wouldn’t say that shit to her face.

I had no leg to stand on after my behaviour in the hospital. I was surprised no one called security on me.

I didn’t think of Luke. It was a relief when I found out he wasn’t in the country. What they did to was unforgivable. My heart ached whenever I saw Evan. I wanted him to grow up to be a gentleman.

Exactly like his dad, of course.

When I returned to the bedroom, had fallen asleep with the laptop tipped sideways beside her. I picked it up and saw her updated spreadsheet with a new tab.

Poor Evan.

I closed the laptop and dimmed the light. As I stripped down to my shorts, I took a moment to reflect on the past year. As much as was still healing, I was grateful for her quiet invasion of my life. I’d been running on fumes before her light poured in.

I slipped into bed, easing her into a comfortable position before pulling her against my chest. She was the one and only love of my life. And although our marriage contract had started out as a joke, I’d need to revise it.

She sighed against me, like she somehow knew I was plotting to add a spreadsheet clause. And a baby-hogging clause.

I smiled, already imagining her outrage.

My little firebrand was a fighter. And I, for one, was glad.

The End.