Page 22 of Laced With Secrets

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, overwhelmed by pleasure and emotional devastation.

He stilled, listening.

“What if you didn’t want it?” I sobbed. “I was scared?—”

“I want it.” His hand stayed possessively on my stomach. “Don’t ever be scared to tell me anything. Do you understand me?”

The certainty in his voice made something break open inside me.

“I wanted to tell you,” I gasped. “So many times. But the words wouldn’t come. Just like with asking you back to bed—I couldn’t say it, couldn’t?—”

“Shh.” He kissed me deeply, his tongue sweeping into my mouth as his hips rolled forward with renewed purpose. His hand slid from my stomach to my weeping cock, building the pleasure relentlessly. “I know. No more secrets. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I whimpered.

“Good.” His thrusts became harder, deeper, his control fraying. “Now come for me, omega. Show me who you belong to.”

That pushed me over the edge. I came with a cry, clenching around him as pleasure crashed over me in overwhelming waves. He groaned, his rhythm faltering, and then he was coming too, his teeth finding my shoulder in a claiming bite that would leave a mark.

“Mine,” he growled against my skin. “Both of you. Mine.”

“Yours,” I agreed breathlessly.

He stayed inside me as we both trembled, his forehead pressed against mine as we struggled to catch our breath.

“Are you happy?” I asked, needing to hear the affirmation.

“Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He kissed my temple, then my cheek, then found my mouth for a slow, thorough kiss. “Terrified, overwhelmed—but so fucking happy I can barely breathe.”

I laughed wetly, my hands coming up to frame his face. “Me too. All of those things.”

He finally slipped out of me, and I made a soft sound of loss. But he immediately gathered me close, arranging me against his chest, one hand going possessively to my stomach.

I lay in his arms, feeling lighter than I had in weeks despite the emotional devastation of the reveal.

Then, a thought suddenly occurred to me, and I felt my face heat.

“I have something,” I said quietly. “If you want to see it.”

His eyes lit up with interest. “What is it?”

“The sonogram photo. From my first appointment with Dr. Westfield.” I bit my lip. “It’s in the nightstand drawer. I—I wanted to keep it close.”

“Show me.” The command was gentle but implacable.

I carefully extracted myself from his arms to crawl across the bed toward the nightstand. I was halfway there when I heard his sharp intake of breath, and I glanced back to find him propped on one elbow, his eyes dark and hungry as they traced the line of my naked body—the curve of my ass, the flex of my thighs, every inch of skin on display as I moved.

“Dominic!” I felt heat flood my face. “Stop staring.”

“Never.” His voice was rough with renewed arousal. “You’re fucking gorgeous, baby. Especially like this—naked, freshly claimed, and crawling across the bed to show me pictures of our baby. I could watch you all day.”

“You’re terrible,” I muttered, but I couldn’t suppress my smile as I reached the nightstand and pulled open the drawer.

The sonogram photo was tucked carefully in an envelope. I pulled it out with trembling fingers and crawled back to Dominic, who sat up eagerly to make room for me between his legs.

“Here,” I said softly, handing him the black and white image.

He took it with reverent care, his eyes scanning the grainy ultrasound with absolute focus. I watched his face as he processed what he was seeing—the tiny blob that didn’t look like much yet but was everything to us.