Page 27 of His to Watch
"Please," she begs, her new ring glinting in the soft museum lighting as she clings to my shoulders. "Please, Daddy."
I thrust into her with one powerful stroke, burying myself to the hilt inside her perfect heat. The ancient artifacts watch impassively as I claim my future wife against the wall, as I mark this commitment in the most primitive way possible.
"Our little one's gonna know exactly how badly Daddy wanted you, little girl," I growl, setting a punishing pace that makes her cry out with each thrust. “How I claimed you in every corner of this museum. How perfect their mother was taking Daddy's cock."
She moans at the filthy words, her inner walls clenching around me in that way that tells me she's close already. The ring on her finger catches the light with each movement, sending flashes of brilliance across the dimly lit gallery.
"Mine," I chant with each thrust, the word becoming a prayer, a promise, a vow more binding than any we'll exchange in front of witnesses. "Mine. Mine. Mine."
"Yours," she gasps, her head falling back against the wall, exposing the slender column of her throat where faded marks from previous claims are still visible. "All yours, Daddy."
The artifacts around us have witnessed thousands of years of human history—births, deaths, wars, peace. Now they witness this: my claiming of the woman who will bear my name, my children, my legacy. My teeth find her neck again, refreshing the mark there, making sure everyone who sees her tomorrow will know exactly who she belongs to.
"Going to marry you as soon as possible," I promise against her skin. "No long engagement. Want you as my wife now."
"Yes," she agrees instantly, her body tightening around me as her climax approaches. "Soon. Please, Daddy."
Her compliance, her willingness to be mine completely, pushes me closer to the edge. I drive into her harder, deeper, my need to fill her, to breed her, almost painful in its intensity.
"When you walk down that aisle," I growl, nipping at her earlobe, "you're going to be carrying my baby already. Everyone will know what I've done to you, how thoroughly I've claimed you."
The imagery—Tatianna in white, belly already rounding with my seed—sends me hurtling toward release. I can tell from her desperate whimpers, from the way her inner walls flutter around me, that she's just as close.
"Come for me," I command, reaching between us to circle her sensitive bundle of nerves with my thumb. "Come on Daddy's cock while I fill you up."
She shatters instantly, her body convulsing around mine, her cry echoing off the ancient displays. Her climax triggers my own,and I bury myself as deep as physically possible before letting go, pumping stream after stream of hot seed into her womb.
She clings to me through her aftershocks, her legs locked around my waist, keeping me buried inside her as if reluctant to lose a single drop of my release. The sight of my ring on her finger as she grips my shoulders sends another possessive thrill through me.
When our breathing finally slows, when I can trust my legs to support us both, I carefully lower her to her feet, keeping her steady as she finds her balance. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses, her hair a tangled mess from my hands. She's never looked more beautiful.
"My wife," I say, testing the word on my tongue, finding it fits perfectly. "My Tatianna."
She smiles up at me, that sweet, innocent smile that's so at odds with the filthy things she lets me do to her body. Her finger traces the line of my jaw with reverent tenderness.
"My husband," she replies, her voice soft with wonder. "My Jerald."
I help her straighten her clothing, unable to stop touching her even for these practical matters. When we're both presentable again—or as presentable as possible given what we've just done—I take her left hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss the ring that now marks her as mine.
"I know it's fast," I acknowledge, the closest I'll come to apologizing for the speed of this commitment. "But when you know, you know."
"It's perfect," she assures me, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Everything about us is perfect."
And as we walk hand in hand through the silent museum, past the artifacts and exhibits that witnessed our beginning, I'm filled with savage satisfaction. She's mine now—wearing myring, carrying my name soon, perhaps already growing my child inside her.
Mine forever.
epilogue
. . .
Jerald
Five months later
My wedding ringcatches the dim gallery light as I stand post by the main entrance, the gold band still feeling foreign on my finger some days. Never thought I'd wear one. Never thought I'd want to. But Tatianna changed the rules.
She's down in the Greek sculpture gallery now, careful steps, one hand always resting on that round belly—five months swollen with my baby. The sight of her like this hits me square in the chest every damn time. That gentle waddle she’s developed, the fuller curves, the glow in her cheeks… I did that. Put my child inside her exactly like I promised that first night the storm locked us in. Marked her permanent. No going back.
