Page 29 of His to Teach

"Stubborn," he says with obvious pride. "Like her mother."

"Like both her parents," I correct.

He crosses the room, lifts Eleanor from my arms with the same gentle confidence he's developed over these four months of fatherhood. The man who once terrified entire seminar rooms now cradles our daughter like she's made of glass, carries her to the crib, and settles her with a soft kiss to her forehead.

When he returns to our bedroom, I'm already in bed, nightgown discarded. Six weeks of waiting after the birth were torture for both of us. My body is different now—softer, fuller, marked with faint silver lines across my stomach. I still feel a flicker of insecurity when I catch my reflection, but the way Gordon looks at me chases it away every time.

He strips quickly, joins me on the bed. His mouth finds mine—gentle at first, then deeper, hungrier. Weeks of exhaustion and new-parent chaos fall away as desire surges between us.

"I've missed you," he murmurs against my neck.

"I've been right here," I breathe, catching as his lips find a newly sensitive spot.

"You know what I mean." His hands map my changed body with reverence. "Missed this. Having you to myself."

His touch is worshipful, careful. When his fingers trace the stretch marks on my stomach, I tense slightly.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, reading my insecurity before I can voice it. "So fucking beautiful, princess."

"I'm different now," I admit quietly. "Not like before."

He lifts his head, eyes dark with desire and something fiercer. "You're more. More beautiful. More perfect. More mine."

To prove it, he kisses every silver line on my belly—slow, deliberate, like they're treasures. "These show you carried my child," he murmurs against my skin. "That you gave me the greatest gift possible. How could I not find them beautiful?"

Tears sting my eyes. This brilliant, dominating man still finds ways to surprise me with tenderness.

His mouth moves lower. Tongue finds my center with devastating precision. New sensitivities make every lick feel electric. When he slides a finger inside me—careful, gentle—I'm already trembling on the edge.

"Gordon," I moan, hips rising. "Please."

He brings me over with his mouth, body arching as I cry out his name. Then he's above me again, easing inside with exquisite slowness.

"Tell me if anything hurts," he instructs. "We'll stop if you need to."

"Don't stop," I gasp, legs wrapping around him. "Need you. All of you."

He fills me perfectly. Gentle rhythm at first—mindful, controlled. But the words spill out anyway.

"My good girl," he praises. "Taking Daddy's cock so perfectly. Missed this tight little pussy so much."

I clench around him at the familiar title—now layered with real meaning. He's not just my Daddy in bed anymore. He's Eleanor's father. Our family's protector.

"You're so perfect," he continues, hand cupping my fuller breast. "Gave me such a beautiful daughter. Such a perfect family."

I meet his eyes. "Want to give you more. Another baby. A little boy with your eyes."

His rhythm falters, pleasure tightening his features. "Yes. Want to breed you again. Keep you round with my children. One after another."

I smile, knowing exactly what those words do to him. "Then do it, Daddy. Put another baby in me." Never mind that I’m already pregnant. It’s what he needs to hear. Our private fantasy.

He loses the last thread of control—thrusting deeper, harder, still careful but driven by instinct. I match him, nails in his shoulders, whispering filthy encouragement until pleasure crashes over me again. He follows with a low groan, burying himself deep and filling me.

Afterward, he gathers me against his chest. My head tucks under his chin. His heartbeat thuds steady beneath my ear.

"I love you," I whisper.

"I love you too, princess." His arms tighten. "More than you'll ever know."

As sleep pulls me under, curled in the protective circle of his body, I feel the absolute rightness of us. The way he called me his little girl that first time in his office. The way I called him Daddy and unlocked something primal in both of us.

We should have been a cautionary tale. A scandal. A mistake.

Instead, we're a family. A love story. A beginning that keeps beginning.

And this—his heartbeat under my cheek, our daughter safe in the next room, the promise of more—is exactly where I'm meant to be.

Where we've always been meant to be.

Together.