Chapter 55
BRENDA'S POV
The past few days with Christian had been nothing but bliss.
I had forgotten what it felt like to be loved openly, to be on the receiving end of affection without fear or conditions attached to it. But every single day, Christian found a new way to remind me how much I meant to him.
We were curled up on the couch watching some dark romance movie together. He had a bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap while I demolished a plate of French fries drowned in vinegar.
Then that scene came on.
The man had tied the woman's wrists, spread her legs apart, and cuffed them together—left wrist to left ankle, right wrist to right ankle. He took his time with her, touching her like she was something sacred. Like music. Worshipping every inch of her before completely losing control.
Heat pooled low in my stomach.
I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, squeezing my thighs together.
Christian noticed immediately.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Do you need something, baby girl?" he asked, his voice dropping deeper.
The bedroom voice.
I shook my head quickly, pretending nothing was wrong.
He played along, eyes returning to the television even though I knew he was fully aware of what he was doing to me.
I clenched my legs tighter.
The ache only worsened.
A few seconds later, his gaze returned to me. Silent. Patient. Waiting.
I made a small pleading face and he chuckled softly.
"I'll ask again," he murmured, brushing my hair away from my face. "Do you need something, ice spit?"
"It aches," I whispered breathlessly.
He nodded slowly, urging me to continue.
He was tormenting me on purpose.
"I want…" I swallowed hard. "I want you to touch me."
The words came out almost like a plea.
I rested my forehead against his and closed my eyes.
Slowly, I started undoing the buttons of his shirt while keeping my gaze fixed on his.
Christian lifted me effortlessly and carried me upstairs to my room. He laid me gently on the bed, his eyes searching mine for hesitation.
There was none.
"Go on," I whispered. "I want this."
I took his hand and placed it over my breast, guiding him gently.
That seemed to erase whatever restraint he still had.
Christian touched me like a man terrified of breaking something precious. Patient. Loving. Thorough.
Every touch carried affection.
Every kiss carried apology.
By the time I climaxed for the fourth time, I was completely breathless, trembling beneath him.
Eventually, he pulled away from me and stood from the bed.
"Where are you going?" I asked weakly.
"I need a cold shower before I lose my mind," he laughed softly.
A strange feeling twisted inside me.
Guilt.
Because despite everything between us… I wanted him too.
Not just his touch.
Him.
"Christian?"
He stopped immediately and turned back.
"I want you," I admitted quietly. "I want you to make love to me."
The restraint in his eyes shattered.
Within moments, he was above me again, kissing me slowly as he eased himself into me with incredible care.
He took his time.
Whispering softly against my skin.
Telling me how beautiful I was.
How good I felt.
The orgasm that hit me afterwards was so intense my vision blurred for several seconds.
When it was over, Christian kissed my forehead and pulled me against his chest, my back pressed firmly against him as he held me through the silence that followed.
CHRISTIAN'S POV
Last night with Brenda had been euphoric.
I could still hear her soft moans replaying in my head. Still feel the way she melted beneath my hands.
Nobody ever warned me that intimacy with a pregnant woman could feel this consuming.
When I finally climaxed, my knees genuinely gave out.
Now, the next morning, I sat quietly watching her from across the room.
Brenda was curled up on the large couch watching one of her favorite movies when I noticed the discomfort on her face.
I stood immediately.
"Is everything okay?" I asked, already moving toward her. "You don't look fine."
"It's nothing," she said with a weak smile. "I've been having contractions for a while now. They hurt a little."
A little?
The pain on her face said otherwise.
"Come on," I said gently, helping her stand. "Let me run you a warm bath."
She leaned against me as we started toward the stairs.
We barely made it four steps before water suddenly streamed down her legs.
I froze.
My brain stopped functioning.
"My water just broke, Christian," she breathed out painfully.
"What do you mean your water broke?" I panicked. "You don't even have water!"
I was losing my damn mind.
Lucinda came rushing into the house and immediately assessed the situation.
"You fucking idiot, she's in labor!" she snapped before taking Brenda from me.
I swear I almost went into labor too.
"Get the baby stuff!" Lucinda shouted.
I sprinted upstairs—then stopped cold.
We never bought baby supplies.
I ran back downstairs in horror.
"We forgot the baby stuff!"
I drove like a madman all the way to the hospital while calling Eva, begging her to buy everything we needed.
Brenda's cries in the backseat nearly destroyed me.
At one point, our eyes met through the mirror.
No words.
Just understanding.
She knew I was terrified.
And I knew she was trying to stay strong.
The labor room was chaos.
"Push!"
The nurses encouraged her repeatedly while Brenda screamed through tears.
Watching her in pain did something terrible to me.
I started yelling at every medical worker in sight, demanding they help her, until I was eventually forced outside.
I paced endlessly through the hallway, sweat pouring down my forehead.
Finally, exhausted, I sat down and closed my eyes.
For the first time in years… I prayed.
"I don't even believe in you," I whispered quietly. "But if you're real… please don't take them from me."
Moments later—
A baby cried.
My eyes flew open.
The sound shattered something inside me.
When they finally let me in, my knees nearly gave out at the sight before me.
Brenda was smiling weakly while holding our daughter against her chest.
"Come hold her," she whispered.
I approached slowly, terrified.
I had taken lives.
Built an empire with blood.
But this tiny little girl in Brenda's arms scared me more than anything I had ever faced.
"What if I drop her?" I admitted quietly.
Brenda laughed softly and nodded toward me.
Carefully, I took our daughter into my arms.
And the second she settled against me—
I broke.
Tears slid down my face freely.
"Are you crying?" Brenda teased tiredly.
"No," I lied immediately, wiping my face.
Brenda smiled knowingly.
"What should we name her?" she asked softly.
I stared down at the tiny girl in my arms.
"Saint," I answered after a long pause.
"Saint Athena."
Brenda's eyes softened instantly.
"That's beautiful," she whispered.
Athena.
My late wife's name.
The fact that Brenda chose it willingly nearly shattered what little control I had left.
As I looked between the woman I loved and the child in my arms, one thought settled deeply inside me:
For the first time in my life—
I finally had something worth becoming a better man for.