His to Breed

The penthouse smelled like money. Like the kind of money that didn't have to try. Floor-to-ceiling glass, a city of lights spread out below as if it belonged to him. Because it did. Everything in this room belonged to him. Including me. I'd signed the contract this morning. Twelve months. His name on my finger, his ring on my hand, his money in my family's account by noon. Clean transaction. That's what I'd told myself. His money, my time, no touching, no feelings, twelve months and we're done. That was the plan. That was the deal. He was standing by the window when I walked in, drink in hand, back to me. Didn't turn around. Didn't say a word. Just let me stand there in my white dress, feeling like a purchase that hadn't been inspected yet. "Mr. Blackwood." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "The wedding's over. I'd like to know the sleeping arrangements." He turned then. And god, that was the problem with this whole arrangement. He was beautiful in a way that made you stupid. Sharp jaw, colder eyes, a mouth that looked like it had never smiled at anything that wasn't a number on a screen. He looked at me like I was a line item. An expense. A cost he was still deciding whether to write off. "Sleeping arrangements." He said it flat, like he was tasting it. "You're my wife. You sleep where I sleep. "I laughed. Actually laughed. "The contract says no touching, Mr. Blackwood. I read it. Every page. There's no clause that says I have to warm your bed." He set his glass down. Slow. Deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world and I had none of it. "There's a clause you missed." My stomach dropped. I didn't like his tone. I didn't like the way he said it, like he'd been waiting all night to say it. "What clause?" He walked toward me. Not fast. That was worse. A predator didn't rush. It let you watch it coming so you'd know exactly how screwed you were. "The contract requires an heir." "The words hung there. I stared at him. Blinked. Waited for him to laugh, to say just kidding, to tell me this was some sick test. He didn't laugh. "An heir," I repeated. "You mean a baby. You want me to have your baby." "I want the merger to go through." He said it like that explained everything. Like a baby was just a line item, a checkbox, another clause in a contract I'd already signed. "The board wants a family man. A wife, a child, a legacy. That's the deal. No heir, no merger. No merger, your family's debt stays. And it doesn't stay small. It grows. Every month." I could feel my hands shaking. I curled them into fists. I would not let him see it. I would not give him that. "You lied to me." "I omitted." He said it like there was a difference. Like that made it better. "You signed a contract. You should have read it closer." "I read every goddamn page—" "Not the addendum." The room went quiet. I could hear my own heartbeat. Loud. Stupid. Like it was the only honest thing in the room. "You can't do this." My voice cracked. I hated that. I hated him for making it c***k. "This isn't— this wasn't the deal. You can't just—" "I can." He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell him. Something expensive. Something cold. "And I will. You have two choices, Mrs. Blackwood. You walk out that door, and your family's debt comes due by Friday. Or you stay, and we start trying. Tonight." I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to walk out that door and never look back. But I could see my mother's face. I could see the house I grew up in, the one my father had mortgaged to the ground. I could see the numbers, the zeros, the everything that would collapse if I walked out that door. I stayed. "Fine." The word came out like gravel. "Fine. You want an heir? We'll make an heir. But you listen to me, you cold son of a b*tch. I'm not your broodmare. I'm not your little wife who curtsies and says yes sir. I'm a transaction, just like you said. And transactions go both ways." Something flickered in his eyes. Something I didn't like. Something that looked almost like interest. "Oh?" He tilted his head. "And what do you want, Mrs. Blackwood?" I stepped into his space. Close. Too close. I could feel the heat off his body, the wall of him, the way he looked down at me like I was something he was finally deciding to want. "I want you to remember," I said, low, "that you needed me. Not the other way around. You needed a wife, a womb, a goddamn prop for your merger. And I'm here. But I'm not easy. I'm not grateful. And I'm sure as hell not going to lie back and let you use me like I'm part of the furniture." He looked at me for a long moment. Then he moved. Fast. Faster than I expected. One second he was a foot away, the next my back was against the glass, his body against mine, his hand in my hair, yanking my head back. My breath caught. Not from fear. I wished it was from fear. It wasn't. "You think I wanted this?" His voice was low now. Rough. Different. "You think I wanted some stranger in my house, in my bed, in my life? I wanted a merger. I wanted an heir. I didn't want a wife. I wanted a contract." "Then treat me like one." He stared at me. His jaw tight. His hand still in my hair. And I saw it. I saw the c***k in the ice. The thing he was trying to hide. He wanted this. He wanted me. And he hated himself for it. "Say it," I breathed. "You want this. You want me. Say it." His grip tightened. His eyes dark. And for a second, I thought he'd throw me out. I thought I'd won. Then he leaned in. His mouth at my ear. His voice a growl. "I want to f*ck you until you forget your own name, Mrs. Blackwood. I want to bend you over that desk and make you scream it. I want to put a baby in you tonight and watch you hate me for wanting it." My knees went weak. God, I hated him. I hated how he said it. I hated how my body answered before my brain could stop it. "Then do it." His eyes snapped to mine. Something raw. Something hungry. Something that wasn't a contract anymore. "Say it again. "I smiled. Slow. Sharp. The first real thing I'd done all night. "F*ck me, Mr. Blackwood. "He didn't make me ask twice.