Prologue
448 Words
Somewhere near future
The soft glow of the digital clock blinked quietly
in the dark: 3:17 a.m.
Cynrim stirred, lashes fluttering open. The room was still ,wrapped in the hush of deep night, broken only by the subtle rustle of leaves from the open balcony and the distant hum of a city that never truly slept.
Warmth cocooned her, but it was the weight across her chest that anchored her more than the blankets ever could ,steady, intimate, utterly dependent.
Rover's head lay nestled against her breast, his mouth softly latched, his breath warm and shallow. He suckled gently, rhythmically, like an infant clinging to the last thread of a dream. So peaceful. So still.
She exhaled quietly and shifted slightly, careful not to disturb him. One hand stretched toward the water bottle on the nightstand.
But the moment her body moved, her breast slipped from his mouth.
He stirred instantly
his brow furrowing, lips parting in confusion. His head searched blindly against her chest.
"Please... don't pull away."
His voice was barely audible ,low, rough, thick with sleep and need.
Cynrim froze, her fingers still wrapped around the bottle. Her chest tightened.
"I'm right here, baby," she whispered, placing the bottle back down. She cradled his head and guided him gently back. He latched onto her breast again without a word, instinctively and sighed, his entire body relaxing as though he'd been caught from a free fall.
A man the world feared. A man whose very name made men flinch and lower their eyes.
Yet here he was her husband shirtless, scarred, sweat-damp, pressed tightly against her chest like a child searching for a mother's heartbeat. He wasn't the mafia's god at 3:17 a.m.
He was her baby.
So small. So quiet. So achingly human.
She cupped the back of his head, fingers gently combing through his messy dark hair. His lips moved again slowly, needfully. Not just drinking from her, but taking in her stillness. Her scent. Her safety.
He only slept like this.
He only slept when he had her.
Her breast throbbed full and tender, heavier than before.
She'd noticed it happening more lately.
The aching swell. The way her n*****s reacted to his touch. The
way moisture had begun to gather without warning.
As a doctor, she knew what it could mean.
But as a woman, as his woman... she didn't question it.
The body doesn't change without cause.
Her body had simply started responding to him
To his needs, his touch, his grief .
As if her body had finally found what it was waiting for understood its purpose after a lifetime of aloneness, it had found who it was made for.
- Writer
