Thirteen Years of Obsession

Pregnant?

The sheets were cool against my back, but Lucian’s body was anything but.

He hovered over me, one forearm braced beside my head, the other hand still tangled in my hair from that messy kiss. His weight pressed me into the mattress just enough to feel trapped. Just enough to make my pulse spike.

I could smell him everywhere — that dark cologne mixed with the faint trace of champagne from the reception and something warmer, like skin and salt. My own breath came in short little bursts that sounded embarrassingly loud in the quiet penthouse.

His eyes searched mine. Not the cold command I was used to. Something closer to uncertainty, if a man like Lucian Voss could ever look uncertain.

“You kissed me,” he said, voice rough around the edges. Like the words scraped on the way out.

“Yeah.” My fingers were still curled against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat under my palm — steady, but faster than normal. “Don’t make me regret it already.”

A low sound escaped him. Not quite a laugh. He shifted, and I felt the hard length of him pressing against my thigh through the thin fabric of his undone pants. My body reacted before my brain could catch up — a fresh rush of heat low in my belly, thighs pressing together instinctively.

Lucian noticed. Of course he did.

His free hand slid down my side, slow, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. Not demanding this time. Almost careful.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured against my jaw. His lips grazed the skin there, not quite a kiss. “Tonight you can tell me to stop. I’ll listen.”

I closed my eyes for a second. The scar above his eyebrow flashed in my memory — that small raised line I’d touched without thinking. How many nights had he stared at photos of me while running his finger over that same scar, planning exactly how he’d break me?

The thought should have killed the heat. It didn’t. Not completely.

Instead I turned my head and caught his mouth again. This kiss was slower. Messier. My tongue brushed his and he groaned into it, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine.

When we broke apart, my voice came out shaky. “I hate that I want this. I hate that part of me doesn’t care about the thirteen years or the photos or any of it right now.”

His forehead dropped to mine. “Then don’t think about it. Just feel me.”

His hand moved lower, hooking into the waistband of my panties. He paused, waiting for me to push him away or nod or something. I didn’t do either. I lifted my hips instead.

The lace slid down my legs and disappeared somewhere off the side of the bed. Cool air hit my skin, then his warm palm replaced it, cupping me gently. One finger stroked through my folds, finding me still slick from earlier.

“f**k,” he breathed. “You’re soaked.”

Heat flooded my face. I turned it into the pillow, embarrassed and turned on at the same time.

Lucian didn’t let me hide. He caught my chin and turned me back to face him. “Don’t. I want to see you.”

He pushed one finger inside me, slow and deep, then added a second. My back arched off the bed. A broken sound slipped out of me before I could stop it.

“That’s it,” he whispered. His thumb found my c**t and circled lazily. “Let me hear you.”

I bit my lip hard enough to sting. The pressure built fast — too fast. My hips rocked against his hand without permission. Every stroke made my thoughts fracture more. The revenge. The leaked photos. Isabella’s voice on the phone. All of it blurred under the heat of his fingers and the weight of his body over mine.

His mouth found my neck, sucking lightly at the spot just below my ear. “Come on, Sera. Let go for me.”

The nickname — Sera, not Seraphina or little wife — hit somewhere soft and dangerous in my chest.

I came with a choked cry, thighs clamping around his wrist, walls pulsing around his fingers. The orgasm rolled through me in waves, leaving me trembling and gasping against his shoulder.

He stayed there, fingers still moving gently until the last aftershock faded. Then he pulled them free and brought them to his own mouth, tasting me while watching my face.

I couldn’t look away.

The silence stretched. My breathing slowly evened out. Somewhere far below, a siren wailed through the city streets. Random little detail that felt stupid to notice right now.

Lucian shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling me against him. His erection pressed hot and heavy against my stomach, but he didn’t push for more.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” His hand rubbed slow circles on my back. “Tomorrow the press is going to tear you apart. Isabella won’t stop. Your father will probably try to spin this somehow. And I…” He exhaled. “I did this to you.”

I pressed my face into his chest. His skin was warm. Slightly damp from sweat. “Yeah. You did.”

He didn’t apologize again. Just held me tighter.

After a minute, his phone buzzed on the nightstand once more. He ignored it.

But I couldn’t.

I reached over and glanced at the screen before he could stop me.

A text from Marcus.

“She knows too much now. You need to tell her the rest before Isabella leaks the medical file.”

Medical file.

My stomach dropped.

I looked up at Lucian. His face had gone still.

“What medical file?” I asked. My voice sounded too calm. Too flat.

He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, the uncertainty was gone. Replaced by that familiar wall.

“Something you should have heard from me first.”

The warmth from the orgasm drained away fast, leaving cold dread in its place.

I pushed away from his chest and sat up, pulling the sheet around me like armor.

“Tell me now.”

Lucian sat up too. The city lights painted half his face in silver, the other half in shadow.

“You’re pregnant, Sera.”

The words hung there between us.

Three little words that somehow managed to make the entire room tilt sideways.

I stared at him. My hand moved to my stomach without thinking.

Pregnant.

From one of those heated almost-s*x nights weeks ago. When I thought it was just toxic lust and power games.

Lucian watched me carefully. “I had your blood tested after you fainted at the gala. I was going to tell you after the wedding. After I figured out how to stop the rest of the plan from exploding.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up and died in my throat.

“So you added a baby to your revenge checklist?”

“No.” His voice cracked on the word. “I added a baby to the list of things I can’t lose.”

The phone buzzed again.

This time the screen showed a news alert.

“Billionaire’s Secret Stalker Marriage — Pregnancy Rumors Surface”

I looked at Lucian. Really looked.

The man who had planned my destruction for thirteen years.

The man currently watching me like I was the only oxygen left in the room.

The man whose child I was apparently carrying.

I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or kiss him again.

All I managed was a whisper.

“What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

Flashback Scene: The Conception (5 Weeks Ago)

The private lounge was dimly lit, all dark wood and leather, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson. Lucian had arranged the “business meeting” under the pretense of discussing rescue terms for my father’s company. I should have known better.

We never made it past the first drink.

One minute we were arguing across the low table — me accusing him of playing games, him watching me with that unnerving intensity. The next, he’d pulled me onto his lap, mouth crashing against mine like he’d been starving for it.

I hated how good it felt.

His hands were everywhere — sliding up my thighs, gripping my waist, tugging my dress higher. I straddled him, fingers digging into his shoulders as the kiss turned filthy and desperate. His tongue stroked mine, deep and demanding, while I rocked against the hard bulge in his pants.

“f**k, Sera,” he groaned against my mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I should have stopped. Instead I reached between us, fumbling with his belt, freeing his thick, heavy c**k. It was hot and velvet-smooth in my hand. When I stroked him, he hissed, hips jerking up.

He shoved my panties aside and pushed two fingers inside me without warning. I gasped, clenching around him. He curled them perfectly, thumb circling my c**t with ruthless precision while I pumped him faster.

We weren’t thinking. We weren’t careful.

He came first — with a low, guttural groan, spilling hot and thick over my fingers and between my thighs. Some of it slipped inside me as I ground down hard, chasing my own release. The sensation pushed me over the edge. I came with a broken cry, pulsing around nothing while his release coated my skin and dripped inside me.

We stayed like that for long minutes afterward, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.

Neither of us said a word about protection.

I told myself it was just a momentary lapse. Stress. Power. Nothing more.

Lucian looked at me then — eyes dark, possessive, almost regretful.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he said quietly.

But the way he held me tighter told a different story.

End of flashback