Chapter 114: The Birth

Cole's composure shattered quickly. He pushed her toward the shadowed alcove close to the maintenance shed, his arm behind her head, the other hand on her breast.

Pregnancy had made them fuller, tender, aching for his touch—and when his thumb grazed her nipple, already peaked and sensitive, Maritza gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth.

The kiss was desperate, hungry, all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up fear finally giving way to raw want. Cole’s hand slipped lower, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her maternity leggings, finding her already slick, swollen, ready.

“God, Ritz,” he growled against her throat. “You’re dripping for me.”

“For you,” she breathed, arching into his palm. “Only you.”

He sank to his knees on the rough concrete, tugging her leggings down just enough to expose her. The night air kissed her heated skin, but Cole’s mouth was hotter—open, reverent, relentless. He licked into her slow and deep, tongue circling her clit with deliberate pressure, savoring her like fine tequila. Maritza’s fingers threaded through his hair, hips rocking against his face, chasing the edge she’d been teetering on since the moment she saw him in the NICU doorway.

Her breasts felt heavy, full, brushing against his head as she leaned forward, nipples dragging over his hair. The sensation sent sparks straight to her core. Cole groaned into her, the vibration pushing her closer.

When she came, it was sudden and shattering—legs trembling, a choked cry muffled against her own hand. Waves crashed through her, her body clenching around nothing, juices coating his chin. Cole didn’t stop until she was boneless, thighs quivering, then rose, kissing her hard, letting her taste her own arousal on his lips.

He spun her gently, pressing her palms to the metal door. “Hold on,” he rasped, freeing his cock with shaking hands—thick, hard, veins pulsing with need.

The first thrust was slow, careful—mindful of the baby between them—but deep enough to stretch her, fill her completely. Maritza moaned, pushing back, her belly pressing against the door for leverage.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he gritted, forehead pressed to the back of her neck, breathing ragged.

“More,” she demanded, voice husky. “I need all of you. Fuck me like you mean it.”

He gave it to her—slow at first, then harder, deeper, each stroke a promise, a claim, a reminder that they were still here, still whole. His hand splayed over her rounded belly, protective even now, feeling the faint flutter of their son responding to the rhythm. The other found her breast again, kneading the full, sensitive flesh, rolling the nipple until milk beaded at the tip and she arched back against him with a broken whimper.

“These tits,” he groaned, pinching lightly, watching a drop of milk trail down her skin. “So full for me. For him.”

Maritza’s head fell back against his shoulder, exposed throat offered up as he pounded into her from behind. The angle hit that perfect spot inside, her walls clenching around him, slick and hot. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, heavy and aching, nipples brushing the cool door and sending jolts straight to her clit.

“Cole—fuck—right there,” she panted, one hand reaching back to dig nails into his thigh.

He obliged, hips snapping faster, the slap of skin echoing in the alcove. His free hand slipped between her legs, fingers circling her swollen clit in tight, relentless circles.

“Come for me again, Ritz,” he commanded, voice rough with lust. “Milk my cock with that tight pregnant pussy.”

The words undid her. She shattered a second time, harder, walls fluttering and squeezing him as she cried out—muffled against her arm to avoid alerting security. Cole followed seconds later, burying deep with a guttural groan, pulsing hot inside her, filling her until it leaked down her thighs.

He stayed buried, arms wrapped around her from behind, both breathing hard, sweat-slick skin cooling in the night air.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “So fucking much.”

Maritza turned her head, catching his mouth in a softer kiss. “I love you too.”

They stayed like that for long minutes, hearts pounding in sync, his hand gently rubbing her belly where their son kicked in approval.

Then Cole’s phone buzzed in his pocket—sharp, insistent.

He swore under his breath.

Maritza laughed, breathless. “We really can’t catch a break, can we?”

Cole pulled out carefully, tucking himself away, then checked the screen. His face went still.

“It’s Freya,” he said quietly. “Elena’s here. At the hospital. Asking for you.”

Maritza’s heart stopped. The sister who’d tried to burn their world down. The sister carrying a child of her own. The sister who’d finally said home?

But as they hurried to straighten clothes, Maritza felt a sharp twinge low in her belly—different from the aftershocks of pleasure. Then another. Warmth trickled down her leg—not Cole’s release.

Her water.

“Cole,” she gasped, gripping his arm. “It’s time. The baby—he’s coming. Now.”

“What?” Cole's voice, raspy with a sudden fear, shattered the peaceful stillness.

Maritza doubled over, breath hissing between clenched teeth. The pain was sharp, deep, undeniable. Another gush of fluid followed, soaking her leggings, pooling at her feet on the rooftop concrete.

“It’s happening,” she managed, voice trembling. “Contractions. My water just broke.”

Cole’s face drained of color. “Now? Here?”

She nodded, gripping his forearms hard enough to leave marks. “We need to get inside. Fast.”

Without a word, he lifted her, cradling her as if weightless, despite her pregnancy. Maritza's face was pressed to his neck, and she was breathing through the next wave as the world shrank to the rhythm of his heartbeat and pressure mounted in her pelvis.

“Stay with me, Ritz,” he murmured, lips pressed to her temple. “Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’ve got this.”

Another contraction hit as the doors dinged open. Maritza bit back a cry, nails digging into his shoulders. Cole stepped inside, punching the button for the maternity floor.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, voice small against the ding of descending floors.

“I know.” He kissed her forehead, voice steady despite the tremor in his arms. “But you’re the strongest person I know. And I’m right here. Every second.”

The elevator opened onto controlled chaos. Nurses looked up, startled, as Cole carried a soaked, contracting Maritza straight toward the nurses’ station.

“Labor!” he barked. “Thirty-six weeks. Water broke upstairs. Contractions three minutes apart.”

A team swarmed them instantly. A wheelchair appeared. Cole lowered her into it, never letting go of her hand. They wheeled her down the hall toward delivery, monitors already being strapped to her belly.

Rafael met them halfway—still in the same clothes from earlier, eyes wide. “Maritza?”

“She’s in labor,” Cole said, voice tight. “We need a room. Now!!!”