Chapter 26 Chapter 26 – The Test
Chapter 26 Chapter 26 – The Test
Mya
He tells me over breakfast.
Like it’s nothing. Like he’s reminding me we’re due for a dentist appointment.
“A specialist will arrive this afternoon,” Dante says, buttering a slice of bread with deliberate calm. “We’ll both be tested. Fertility, hormone panels, motility.” He glances at me, storm-blue eyes unblinking. “I want to be sure everything works as it should.”
My stomach curdles around the coffee I haven’t even touched.
I lower my fork. “And if it turns out you’re the problem?”
He pauses and his mouth curves dangerously as he looks up slowly. “Do you think I’m too old, Mya? Too weak?”
“I think forty-five isn’t twenty-five,” I inform him pointedly. I know my statement is a huge, steaming pile of horse manure. Nobody has ever fucked me with more unrestrained fury than him. He’s certainly not in any kind of decline, but why would I pass up the opportunity to try and deflate his mammoth ego?
“And if your little swimmers aren’t up to the task, what then? How will you handle finding out you’re not as invincible as you think?”
He leans back in his chair, smirking. “If you’d like a reminder of how virile I am, I’d be happy to demonstrate. Again. Right now. I guarantee my stamina is not the issue.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I grip my knife until my knuckles ache, resisting the urge to hurl it across the table. I won't give him the satisfaction of a scene. Or of admitting just how tempting that offer is.
I want to scream that when I agreed to save my father’s life, I didn’t sign away my body to science experiments. But I can’t. Because an heir within a year was always part of our agreement and what he’s asking isn’t unreasonable when viewed in that light.
Jesus. The man blackmailed me into marrying him and I’m sitting here making excuses for his behavior. I should be committed.
I can’t deny that I’m terrified. What are the chances the doctor will miss the presence in my blood of whatever the main ingredient is in birth control?
By the time the specialist arrives, my skin feels too tight and my pulse is uneven. He’s a gray-haired man with a discreet briefcase and a calm, clinical manner. He greets Dante with the deferential respect of a man who knows who pays him, then turns to me with polite detachment.
“You’ll both need a standard panel,” he explains as he lays out supplies in the study. “Blood tests, hormone levels, pelvic exam for Mrs. Cardello. Semen analysis for Mr. Cardello.”
The nurse accompanying him draws my blood first, vials filling one after another. I sit stiff in the chair, Dante watching from his place against the desk. His gaze never leaves me. Not even when the doctor instructs me to lie back for the pelvic exam.
I spread my legs on command, forcing myself to look straight at the ceiling. The cold speculum is inserted. The swab scrapes. The doctor’s voice is calmly detached. My cheeks burn hotter than fire, but I keep my expression blank. A mask of cold fury. Dante doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. He witnesses everything.
When it’s over, I straighten my clothes with shaking hands. My body feels hollow, like something vital has been stolen.
The doctor clears his throat delicately. “I’ll need a semen sample from you, Mr. Cardello. We have some magazines if required-”
Dante’s grin cuts him off and his eyes issue a lazy challenge to me when he speaks.
“I won’t need magazines,” he says, voice smooth as the finest single malt. He takes the container from the doctor, weighing it in his palm. “My wife will help me. I don’t need any other stimuli.”
The doctor blinks. His discomfort flickers only briefly before it’s smothered under professionalism. “Of course, sir. However you prefer.”
My breath catches and heat rushes to my face. This is beyond humiliation. It’s an assertion of absolute control over my actions.
“Please leave,” Dante says to the doctor and nurse, already unbuckling his belt.
My feet feel rooted to the floor, but he doesn’t seem to care. He pushes his pants and boxers to his ankles, allowing his straining cock to bob against his stomach. The large veins are prominent and saliva floods my mouth when my eyes settle on his red, throbbing crown. A pearly drop of pre-cum is already winking at me invitingly.
Dante sets the container on the desk and leans back against it. “Get to work, Mrs. Cardello.”
“This is insane,” I hiss.
“Necessary,” He corrects, gripping the base lazily, stroking once and smirking as he thickens under the weight of my gaze. The sight punches air from my lungs and makes my core clench.
“Come here.”
“I won’t-”
“You will.” His tone leaves no space for refusal.
Something in me breaks and my legs carry me toward him slowly.
He grabs my wrist and presses the container into my left hand.
“This is the perfect opportunity for you to learn exactly how I like it,” he says, lowering my right hand to his shaft. His own hand covers mine, guiding the motion. “Pressure here. Slow at first. Then tighter. Don’t look away.”
My palm burns with heat as his cock swells, veins bulging under my fingers. I fight the urge to run my tongue along them, turning my head away despite his order.
Dante grips my chin and forces me to meet his eyes, ice-blue and ruthless, watching me as if he can see straight through every layer of disgust, every flicker of arousal.
“You feel that?” His voice is low, a growl sliding over my skin. “Strong. Potent. Every drop of this will keep filling you. I’m going to see you swollen with my child, Mya. Nothing will stop that.”
Shame burns through me, thick as tar, but beneath it, the sick, inevitable arousal flares. My thighs clench traitorously and I try to pretend I’m somewhere else. But it’s impossible when Dante’s smell is everywhere. When he’s grunting in pleasure and rutting into my hand.
He groans, hand tightening over mine, speeding up the stroke. His cock pulses hot and heavy, silky and hard under my grip. My wrist aches, but he won’t let me stop.
He whispers filth against my ear. Telling me we won’t need to track my ovulation, he’ll fuck me daily. How he intends to keep me pregnant until he’s satisfied with the number of heirs I’ve given him. How he’ll breed me to my fullest capacity. My stomach flips, equal parts disgust and something more perverted.
He squeezes my fingers down harder, wrenching at his cock with a ferocity that has to be painful. His groan rips free, voice guttural when he warns, “Cumming.” His hips thrust once, hard, into my hand. Thick spurts spill into the container, hot and heavy, splattering against the sides. He grits his teeth, growling through the last pulse, filling it to the brim and then overflowing.
I can’t breathe as his hot seed covers my fingers. The smell of his release is all around us and shivers of desire flush across my skin repeatedly.
Dante tucks himself back into his pants with infuriating calm, fastening his belt. He hands me a handkerchief before taking the container from me, still warm, cloudy with his seed, and screws the lid on. Then he sets it deliberately back in my hand.
“Deliver it to the doctor,” he orders.
I stare at him, horrified, forcing back a wave of nausea. They’ll know how that was obtained.
He steps behind the desk, settling into his chair like a king overseeing his court. “Go on. We’re done here.”
My legs feel unsteady as I walk back to the lounge. The container feels like a glowing mark of my humiliation. My palms sweat against the plastic, my face burning, but I keep my chin high.
The doctor looks up expectantly when I walk into the room. If I’m not mistaken he has an air of excitement about him.
I force my expression to remain impassive and hand him the sample.
Back in our bedroom, I slam the door and lean against it, trembling. I focus on the anger, letting the cold, hard certainty of my hatred steel my resolve. My sex throbs mercilessly, slick with arousal I wish I could deny.
The worst part isn’t that he made me do it. The worst part is the terrifying truth that my body loved every second. I collapse onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow to muffle the raw, silent scream of my broken will as my hand snakes between my legs to relieve the dull ache throbbing there.