Chapter 247

Chapter 247
Elsa

Then he grabbed the delicate fabric and ripped. The sound of tearing silk filled the air, and I gasped.

"Those were limited edition! Do you have any idea how much—you asshole!"

His mouth crashed onto mine, swallowing my protest. I bit his lower lip in retaliation, tasting blood. He groaned, and the sound went straight to my core. Fuck. His hands roamed my body, rough and demanding, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I forgot about the stockings, forgot about everything except the feel of him against me, around me, consuming me.

We stumbled toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of his clothes. My fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons, cursing when they wouldn't cooperate. His shirt hit the floor somewhere near the couch. His belt followed, the metallic clink barely registering through the haze of lust fogging my brain.

In the bedroom, more rose petals covered the bed. And there, laid out on the pristine white sheets, was a set of silver lace lingerie—sheer, delicate, designed to reveal rather than conceal.

"You thought of everything," I whispered, my voice shaky. My hands trembled.

"I told you." Drake spun me around, his chest pressing against my back, his lips at my ear. "I've been planning this for a long time."

His hands cupped my breasts through my bra, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked, straining against the fabric. I arched into his touch, a whimper escaping my throat. My body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for more.

"Please..." The word came out broken, desperate.

"Please what?" His teeth nipped my earlobe, sending sparks down my spine. "Use your words, baby."

"Touch me," I gasped as his hand slid lower, fingers teasing the edge of my panties. I could feel how wet I was, and it should have embarrassed me, but I was too far gone to care. "Drake, please—fuck—"

He didn't make me wait. In one smooth motion, he tore away my remaining underwear and turned me to face him. His eyes blazed gold, pure alpha desire, as he lifted me onto the bed. Rose petals stuck to my damp skin.

"I love seeing you like this," he growled, settling between my thighs. His fingers slid through my wetness, and I moaned. "Wet and ready for me."

For once, I didn't insist on protection. Maybe it was the romance of the setup, or the reality of our marriage finally sinking in, or just the desperate need coursing through my veins. Whatever the reason, when Drake entered me in one powerful thrust, there was nothing between us.

"Oh fuck—" The sensation was overwhelming—more intense than I remembered, more intimate. I cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. My back arched off the bed.

"Fuck, Elsa," Drake groaned, his forehead pressed against mine. "You feel incredible."

He moved slowly at first, letting me adjust, but I could feel the restraint costing him. His muscles trembled with the effort of holding back, jaw clenched tight. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Don't," I whispered, raking my nails down his back. "Don't hold back."

Something snapped in his control. He drove into me harder, faster, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, matching his rhythm. The bed creaked beneath us, rose petals scattering with each movement.

"Yes—fuck—yes—" I couldn't stop the words spilling from my lips, couldn't control the sounds he was pulling from me.

"That's it, baby," Drake's voice was raw, rough. His hand gripped my hip, angling me differently, and I saw white. "Come for me."

His thumb found my clit, circling with just the right pressure, and I shattered. Pleasure crashed through me in waves, my inner walls clenching around him. I screamed his name, not caring if the neighbors heard, not caring about anything except the overwhelming sensation consuming me.

Drake followed seconds later, his body shuddering as he spilled inside me, marking me in the most primal way possible. "Mine," he growled against my neck. "Mine."

We collapsed together, sweaty and sated, hearts pounding in sync. I couldn't feel my legs. Couldn't think. Could barely breathe.

Later—much later—Drake carried me to the bathroom. My legs felt like jelly, barely supporting my weight. Every muscle ached in the best way.

"I can walk," I protested weakly, though I wasn't sure that was true.

"Sure you can." His smirk was infuriating. "That's why you're trembling."

"Shut up." But there was no heat in it.

The bathroom had been prepared too. More candles flickered around the massive tub, already filled with steaming water that smelled like lavender. Fucking hell, he'd thought of everything.

Drake set me in the water carefully, then climbed in behind me. I sighed as the heat soothed my aching muscles, leaning back against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, and for a moment, everything was perfect.

But gentleness didn't last long. His hands slid over my body, finding me again, still sensitive. When I came this time, it was softer, longer, rolling through me like a gentle wave. Tears leaked from my eyes—too much sensation, too much emotion.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, I was in bed, wrapped in soft sheets. Drake's arm was around my waist, holding me close.

Safe. For the first time in forever, I felt safe.

---

The next morning, I woke to overwhelming nausea. Oh shit. I barely made it to the bathroom before heaving, my stomach clenching violently. My knees hit the cold tile hard.

"Elsa?" Drake's hand found my back, rubbing gentle circles. "What's wrong? Was I too rough last night?"

I shook my head, gasping between heaves. "This... this has been happening for a few days. Work stress, probably."

Drake's hand stilled. "A few days?"

"Yeah." I sat back, wiping my mouth with a shaking hand. "It's fine. I just need—"

"We're going to the hospital." His tone left no room for argument.

"Drake, I'm not—"

"Hospital. Now." He was already pulling me to my feet, grabbing a robe. "Don't fucking argue with me on this."

Twenty minutes later, we were at Drake's private medical facility. My stomach churned with anxiety as the doctor examined me thoroughly. I gripped the edge of the examination table, knuckles white.

Then she smiled. "Mrs. Stone, congratulations. You're approximately three weeks pregnant."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My ears rang. Pregnant. I stared at her, my hand automatically moving to my flat stomach. After my miscarriage months ago, I'd been told another pregnancy was unlikely. The doctor had said my chances were—

"Holy shit," I whispered, my voice breaking. Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. "I'm pregnant."

"Elsa?" Drake's expression had transformed from shock to wonder. His hand covered mine on my stomach, trembling.

"I'm pregnant," I repeated, laughing through the tears. "Drake, I'm fucking pregnant."

He pulled me into his arms, his hands shaking as they cradled my face. "This is the best wedding gift you could have given me."

I laughed, the sound watery and choked. "I didn't exactly plan it."

"Neither did I." His thumb brushed away a tear, then another. They kept coming. "But damn if it isn't perfect."

When he kissed me, deep and thorough, I believed him. My hands fisted in his shirt, holding on like he might disappear. Despite everything—the complications this would bring, the challenges ahead, the fear clawing at my chest—I believed him.

A baby. Our baby. After everything, after all the pain and loss, maybe this was our third chance.

"I'm scared," I whispered against his lips.

"Me too," he admitted, his forehead pressed to mine. "But we'll figure it out together."

The end.